“Dance with me,” Kit whispered

Only then did Monica hear from the stage “Blue Christmas”—a slow smoky version meant for snuggling close. She opened her mouth to say no, but her lips wouldn’t form the word. Her body was too busy screaming yes. And in the wake of her indecision, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

He held her gently at her waist, heat resonating from his palms and tingling down to her toes. He kept at a respectable distance, giving the appearance of a polite dance between associates. But there was nothing polite about the hunger in his gaze or the way it made her feel. That was Grade-A carnal, and as they rocked to the music, a giddy dizziness came over her.

“Spend the night with me,” he uttered quietly. “Come with me tonight and let me wake up with you in the morning.”

Immediately, desire waged war with her reason. This was wrong in so many ways. The man was a client, and though there was no corporate policy against dating one, it broke every personal rule she had.

“I’ve got a number of things we didn’t get to Monday night.” Then he bent close and murmured a sampling, making her change her no to a big fat yes.

Dear Reader,

It was nearly three years ago when I read the very first Harlequin Blaze Encounters, Leslie Kelly’s One Wild Wedding Night (a great story and highly recommended by this author!). My first impression was what a fun concept it was—several short stories all intersecting during one special evening. My very next thought was that an office Christmas party would be another ideal setting for such a concept.

Fortunately, my editors agreed.

I’ve worked in an office for almost thirty years now and have been to more corporate functions than I can count. So this was especially fun for me to spend some time imagining what might have been going on under our noses while we were busy grazing the buffet tables.

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please drop me a note and tell me what you think of it at www.LoriBorrill.com.

Happy reading!

Lori Borrill

One Winter’s Night
Lori Borrill

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An Oregon native, Lori Borrill moved to the Bay Area just out of high school and has been a transplanted Californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where she’s been employed for more than twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the baseball field, playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.LoriBorrill.com.

Contents

Prologue

Here Comes Santa Claus

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Sleigh Ride

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

You’re All I Want for Christmas

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Merry Christmas, Baby

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Prologue

“THERE’S EXCITEMENT in the air. Can you feel it?”

Jeannie Carmichael grinned as she surveyed the ballroom she’d spent all day transforming from a sterile beige shell into a festive holiday wonderland.

And she’d done a spectacular job of it, if she didn’t mind saying.

“I mean, I know it’s just an office Christmas party, but—” she shrugged and took a quick sip of her orange soda “—I don’t know. The night feels electric somehow.”

Her coworker Troy Hutchins followed her gaze across the large room as he swallowed down the last of a sweet-and-sour meatball. “Sure. I know what you mean,” he said, though Jeannie suspected he was only humoring her. Troy tended to be agreeable that way.

In truth, she was probably just suffering from a giddy combination of nerves and anticipation. She’d spent weeks arranging this party single-handedly and on a budget slashed in half from the year before. She’d had to get creative with the food and decorations in order to afford the two things everyone insisted were vital: an open bar and entertainment. When Stryker & Associates cut staff in Operations this year, the task of organizing the annual party fell on Jeannie’s plate—as most jobs with no logical home did. Being her first time at it, she’d wanted to make a good impression, and with the purse strings tightened, she’d feared the drop in amenities would end up reflecting poorly on her.

It had been tough to pull off, but so far so good. As she tapped her foot to a perky version of “Here Comes Santa Claus,” she noted that people were laughing and gobbling the food. From the portable stage, Gordy Goodnite, the disc jockey she’d rented, spun plenty of Christmas swing while trying to coax couples onto the dance floor. And Jeannie was certain after another round of drinks, plenty of them would oblige. For the time being, only Hank Ascona shuffled at the edge of the stage while chatting with some of his fellow brokers.

She eyed two people from Accounting pointing to the glittery snowflakes Jeannie had hung from the ceiling. It had been a good idea to dim the lights over the dance floor. It seemed to make them sparkle more, almost as if they were giving off a glimmer all their own.

As she sat at a table and scanned the room, it looked as though everyone was having a good time. Dinner conversations were focused on Leonora’s homemade lumpia and the steamed pork buns from Alan Chan’s family bakery, two treats that took the edge off the fact that the food was potluck this year in lieu of the usual caterer. Jeannie had fretted over it all for weeks, and now felt rather silly for losing so much sleep.

