Page 9 of Stocking Stuffers
And also only interested in sex, which was not usually his cup of tea.
Wait.That came out wrong. He wasn’t bad at sex.
Correction—he didn’tthinkhe was bad at sex. He’d never had complaints. He’d never had a one-night stand either and wasn’t sure if he’d excel in that arena. In fact, his recent career and love-life shakeups had made him doubt himself in more ways than one.
“Let me give you that tour.” He offered her his elbow.
She rolled her eyes and her grin widened, finally seeming to relax a little. Then she shucked off her green trench coat and threw it on top of the plaid bedspread.
“Lead the way, Mr. Winters.”
“Gladly, Miss …?”
“Holiday.”
“Ah, festive.”
“Shut up.” She tucked her hand into his elbow, a pleasant, warm pressure, and he led her out of the room.
“This whole hallway is guest rooms, as are the ones a floor up. I’m here.”
He pointed to his door as they passed it. They walked down the staircase, which was adorned with balsam fir garland and tasteful white twinkle lights. He loved the smell of the house at Christmas, loved the mix of greenery and lights and warmth.
Nostalgia from his childhood hit him in the chest. He’d missed this. Maybe coming home after his career had fallen apart in Topeka had been the right decision after all. A fresh start was exactly what he needed.
When they reached the foyer, he pointed to the basket of blankets. “If you want to sit on the front porch, feel free to take a blanket from here. I can’t imagine that’d be fun in the blizzard, though.”
They walked into the formal sitting room. This was his least favorite room. It was stuffy, even when covered in Christmas. Next was the breakfast room, which still had refreshments from the Staunchly Raunchy Book Club party.
“This is where Val and her chef serve breakfast every morning. But you can come in here anytime. There’s always baked goods.”
He picked up a leftover chocolate éclair, but as he moved it to his mouth, Sasha grabbed his hand and directed it to her mouth instead. His breath caught and his eyes were drawn to her lips as they wrapped around the pastry. She took a bite, never breaking eye contact.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his whole body firing with lust.
“What do we have here?” a woman said from the doorway, humor in her voice.
Andie Romero—biggest troublemaker in all the land. She was wearing a Christmas sweater with cats on it.
Perry closed his eyes, sad about the interruption, and Sasha turned away from them both, choking on a laugh, her mouth full.
Karen Romero, Andie’s wife, waltzed up next to Andie. Karen was a middle-aged, five-foot-nothing FBI intelligence analyst, who could command a room with nothing more than an arched brow. Perry wished he had her presence.
“They were canoodling,” Andie whispered.
“Were not,” Perry said like a five-year-old. He wished they’d been canoodling.
Sasha managed to swallow her mouthful of éclair around her laughter before turning back toward the women. “Perry was very kindly showing me around, considering I’m stranded here.”
“At least you’re in the best of company,” Karen said, teasingly tossing her locs over her shoulder.
“Thank you, Karen.” Perry was touched she’d say that.
“I meanus.” Karen grinned at Sasha. “Come on. We’ll show you where the stingy Winters keep the wine.”
“It’s called a wine cellar. Not exactly a secret,” Perry said.
“Yeah, but most guests don’t get the security code. We’re special. Karen interrogated it out of Valerie,” Andie said. “Follow us, kiddos. Bring your éclair.”
