Page 53 of Pining for Christmas

“Well, you assume wrong. Like usual.”

I glare at Noelle. She glares back.

“This will be fun,” she declares. Laying down the law.

“I don’tdofun.”

But Noelle smirks, raising one eyebrow. “Haven’t you noticed, boss? You do with me.”

* * *

Noelle takes a long, hot shower, groaning with pleasure under the spray. I hear every drop of water, every pleased sigh.

It’s torture.

Out here in the bedroom, I pace in agitated circles, trying not to picture my assistant’s slippery, soapy skin in there, the water running in rivulets down her perfect curves. Trying to not imagine myself bursting in there and shoving my way inside the shower and pressing her against the tiles, feeling those groans vibrate against my lips.

There is a line, asshole.

There has to be a line.

Honestly, I’m not sure where that line evenisanymore. But I know it exists, and I refuse to cross it.

Better safe than sorry, especially with Noelle. I’d rather spend the rest of my life miserable and alone than make my assistant uncomfortable.

She hums in the shower, the sound echoing against the tiles.

Gritting my teeth, I press the hard bulge of my cock, willing it to calm the fuck down.

When my assistant finally floats out of the bathroom on a cloud of scented steam, she’s dressed in a pair of the complimentary pajamas that we found in the dresser. The pants are far too long, bunching up above her feet, and the collared shirt slips to one side to show a glimpse of collarbone. Noelle towels her damp hair, watching me thoughtfully.

I scowl back, neck prickling at the way she’s got me under her microscope.

Becauseyes,my muscles are tense on my bones after listening to that shower.Yes, my face is hot, and my throat is tight, and I’m clinging desperately to the last thread of my control. What about it?

“No PJs for you?” she says. There was a second, larger pair in the dresser, with identical white and blue pinstripes.

“I’d rather die.”

Noelle snorts, padding to the bed and jumping up onto the covers. Bed springs plink, and one pillow slumps to the side.

“They do room service.” My hand is admirably steady as I point to the menu I left open on the quilt. “Pick something. Don’t take forever.”

“Oh, you charmer.” Shuffling around to sit cross-legged, Noelle pages through the Mulberry Inn menu. “Hey, look! They have a whole holiday-themed section.” A sly glance at me. “Think they’ll roast a ham at this time of night?”

Kicking off my shoes, I loosen my necktie an inch. “So sad that you don’t want your December bonus. Won’t your flea-bitten cat be disappointed? Billy, isn’t it? Brian?”

“You know his name is Bo. And he had fleasonetime, you jerk.”

“My mistake.”

It’s easier than it should be to stretch out on the bed beside my assistant, my back propped against the headboard. I cross my ankles and fold my arms over my chest. No accidental limb-brushes here, even though Noelle’s freshly scrubbed skin smells like lemon-scented soap.

I am in control.

“Want to watch a movie?” she asks, already digging around for the remote.

In. Control.

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