Page 44 of Tempt

“Tell him I’m sorry I never replied to his letter. I didn’t know how to take it.”

“I will.” I smile. “Hey, send me a picture of the baby bump, okay?”

“Deal. Merry Christmas.”

14

Sam

Hazel isfresh out of the shower when I return, her hair damp. She’s wearing skimpy slips of silk, a barely there bra and tiny panties, standing in the middle of my bedroom.

It looks like a bomb has gone off, and I swear she didn’t bring this many clothes with her.

“Can I help you choose an outfit?” I ask from the doorway.

She jumps in the air. “Oh!”

“Did you not hear me come in?”

“I was lost in thought.” She gestured to the clothes. “But yes, please help. What are you wearing tonight?”

“I usually wear a suit, but I can dress down if you want. There will be people in jeans.” I glance at her options, which are all lovely. “I would rather coordinate with you than vice versa.”

She picks up a black dress and pulls it over her head, hiding her silky undergarments, but I know they’re there.

They will tease me all night.

“Maybe this, with tall boots? If I can wear the boots inside his house? Is that—”

I cross to her and kiss her to slow her down. “That’s fine. This crowd doesn’t take off their shoes.”

She wrinkles her nose against mine. “Messy.”

“Alex can afford a cleaner to polish his floors again.”

“Well la di da, Mr. Rock—” She giggles as I cut her off again with my mouth. Then she sighs as I hike the dress up enough to palm her ass and tug her whole body hard against mine. “I need to do my hair and make up.”

“I like the panties.”

“Do you?”

“I’ll like them even more about your ankles when we get back from the party.” I stroke my fingers between her legs. “Or during the party, if you’re game.”

She sighs happily. “How private are the corners of his house?”

“Very.”

The lights are blazingon every floor of Alex’s gothic mansion just off Dupont. I open the door without knocking and usher Hazel inside.

She winks at me as she brushes past. “Very private corners, you say?”

I grin. “Just you wait.”

A staircase inside the foyer winds upstairs, and it’s littered with people. Some I recognize, most I don’t. Alex has an eclectic mix of friends from the business and literary worlds, as well as people he’s picked up along the way in his various hobbies. Hockey, music.

The party will spill throughout the house, but we don’t go upstairs first. I lead her past Alex’s office, a dark, gloomy library that might serve as the dark corner we want later in the evening, and into the open great room beyond. He took out a few walls to make a free flowing space, part dining room, part kitchen, all party space.

Conversations compete to rise above the fray, words popping here and there. Investment. Release date. Publicist. Hazel’s eyes light up, and I remember what she told me about story ideas. She sees people, hears snippets, and the inspiration comes from a collision of individual pieces.

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