Unwrapping Santa Page 3
If they left now, or if only one of them left now, the whole affair remained casual. They could have sex again if they both so desired, or not.
But, if they climbed back into that big bed—after washing up and brushing their teeth if he knew Ms. Anal Compulsive—and spent the night, well, it catapulted them beyond the after-work quickie.
Did he want that?
He turned his head and found her gazing at him, and the answer was there. Hell, yes, he wanted more.
He plucked one of the roses out of the ice bucket and reached forward to trace the silky red petals down her cheek.
She smiled a little.
“We shouldn't drive after drinking that champagne,” he said.
“No,” she agreed solemnly. “You're right.”
He shrugged. “We should probably sleep over then.”
She grinned at him. “Don't plan on getting a lot of sleep.” She rose and stretched and, as he watched the silk contour her body, he felt like a guy who hasn't had any in months rather than one who'd spent all evening in bed with a sexy, responsive woman.
“Do you need a toothbrush?” she asked him. “I have a spare in my cosmetics case.”
Why was he not surprised? “Don't worry about it. I stuck one in my pocket just in case.”
“All right then. I think I'll take a shower before bed.”
He thought about joining her but decided to give her some privacy. Besides, he needed to save his strength for later.
When she emerged, her body tingling and clean, Tara found he'd got rid of the room service stuff and tidied the bed.
His turn in the bathroom was predictably much shorter than hers, though she did hear the shower.
He wasn't wearing the robe when he came back out of the bathroom, his hair damp, and climbed into bed beside her.
He ran a hand across his jaw. “I borrowed your razor. Hope that's okay.”
He'd shaved again. How considerate. “No. I don't mind.”
He kissed her and she could feel where he'd missed a spot shaving.
He kissed his way down her body, parted her knees and settled between them. “I forgot dessert,” he said, then proceeded to eat her as though she were a banquet.
Oh, what that tongue could do to a woman. He treated her clit like a lollipop he wanted to last a long time. But she was only human, and it had been months since she'd been with a man.
And he was too bloody good at what he was doing. When his tongue drove her up to bliss faster then either of them wanted, he simply gave her a minute and then started all over again.
Hours later, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
Chapter Four
“Ms. Ellison, what is this memo about?” Daniel slapped the offending paper on Ms. Decimal Point's obsessively, anally compulsive, neat-freak desk, on top of which sat one pencil sharpened to a perfect point—in her favorite shade of red. The only other item on the pristine surface was her nutcracker, which she'd turned into an ornament, he was certain, just to piss him off.
Not that she needed any props to do that.
She picked up her memo and pretended to read it, as though she didn't know perfectly well what had made him ballistic this morning.
“It seems fairly straightforward to me,” she said. “Were there some big words you needed help with?”
“There's your big nose I'd like you to get out of my business.”
“Accounting is my business. You can't give a discount that big to this customer. We could end up losing money on the deal.”
He stuck his face close to hers and narrowed his eyes, doing his best to intimidate her with his size. “Selling planes is my business. Got it?”
The intimidation tactic didn't seem to work. She narrowed her eyes right back at him and he wished he didn't notice the extra sparkle in the glossy brown irises. “It's my job to vet those contracts, you know that.”
“It's not your job to screw up a sale. I'm taking this up with Giles.”
“Fine by me.”
He stomped two steps to her door and turned back as though an invisible rope had yanked him. “My place. Friday night.”
The sparkle in her eyes intensified and her breasts rose and fell on a jerky breath. She nodded sharply.
“Don't plan on getting any sleep.”
Tara drew another jerky breath when Daniel left. They'd barely seen each other since waking, tangled together, two mornings ago. She'd imagined awkwardness and blushes at the office, but somehow, once she donned her suit and pumps, her liaison with one seriously sexy sales manager became a delicious secret.
She wouldn't reveal their after-hours relationship any more than she'd flip her skirt over her hips to show off her French cut silk-and-lace panties.
Daniel's anger almost made her smile. Was he really so egotistical as to assume she'd let flagrant abuses of their firm's accounting policies slip by her notice because she'd slept with him?
Well, if he'd thought so before, he no longer did.
Her intercom buzzed a few minutes later. “ Tara,” Giles's voice boomed, “could you come in here a minute?”
“Certainly,” she replied coolly, while she seethed inside.
She swept into Giles's office all ready to do battle. From his belligerent stance over by the window, Daniel was in the same frame of mind. Angry sparks of fire shot from his gaze as he turned it on her.
“Ah, Tara ,” Giles said with his usual joviality. “We seem to have a problem.”
“The problem is that Mr. Jarvis doesn't accept we have policies and he has to follow them.”
“Ms. Ellison needs to understand that policies, like rules, are made to be bent once in a while. It prevents them from becoming dry and rigid.”
