Page 6 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
In my bedroom, I shed the ruined tuxedo jacket and shirt, tossing them toward the hamper. The events of the evening played through my mind as I selected a fresh white dress shirt from my closet, Italian cotton that felt good against my skin.
The woman waiting in my living room bore little resemblance to the assistant I thought I knew.
Ambitious, thoughtful, driven by deeper motivations than I'd credited her with, she intrigued me and turned me on a little, and it plastered a stupid grin to my face I had to rub my hand across to remove.
When I returned to the living room, shirt unbuttoned and black tie draped around my neck, I found Tessa frozen by the windows.
She'd removed her coat, revealing the full lines of her dress, the way the fabric hugged her curves. She turned at the sound of my approach, and the expression on her face stopped me in my tracks.
Her eyes had gone wide, lips slightly parted, a flush creeping up her throat. She stared at my chest, at the tattoos normally hidden beneath expensive fabric, and I watched her pulse flutter visibly at the base of her neck.
The look was unmistakably one of attraction, raw and unguarded in a way that sent heat straight through me. I watched her drink me in and felt my dick pulsing with arousal.
I made no move to button my shirt. It felt somehow like a sacrilege to cover what she seemed to admire so much.
"Would you care for a drink while we're here?" I asked, moving toward the bar cart. There was no sense in rushing back when the ride would take another hour. "Something to warm you up after that walk through the snow?"
Her gaze followed my movement, lingering on the ink that decorated my chest and arms—remnants of a younger, more reckless version of myself that few people ever glimpsed.
"I…" She swallowed hard. The sound of her throat catching made me smirk as I turned away. "I don't think… We should get the wine and champagne and head back. People will be wondering where we are."
The polite rejection didn't surprise me, but something in her tone suggested it cost her effort to voice it. Professional boundaries warring with personal desire, perhaps?
I set down the whiskey I'd been ready to pour, respecting her wishes even as I noticed the way her eyes kept drifting back to my exposed skin.
"Of course." I reached for the top button of my shirt. "Let me just?—"
My phone erupted with an emergency alert, the harsh sound cutting through the quiet apartment. I grabbed it from the coffee table, frowning at the screen.
DuPage County—the alert was for my house in Hinsdale, but if they were declaring Level 3 emergencies in the suburbs, it meant the roads downtown would be too dangerous too.
LEVEL 3 SNOW EMERGENCY DECLARED FOR DUPAGE COUNTY. ALL ROADS CLOSED TO NON-EMERGENCY PERSONNEL. SHELTER IN PLACE ORDERS IN EFFECT UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE—flashed across my screen with a large yellow triangle.
"What is it?" Tessa asked, looking up from her own phone with confusion. "I didn't get anything."
"DuPage County just went to Level 3," I said, showing her my screen. "I have a house there, so I get their alerts. If the neighboring county is shutting down completely, Chicago won't be far behind."
Her face went pale, eyes wide with the realization of what this meant.
We were about to be trapped together, possibly for hours.
3
TESSA
The wine had gone straight to my head. Three glasses of Bordeaux from Lucian's private collection, paired with artisanal cheeses and charcuterie that looked like it cost more than my weekly grocery budget, left me feeling loose-limbed and reckless.
The storm continued its assault on Chicago outside, wind howling against the towering skyscraper, but inside his penthouse, warmth surrounded us along with the golden glow of his fireplace.
"Your turn," Lucian said, dealing another hand of rummy across his kitchen table.
His shirt remained unbuttoned from hours ago, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the tattoos that covered his chest and arms.
The firelight danced across his skin, highlighting the definition of muscle beneath bronze flesh he had honed in the gym and tanning salon.
I'd always found him attractive—what woman wouldn't?
The entire office buzzed with whispered conversations about our devastatingly handsome CEO. His silver hair, those palegray eyes that could freeze or smolder depending on his mood, the way he commanded a room with nothing more than his presence.