This whole night was going off without a hitch, a fact that tickled her pink. And…well…something really was in the air tonight, adding a special sizzle that mixed with the beat and mingled with the crowd.

“Where’d you get the Santa Claus?” Troy asked.

She glanced back toward the windows where a man in a red tailored suit chatted casually with their CFO, Monica Newell. Though the suit wasn’t the classic fur-trimmed ensemble, and he’d traded in the shiny boots for polished black oxfords, there was no mistaking the man for St. Nick. He had the cherry-red cheeks and snow-white beard, a bag of presents tossed over one shoulder and a candy cane in his hand.

And if that wasn’t enough, he simply looked…jolly.

The man was definitely brought in to spread some cheer, though by whom, she had no idea. He wasn’t in Jeannie’s budget that was for sure.

“I didn’t,” she said, watching the man converse with their executive.

Gordy Goodnite had eaten up all she’d allotted for entertainment, and even if she’d had enough left over to rent a Santa, she couldn’t have gotten someone as pricey-looking as the man standing across the room. She’d seen the standard rental agency hires, and Kris Kringle over there wasn’t one of them. He’d cost someone some serious money, but so far she hadn’t been able to think of who. Whenever she’d spotted the man, by the time she’d made her way through the crowd, he’d disappeared. It was almost eerie the way he could be there one minute, then suddenly vanish like snowflakes on asphalt the next.

“I’ve got no idea what he’s doing here,” she added. But certainly before the evening was over, she intended to find out. Though she hadn’t seen him so much as sneak a cookie, she knew he was either a party crasher or someone’s special guest. If he was the former, she’d get rid of him. And if he was the latter, she’d like to know who to thank for the unexpected help.

Troy shrugged it off and went back to his plate. “Stryker probably hired him.”

“That doesn’t seem likely. If he wanted a Santa he would have had me arrange it. It’s strange.” She picked up a carrot stick and nibbled it absently. “He’s not an employee. That beard is most definitely for real. But I can’t see who would have hired him. Do you think maybe he’s related to someone?”

“Why don’t you go over and ask him?”

Jeannie made a face. “Not while he’s talking to Monica. That woman scares me.”

“Monica Newell?”

“Yes. I only go near her when I absolutely have to.”

Troy scoffed. “She’s just a little stiff. She’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? You heard she wouldn’t let anyone in Finance wear shorts to the company picnic. She said it wasn’t professional and wouldn’t be tolerated as long as she was in charge.”

Troy smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I heard that.”

“And then Mr. Stryker himself shows up in cargo shorts.”

Troy chuckled as she studied the woman, standing straight as a soldier, not a hair out of place in her cream-colored wool slacks and red turtleneck sweater. The outfit was exactly Monica—festive but perfectly understated without a solitary adornment that might be mistaken for frivolity. Or fun. In Jeannie’s opinion, the ensemble would have been much improved with a colorful Christmas-tree brooch or maybe some jingle-bell earrings. With Monica’s short cropped hair and sharp angular face, jingle-bell earrings would have made her look cute. Human. Like she might actually be approachable or something.

“I heard she fired someone for being three minutes late to a meeting,” Jeannie added.

Troy winced. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Well, I don’t intend to find out firsthand. I avoid that woman like bleach on jeans. I’ll catch up with Santa later.”

Jeannie turned her attention back to all that was fun and exciting about the evening, opting not to worry about Ice Queens and Santa Clauses for now. In a way, tonight was her night, her chance to shine after spending three years working hard to keep the company’s engine running while her coworkers took the spotlight. At a seemingly endless stream of company functions and quarterly meetings, she’d smiled, cheered and clapped as the agents celebrated sales, as accountants were applauded for successful audits and year-end closes, as IT lauded new system releases. As an admin in Operations, her work was never celebrated even though it was the clerical staff like her that helped the others be so successful.

Jeannie’s father would probably tell her a job is a place to earn money, not praise, but just once, she wanted to know what it was like to be on the receiving end of that simple recognition. That wasn’t selfish, was it?

“Speaking of catching up later, I, um, was wondering if one of these days you’d like to—” Troy began, but she didn’t hear the rest. At that moment, Gordy stopped the music and announced that their CEO, Mr. Stryker, was taking the stage to make a speech.