She gasped. The way he'd narrowed his gaze at her while he said the words had her suspecting it was she he was talking about, not the company policies. Dry and rigid? She'd show him dry and rigid come Friday night. Why, she'd be so wet and … and pliant, he'd have trouble hanging on.
Giles shook his head at the pair of them. “You know I respect you both, but I wish you could respect each other a little more. Tara, Daniel's right. Sometimes we need to discount our prices a little deeper to hook a potentially valuable customer.”
He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to argue.
“And Daniel, Tara's right. You can't take such a deep discount that we lose too much money. You're a gifted salesman. I think you can talk them up another five percent on the fleet cost. What do you think?”
“I can try,” Daniel said stiffly.
“Good. Now, I'm going to insist you two go to lunch together on the company. Get to know each other a bit. You might find out there's a lot to like.”
“Hah,” mumbled Tara .
What Daniel mumbled was a lot worse.
* * *
“I want to strangle you. And I want to sleep with you,” Daniel said over antipasto at a trendy seafood restaurant that seemed to be constructed entirely of glass and cedar. “No, wait. I'm not into necrophilia. I want to sleep with you and strangle you.”
Tara bit into a melt-in-your-mouth-perfect scallop. “Me, too. In our work hours I mostly want to hurt you.”
“And outside work?”
She sighed, thinking of their magic night together. “Not.”
“Me, too.”
He ate another prawn. “You know, Giles has a point. We should try to work together better.”
“But how can I work with you when you insist on dumping every other item in miscellaneous?”
“And how can I negotiate a deal if I have to worry about you hanging on to every nickel?”
They glared at each other.
“It's hopeless.”
“Let's talk about something else.”
She sipped ice water. There was something she'd been wondering about since the other night, but it had become particularly relevant since they'd booked a second night together. “Are you seeing anyone?”
He chewed slowly and she had a
deep and disturbing desire to lick a speck of melted butter off his lower lip. “I'm seeing you Friday night.”
“I mean—” She crinkled her forehead, feeling hideously uncomfortable and wishing it didn't matter, but it did. “Are you seeing other women? Besides me?” Before he could answer, she babbled on. “I know we're not exactly seeing each other—it's just sex, but I suppose what I'm asking is—”
“Am I having sex with anyone else.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She let out a relieved breath. “Okay.”
A pause stretched into eternity. “What about you? Are you having sex with other men?”
“No!” What did he take her for? She was no saint, but she took her relationships one at a time. Not that they were having a relationship, exactly. At least not one that was like any she'd had before.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
He helped himself from the bread basket. “So, about Friday.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to make it tonight?”
She felt suddenly confused and disoriented. “Do I want to have Friday tonight? It's Wednesday.”
“Do you want to have sex tonight.”
Oh, her body answered that one with a flood of desire so intense she couldn't speak. So she nodded so enthusiastically her chin bashed her chest.
He dug a scrap of paper out of his pocket and scribbled. “Here's my address.”
She pulled out her smart phone and typed in the details then handed the paper back. “That's a Boston taxi receipt,” she said, forcing her tone to remain pleasant. “You'll need it for your expense account.”
“Right.” He shoved it back in his pocket. “We should probably swap phone numbers, too.”
“Why? It's the talking that gets us into trouble.”
He rolled his eyes. “In case we want to have phone sex.”
“Oh.” That sounded interesting. “Okay.”
She grabbed her phone again and he pulled out his. They swapped phones and added themselves to each other’s contact list.
The bill came for lunch and he paid with his credit card and before her horrified gaze, crumpled the receipt and shoved it in his trouser pocket.
“Give me that,” she cried, outraged.
He shot her a puzzled glance, then, with a reluctant grin, retrieved the thin piece of now-mangled paper. “Here.”
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked.
“You’ve got a few hours to come up with something really good.”
Chapter Five
Tara arrived at Daniel's apartment five minutes early, then dithered outside his door thinking she should have timed her arrival better. She'd rather show up fashionably late than appear too eager.
The trouble was she felt too eager. So juiced she couldn't stand still, but shifted from foot to foot, images and impressions of the last time they'd been together crowding her mind.
Oh, the hell with it. So she was a polite person who showed up on time. He could just get over himself if he liked unpunctual women.
Raising her chin a notch, she rapped firmly on the door.
It opened so fast he might have been standing on the other side of it waiting.
That impression was intensified when he grabbed her and yanked her to him. “What took you so long?”
She had time for a smug smile to half form before his mouth was on hers hot and hungry.
Oh, if she thought she'd been restless and turned on standing in the corridor, that was nothing to the scorching heat that now ignited within her body.
Opening her mouth to him, she began twisting and rubbing sinuously against him, not by design. She couldn't help herself. It was as though she were trying to climb right into his skin.
His hands were rubbing, tugging at her through her jacket, both of them too mindless to take the thing off. With a groan of impatience, he tugged her navy skirt up and backed her against the door.
She was practically climbing his body, so it was an easy matter for him to hook one bent knee and drape it over his arm, then reach for her panties and shove them aside while fumbling with the zipper of his jeans.
