Page 21 of Wintertime Heat (Holiday 1)

Steven walks past Collin and leans across me, his face inches from mine, to grab a pastry from the box that his son was eating from.

Eating the whole thing in one bite, he gives me a slow smile that makes my insides dance that traitorous dance, “I thought we were on a first name basis, Abby.”

My eyes shoot daggers at him, “You’re mistaken, Mr. Tanner.”

He just shrugs and reaches over to take another pastry, before I grab his hand mid-way, stopping him, “Those are for Aaron.”

His hip was leaning against my desk and his muscled thigh, hidden underneath those gray pants, was right next to my face as I gave him a steady look.

He didn’t take his hand back from me, just murmurs, “But I’m also hungry. What will you feed me?”

The way his eyes roamed over my body in deliberate meaning, made me swallow hard, and release his hand.

Ignoring him, I turn my head to my boss, who was gaping at us, “You were asking me something, Mr. – I mean, Collin?”

“N-No, nothing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

With that, Collin walks out leaving me behind frowning.

I look up at Steven with a scowl, “If my job gets put in jeopardy because of your actions –“

Steven shrugs, licking the crumbs off his thumb, his gray eyes on mine, “What did I do?”

My cheeks flush, “You know what you did.”

“I assure you, Abby. I have no idea.”

I glare at him. This was not how I had intended today to go.

I had had a plan.

Steven’s voice break into my thoughts, “So, who was that?”

“Why do you want to know?” I ask him, in a challenging voice.

“Just curious, since you seem to be on a first name basis with him, but not with me.” He leans across me and snags a puff pastry.

I turn around and glare at Aaron, “Will you get that away from your father? I saved those for you, not him.”

Aaron immediately grabs the box and moves to a safer location, just out of his father’s reach.

“Turning my own son against me now, eh Abby?”

My eyes roam over his long frame, as he leans against my desk, his hands now tucked in his pockets, the overcoat that had become so staple to him, hanging around his ankles.

“What do you want, Mr. Tanner?” I sigh, tired of whatever game he was playing.

He studies me, his lips slightly curved, “How did you find the muffins?”

“Why’d you send them?”

He just watches me, and then nudges his head at his son, who picks up his bag and runs out, holding the Tupperware box close to his chest.

“Bye, Miss Abby!”

I stand up, and Steven’s grin widens when I refuse to back down.

“Why did you send the muffins?”

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