Jeannie smoothed her hair and checked her clothing, wanting to make sure she didn’t have brownie crumbs on her reindeer sweater when Mr. Stryker turned all eyes to her in thanks for arranging the party.

“Are Rudolph’s noses blinking?” she whispered to Troy, turning her face close to his so he could get a good look at her earrings.

He blushed and stuttered before finally understanding what she was talking about. “The earrings,” he said. “Yeah, they’re blinking.”

“Thanks,” she whispered then turned her attention back to Stryker and his speech.

“Did everyone survive the snowstorm?” Mr. Stryker asked the crowd. “I don’t know about you, but every day that I have to shovel snow makes me wish I had a shorter driveway.”

Laughter swept through the room and someone behind her muttered, “Like Stryker actually shovels his own snow.”

A couple people chuckled to themselves but Jeannie ignored it and listened intently.

“Although, some of us are smarter than others,” Stryker went on. “Monica got stuck in Florida, the poor thing, having to deal with all that sunshine while we were snowshoeing our way through Chicago.”

About half the crowd laughed while Monica stood there, a pasted smile chiseled on her face. It looked as though she’d lost the pricey Santa, but was quickly inheriting his rosy red cheeks.

“They’d closed O’Hare,” she defended, apparently not understanding that he was only making a joke, but Jeannie didn’t think Mr. Stryker heard her. Instead of responding he started in about a holiday trip from hell his family had taken back when his son, John Junior, was in grade school.

John, now grown and second in command at Stryker & Associates, stood near the stage, interjecting occasionally as his father told the story, and while they spoke, Jeannie smiled and waited patiently.

“Anyway,” the man finally concluded, “I don’t want to ruin a good party by talking too much. But we are only a couple weeks from year-end, and there are some people I want to recognize tonight.”

Jeannie folded her hands in her lap and straightened in her seat.

“Where’s Nick Castle?” Stryker said, and from a spot near the bar, Nick called back, “Right here, Chairman!”

Nick was one of the few sales agents daring enough to give Mr. Stryker a nickname. And from what Jeannie understood, he was one of the few who got away with it. Looking at the man, she suspected he got away with plenty. Nick had the charm, good looks and sharp wit to make a fast path directly to the head of the line. Some people even gossiped that he was better equipped than John Jr. to take over the company, but of course, Jeannie would never repeat it. John Jr. was sweet and kind. He always smiled and said hi when she passed him in the halls, and she liked that he was part of the company even though sometimes it didn’t look as though he wanted to be.

“Does this make three years in a row or four?” Mr. Stryker asked, and Nick shrugged as though he had no idea what the man was referring to.

“It seems to keep happening, anyway,” Mr. Stryker went on. “Nick Castle is ending another year as our top selling insurance agent.”

People clapped and cheered as Nick took a bow, accepting the pats and handshakes he’d worked hard for—and Jeannie recalled a trip to Maui was also part of the prize. The sales force had always been the crown jewel of the company.

Stryker continued down the list of sales awards then moved on to announcements in the middle market, a few milestone anniversaries and some preliminary year-end results, before finally finishing with, “So that’s it. There’s good food, music, plenty of drinks. Let’s get on with the celebration!”

Then she watched as he handed the microphone back to Gordy Goodnite and stepped down from the stage.

As the voice of Bing Crosby filled the room with Christmas cheer, the words repeated in her thoughts.

A job is where you go to make money, not praise.

It did little to ease the lump in her throat or the weight of disappointment from her shoulders, and as she sat there still holding her hands in her lap, she fought the urge to run out of the room in tears.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. After all, it wasn’t like people didn’t know who organized the party. She’d sent out questionnaires and was the recipient of the RSVP list. Everyone in this room knew she was the one to make all this happen, so she really hadn’t needed Stryker to restate the obvious.

She took a breath and the lump eased a little.

Of course, everyone appreciated her efforts, she reassured herself. The night was young, and she’d spent most of it either handling the last-minute details or sitting on the sidelines watching it go by. If she just got up and mingled a bit, she’d get plenty of the thanks she’d hoped for.

“So, anyway,” Troy began, “as I was saying. I was wondering if—” He cleared his throat.

“Jeannie, the bartender’s asking for you.” Jeannie looked up to see one of the accounting managers standing over her. “He’s got questions as to how much to serve, things like that. You might want to get over there.”