She heard the ripping of a condom package and gave him extra points for having one so handy. Then his cock was nudging against her.
Except the crotch of her panties was once again in the way.
He made a growling sound in his throat, said, “I owe you one pair of panties,” and then she felt the tug almost at the same time she heard the sound of ripping silk.
She was panting, desperate for him, her hips already rocking in anticipation. And then he was there, thrusting up and into her and she screamed with the overwhelming pleasure.
He thrust deep and hard and she met him thrust for thrust. Their hands were all over each other, mouths kissing, licking, biting every inch of skin they could reach.
She thought someone was knocking on the door, then realized the sound came from her purse, still hooked to her arm, banging in time to their passion.
The door was hard against the back of her head and her spine, but she didn't care. She used the leverage to grind her pelvis against his, driving them both even crazier. She climbed so high and so fast she thought her lungs might burst, then felt as though they did burst, along with the rest of her as she shattered.
Her cries and the instinctive tightening of her muscles around him were enough to provoke Daniel's explosion. His thrusts became frenzied, his muscles rigid, and, to her surprise, it was enough to set her off again so they came together in a panting rush.
There was no way she could speak. In fact, she was only remaining upright because she was sandwiched between Daniel and the door.
She leaned her forehead against the side of his neck and found it damp, felt his pulse pound, echoing her own.
He kissed the top of her head. “Hi. Can I take your coat?”
She chuckled. “I got what I came for,” she said breezily. “I should be going now.”
He rocked gently against her, his cock still deep inside causing aftershocks to ripple through her body. “We've barely started,” he said.
* * *
“How's your account book working?” she asked him later, tucked up against him in bed. Evening had faded to night, but they'd barely noticed, so caught up in exploring each other's bodies, bringing each other pleasure. Just now, she felt that one more orgasm might kill her, but there was a quiet pleasure in lying here, his chest hair tickling her cheek, his heart rate slowing beneath her ear.
His hand, which had been idly tracing circles around her nipple, stilled. “Fine.”
A certain defensiveness in his tone made her wonder just how much he was using his personal ledger. “Let's see.”
“That's private,” he said with a huffiness that sounded contrived. An interesting possibility occurred to her—that he wasn't merely disorganized. He didn't know how to do the most basic accounting.
“Daniel, I know how obscenely overpaid you are. We've seen each other naked, climaxed together—I think you could share your account ledger with me.”
He shifted, his flesh sliding warmly against hers. “I haven't started using it yet.”
“You’re doing it online? Using Excel?”
He shook his head.
She propped her head on her hand and gazed down at his face, trying not to let her amusement show. “You don't have a clue how to keep your books, do you?”
His gaze narrowed and went steely on her, a lone gunfighter up against the posse. She didn't say a word, just raised her eyebrows.
He tried to pull her head down for a kiss, but she resisted. “Do you?”
When she refused his kiss, he must have figured out distraction was hopeless, and gave in. “No.”
She kissed his nose and then rolled out of bed in one smooth motion. “Come on. I'll teach you.”
“Are you one of those interfering women who no sooner gets in a man's pants than she wants to start improving him?”
The robe smelled like Daniel, and wrapping herself in it was like getting a hug from him, which the real Daniel didn't look in any mood to give her right now.
He grumbled, but shrugged into the jeans he'd dumped on the floor. He must feel, as she did, that they were going to wear themselves out if they didn't take a break from the sex. She'd never been so insatiable before. She no sooner felt him slip out of her body, both of them sated and panting, than she wanted him again.
She forced down the desire that raised its sleepy head when she saw him walk toward her bare-chested, his jeans riding low.
Accounting wasn't sexy, not even to Tara, so it seemed the safest occupation while they recovered. Besides, her gift of an account book was useless if the man didn't know how to use it.
She flipped on a light switch and illuminated the glossy walnut dining table she'd coveted herself when she'd seen it in the Ethan Allen catalogue, and seated herself at one of the high-backed chairs. She'd snagged her purse along the way, and pulled out her calculator, then waited patiently while he reluctantly went to a drawer in the matching sideboard, obviously designed to store linens. He eased open the drawer and she saw, not tablecloths and napkins, but a sea of crumpled papers.
The cover of the accounting book was bulging when he dug it out, which gave her hope, but that hope was dashed when she flipped it open to find more receipts stuffed into it and not a single notation in the ledger.
“Right,” she said briskly, already sorting the receipts into piles, knowing she had to perform emergency financial CPR. “I'll need copies of your bank statements, mortgage, taxes, food bills, telephone, life insurance, charitable donations, the works.”
She'd given him the book in the frail hope it might encourage him to turn in accurate expense reports, but somewhere along the way it had become her mission to teach him to organize his entire financial life. Including his personal finances.
“I think we should start with pencil and paper. Then we can upgrade you to the computer.”