Page 57 of Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty

“I do.” James tilts his glass and takes a drink. “You and Emma are amazing. And together. Which I accept. No one can date you without making friends with Emma.”

Does he really not know? Is he really unable to connect the dots between seven years ago and now?

“That’s true,” I reply.

“And Mark?” James snorts, and there’s a smug look in his eye. “I heard he was in a spot of bother.”

“Did you hear the details?”

“Nope, but Margret told me it involved you and she wants me to get the details.”

I tip my head back and laugh. “Mark was the one who broke into my bakery and destroyed it. His grand plan was to be my knight in shining armor. He was just late. And stupid. He asked me out with one of my own cake toppers. I suppose it was meant to be romantic.”

“Wow,” James breathes and he slides closer. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t be easy learning someone you trusted broke into your business like that.”

“I wouldn’t say I trusted him,” I correct gently. “But I don’t know. I’m just happy to have answers. And to get insurance moving. I’m sure I’ll be laughing about it soon.”

“No wonder he was so annoyed at me that day he turned up, trying to be all cagey.” James rolls his eyes and takes another drink. “I’m happy to benefit from his terrible plan, though. Getting to spend time with you?” James winks. “I’ll take all the chances I can get.”

I should ask him. I should put down my glass and ask him why he left. Why he had his mother speak to me that way all those years ago.

But the words don’t come.

This night has been lovely. Good food, excellent company, and a happy Emma make for a happy Lily.

I don’t want to ruin this. Putting it off can’t be a good idea, but I don’t have the heart to bring it up right now. Not when my skin is warm, my blood is heated, and my attention keeps drifting down to James’s silk shirt, which has three buttons open near his collar.

Tomorrow. I can ask him tomorrow.

I set my glass side and move closer on the couch. James’s attention is on me completely, and his eyes dart down to my lips, then back to my eyes.

“James,” I say softly. “We should talk.”

“We should,” he says huskily, eyeing my lips again.

“But this has been such a nice night. I’ve never had someone cook for me before.”

“You’re welcome,” James says. “It has been a nice night.”

“Maybe…” Warmth pulses across my bare arms and my heart begins to flutter. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”

“In the daytime?” James nods. “Sounds wise. I like that idea.”

I lean closer. “Maybe tomorrow morning?”

“I’m free,” James says, and his voice is low.

I should resist.

I don’t.

I give in to the warmth in my heart and slide into James’s lap, cupping his face and kissing him deeply.

Maybe in a few years, I’ll explore why someone cooking me dinner, and caring for me, got me so hot and bothered, but that’s a job for a therapist.

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