“Sure.” She glanced at Troy as she rose from her seat. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Troy shook it off. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He smiled. “Go do your stuff, Chairman.”

She studied his face for a moment—he was handsome, in a shy, clumsy kind of way. Troy was a nice man and she appreciated his cute words of support.

“Thanks, Troy,” she said, forcing a smile on her face to drown out the remnants of disappointment. And then she went off to do what she did best.

Here Comes Santa Claus

1

“OUR FAMILY PHOTO IS scheduled for Thursday afternoon, so I’ll need you at the house by twelve at the latest.”

Monica Newell sat at her big mahogany desk in her office on the thirty-seventh floor of Chicago’s Willis Tower listening to her mother go over the holiday plans.

“Remember, we’re all wearing green this year,” her mother went on. “You got the color swatch I sent, right?”

“Yes, it came in the mail last week.”

“Make sure you find the right shade.” Her mother added hopefully, “Or you could let me pick out a sweater for you. Really, that would be so much easier.”

“I can pick out my own sweater,” Monica affirmed, though it was likely pointless. She suspected her mother had already bought the perfect green sweater for the family photo and had it on hand in case whatever Monica showed up with was deemed unsuitable. Perfection was Phyllis Newell’s way. Monica may have earned the position of chief financial officer for one of Chicago’s oldest insurance agencies, but that title held no rank when pitted against the Newell family matriarch.

“If you must,” Phyllis said through a sigh. “Just make sure you don’t buy a V-neck. You know how unflattering they look on you.”

Monica smiled tightly. “Of course.”

She made notes as her mother continued to jot off the holiday schedule—five days of meticulously arranged events that would keep the entire family busy through the holidays. The way Phyllis treated the Christmas season one would think the earth would implode if a single toast was so much as missed. Everything had to go a certain way and everyone had to be there. If not—well, up to this point, no one had dared to find out what would happen.

“On Friday we have to move up Christmas Eve brunch an hour because your father has a call to China he apparently can’t get out of,” Phyllis went on, the disappointment clear in her tone. “And did I tell you that Michael didn’t get that big account he’s been working on?”

“No, I hadn’t heard.”

Monica’s brother owned a commercial real estate firm in Manhattan and had been spending the past six months trying to nail down a sales contract with a large downtown developer.

“Be a dear and don’t mention it,” Phyllis said. “It’s a sensitive subject and the holidays are a time for cheer.”

“I won’t.”

As her mother went on Monica eyed the crystal clock on her desk. The company Christmas party had started almost an hour ago. By now, even John Stryker would be there taking inventory of the staff. She didn’t want to be the only executive missing from the room. John felt company functions played an important role in fostering teamwork at Stryker & Associates. Employees bowing out—particularly anyone on his senior leadership team—were highly frowned upon.

“So you’ll be flying into LaGuardia when?” Phyllis asked.

“I’m hoping for Wednesday night, but it might be Thursday morning.”

“You should come in Wednesday. I’d hate to have you looking harried for the photo after trying to rush here Thursday morning, and you never know what traffic could be like on 95.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She listened patiently as her mother went over the last few details then promised to call back next week to further finalize the plans, and after the two women shared goodbyes, Monica was done for the day, finally able to head upstairs to the company’s holiday party.

Quickly, she touched up her makeup and made her way to the makeshift ballroom, pleased to see the party was just starting. People were still getting their food and eating, which meant she hadn’t missed anything important. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped into the room, tossing off a few casual greetings to her associates and making her presence known.

Her assistant, Laura, slid up beside her. “You made it. I was about to come up and see if you needed a hand.”

“I had to tie up some loose ends, but I think I’m done for the day.”

“Good. Come eat.”

Laura led her to the buffet table, where the two women picked up plates and surveyed the selections.

Laura pointed to various items. “Get some of Leonora’s lumpia before it goes. They’re delicious. The meatballs are sweet and sour, and that custard-looking thing is an egg dish Carol Peterson brought in.”

Monica crinkled her nose. “What’s in it?”

“Vegetables and some kind of meat. Pork, maybe. I’m not sure, but people have said it’s good.”

Monica picked up a lumpia but decided to pass on the custard. Instead, she searched the table for something more recognizable when her eyes zeroed in on a familiar white box with a signature LB logo on top.

She gasped. “Are those petits fours from Lady Baltimore?”

She opened the lid and the little chocolate delights winked back.

“Nick Castle brought those.”

Nick, you prince.

She set one on her plate, bit her lip and dared to take one more. In her world, chocolate was a precious gem and Lady Baltimore petits fours were the Hope Diamond. Her opinion of the buffet table was definitely perking up.

She picked through the rest of the buffet then spent the next half hour mingling with the staff and chatting with her managers. By the time Monica finished eating and swallowing down a glass of white wine, she found herself alone by the windows reflecting on this past week of deadlines and snowstorms and the rush to scramble together preliminary year-end reports she’d be spending her weekend reviewing. It had been a stressful week. But it had sure started out well, hadn’t it?

A faint smile curved her lips as she recalled her trip to Florida and the Chicago snowstorm that had left her stranded at JAX and spending the night in an airport hotel.

In the arms of the sexy cowboy she’d met only hours before.

She tingled just thinking about him, not only from the memory of how he’d masterfully pleasured her body, but also by the sheer lasciviousness of having a one-night stand with a virtual stranger. Her mother would faint at the notion, not to mention the bulk of her staff, most of whom looked up to her as the model of ultraprofessionalism.

Up until Monday night, Monica hadn’t been the type to engage in such a sexual tryst—with a common Texas ranch hand, no less! She’d fit sex and relationships very neatly into her life much like she organized her closets and set aside time for yoga. Men had always been carefully selected from an assortment of business associates and partners in the industry. And while each and every one of them had been logical and well-suited, none had stirred the coals like the Stetson-wearing stranger she’d met in the airport lounge.

It had been such a primal night of lust, unearthing passion so hot it had literally scared her into fleeing in the wee hours of the morning, leaving only a terse note of thanks for the good time.

It was shameless, really. She would never treat an acquaintance so dismissively, much less a man she’d made love to, but she’d panicked. She’d never had stranger sex before, had no idea how to handle the morning after, so instead of tackling the situation with the same confident professionalism she held in the boardroom, she’d ducked out like a frightened teen, too awkward and embarrassed to do anything more.

But if she had, if maybe she’d walked away with a phone number or a way to get back in touch, she might have reserved the chance to meet up with her mystery cowboy again. Instead, her secret lover would have to remain a most delectable memory.

And, oh, what a memory.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

Monica pulled her thoughts to the present and looked up at the man in the red silk Santa suit.

“I am, thank you,” she replied, raising a brow as she noted his appearance. He was an interesting rendition of Santa Claus, for sure, presumably hired by Jeannie as entertainment for the party.

The man moved his gaze over the room. “It’s quite a festive night with all the lovely decorations, glorious food and sparkling music. Yet you look as though you’re hundreds of miles away.”

She crooked her mouth into a half smile. “Yes, I suppose for a moment I was.”

He touched a hand to his full white beard. “Ah, to be many places at once. It’s a common wish during the holidays.” He handed her a candy cane, one of those cheap miniature ones sealed in a cellophane wrapper, and asked, “And if you could be anywhere this Christmas, where would you be?”

She considered all her choices—at home curled up on her couch with a cozy fire and a good book, back in Connecticut with her family, or maybe sharing a girls’ weekend with her good friend Connie up in Ontario. But when she opened her mouth, the place most prominently on her mind tumbled from her lips.

“I’d love to be back in Florida.”

He placed his palms to his fat belly and let out a roll of jolly laughter, just like every Santa in the movies. “Ah, yes, Florida. The state with plenty of warm days…and even warmer nights, eh?”

Her eyes widened. Had she heard him right? It was hard to tell over the music, but the knowing gleam in those bright blue eyes said she hadn’t misunderstood.

“I’m afraid there’s no room in my sleigh for travelers,” he went on. “I can’t take you to Florida, but I might be able to bring a little of Florida here to you.”

He winked then glanced out the window, and she followed his gaze, half expecting the dark night sky to open up to bright sunshine while rows of fluffy palm trees sprouted along Lake Michigan. He was a strange man and it was an even stranger comment, passing between them like a shared secret as if somehow this odd rental agency hire knew exactly what she’d been doing Monday night. But that was impossible. No one knew about the affair. She hadn’t told her closest friend, much less anyone at the office.

She shook her head and brushed it off, feeling certain it was the culmination of a hectic week getting the best of her. Besides, she’d just been thinking about her Texan lover. It would be natural to put innuendo into anything the gentleman said. She assured herself it meant nothing, and that settled her nerves until she turned back to find him gone.

She darted her eyes around the room but he was nowhere. It was as if he’d disappeared. If it weren’t for the candy cane still in her hand, she’d think the whole encounter had been a figment of her imagination, brought on by her tired state or maybe a bit of bad meat from that potluck buffet. But there it was in her hand, proof that the odd conversation truly happened.

Just then, the music stopped and John Stryker took the stage to begin his annual year-end speech, and as he spoke, her mind wandered to the jolly Santa’s words.

Warm days and even warmer nights?

She might have passed it off as an innocuous comment if it hadn’t been for the “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” look in his eyes. But how could anyone have possibly known what she’d done?

“I don’t know about you, but every day that I have to shovel snow makes me wish I had a shorter driveway,” John said from the stage, though she only half heard him, distracted by what was on her mind. It wasn’t until he added, “Monica got stuck in Florida, the poor thing,” that she glanced up startled and embarrassed as though, like the Santa, everyone in the room could read her thoughts and knew exactly what she’d done on her trip.

“They’d closed O’Hare,” she stuttered, having no idea why she felt the need to defend herself. Nonetheless, the shrill in her voice drew half the room’s attention to her, and now many were still staring at her, all wide-eyed and flustered, surely wondering if she’d lost her mind.

This was ridiculous. Her conversation with that silly Santa had set her off and now she was acting like a fool. As casually as possible, she ducked out of the party and down the hall to the bathroom, where she took a long breath and dabbed cold water on her face.

It was childish, carrying on like this over a one-night stand. So she’d had sex with a stranger. Women did it every day. And as a strong, successful executive in the business world, shouldn’t she be able to enjoy a spicy night of pleasure without being overcome with guilt and fearing public scandal?

Okay, so maybe hot sweaty sex wasn’t normally her style. Maybe her traditional prep-school upbringing had embedded in her a sense of propriety that didn’t mesh well with steamy encounters with blue-collar working men. But hadn’t she managed to deprogram most of those antiquated notions from her life?

Monday night, she certainly had. She’d found a man who was too sexy to deny, passionate and fiery, with a gritty smile and big brown eyes a girl could lose herself in. Kit Baldwin had been a riot in the lounge and a magician between the sheets, and she’d enjoyed every second of that flaming night in his arms.

It was only when he’d told her he’d wanted her number before drifting off to sleep that she’d felt the clash of her prim and tidy world closing in on her. And in a sudden move of panic, she’d gathered her things and skipped out into the night.

Proof that she wasn’t as pulled together as she’d like to believe.

And now she was standing here in the bathroom trying to fight off an overwhelming sense of indecency. What on earth was wrong with her?

Get a grip, Monica. It was just really good sex, for goodness’ sake. And as for Kit, the man has surely forgotten all about you by now.

It was time she forgot about him.

She closed her eyes and restored her senses, taking calming breaths until she felt soothed and ready to go back to the party. It was that weird Santa Claus, she assured herself. There’d been something strange about the man and it had knocked her off her game—momentarily. But she was ready to take charge again. Feeling refreshed, she checked herself over in the mirror then headed back to the party.

She spent the next hour mingling with the employees, talking business and holiday plans. She congratulated Nick on winning this year’s sales award and offered her thanks to those members of her staff who were working hard to meet the year-end deadlines. With the music and chatter and wine, she’d all but forgotten about Florida and her steamy night of passion. So she was completely unguarded by the time she heard John’s voice over her shoulder.

“Monica, if you’ve got a second, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

Without hesitation, she turned and smiled, only to find herself staring into a set of familiar big brown eyes.

“Monica Newell, this is one of my favorite clients, Kit Baldwin.” John gestured to Kit. “Kit, meet our chief financial officer, Monica Newell.”

2

KIT GRINNED AS HE shook Monica’s hand, disappointed to see shock in those beautiful green eyes instead of the delighted surprise he’d hoped for, but he wasn’t deterred. Good fortune was following him tonight, and he was pretty sure that by the end of the evening, he’d turn that panicked expression into the sultry look he preferred.

“Ms. Newell, it’s a pleasure,” he offered brightly.

“Mr. Baldwin,” she replied, nervously darting her eyes between the two men.

“Kit’s been a long-time client of ours,” John said.

“A client,” she chirped, her grip tightening at the word client. She held her mouth in a tight-lipped smile that didn’t do much to hide the fright in her eyes, but only Kit seemed to notice. Without so much as a curious glance, John remained oblivious as he went on with the introductions.

“Kit owns Shelley Ranch.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “I’m familiar with that account.”

“It was named after my mother,” Kit explained.

Some of the color was returning to her cheeks but it wasn’t a friendly shade. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t explained his connection to Stryker & Associates when he’d met her in the lounge Monday night. By the time they’d gotten to the subject of their careers, he’d already been half-crazy about her, bound and determined to spend some quality time with the sharp and sexy brunette. So when she’d mentioned the company she worked for and he’d clued in to the coincidence, he decided against revealing any pesky detail that might have stuck a pitchfork in his plans.

Judging by the look on her face, it probably hadn’t been a good move.

“Kit called to say he was in town,” John went on, “so I invited him to come join the party.”

She pulled her hand away and fisted it at her side. “How lucky for us.”

The corporate smile pasted on her face had grown so taut Kit feared her lips might split apart. She was holding up a decent front, but he knew as soon as he got her alone, he’d be facing some sharp words. And that was okay by him. He had a few questions of his own, starting with why she’d pulled a disappearing act on him Monday night.

It certainly wasn’t because she’d been having a dull time. Kit didn’t claim to be a psychic between the sheets, but he knew a satisfied woman when he saw her. Ms. Newell hadn’t ducked out for lack of pleasure, so why she’d fled at all remained left to be explained.

As if luck kept answering his call tonight, a young man stepped up to John’s side and muttered something about a call, prompting John to turn to Monica. “I need to handle this. Do you think you could show Kit to the bar and see that he gets a drink?” He gestured to the buffet. “There’s food if you’re hungry.”

Kit grinned. “Don’t worry about me. I’m easily entertained.”

As soon as John stepped away Monica’s chiseled smile vanished.

“A client?” she choked out under her breath. “You said you were a ranch hand.”

“I said I worked on a ranch. You saw the scuffed boots and jeans and assumed that part yourself.”

“You own the ranch.”

He slipped her a friendly wink. “I hope that doesn’t ruin the fantasy.”

Her cheeks reddened and he almost thought she’d slap him, but he was saved by a couple who’d unwittingly moved within earshot, forcing her to step aside.

“You should have told me,” she snapped after they’d taken a few steps away. “You knew I worked here yet you didn’t say a thing.”

“Would you have still spent the night with me?”

“Absolutely not!”

He shrugged. “Then I’m glad I kept my mouth shut.”

Another group wandered into their space and in a huff, Monica gestured toward the bar. “I’ll get you that drink, then you can tell me what you’re doing here.”

He followed her across the room, making use of the opportunity to appreciate that fine figure of hers. It was especially sweet from behind. The woman was tall and slim, a bit thinner than he preferred, but he suspected that came from too much work and too little fun—something he intended to rectify if he got what he came for tonight. Even so, she had it all right where he liked it. Put that together with razor-sharp smarts and fiery Irish blood and Monica Newell was exactly the type of woman he’d been waiting for.

He only needed to get her interested. Not a small task considering she was mad as hell, but Kit always had loved a challenge.

He ordered a scotch and she settled for wine, then they stepped to the windows, away from the crowd but not so far as to appear too intimate. Before she could scold him some more, he casually leaned close and asked, “What are you wearing under those sexy white slacks?”

Her eyes popped wide as saucers.

“Tell me it’s not the white lacy thing you were wearing Monday night.”

A wisp of recognition crossed her features, coloring those wide eyes and hinting at raw desire, but she quickly tamped it down. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for a repeat performance.”

“And you couldn’t have simply called? You obviously knew how to find me.”

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”

Those angry eyes narrowed. “Oh, so you enjoy watching me sweat.”

He flashed his sexiest smile. “No, but I enjoy making you sweaty.”

She opened her mouth then closed it, then opened it again but still didn’t say a word. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a distant glimmer of amusement strike the corner of her mouth but it was forced out by her stubborn determination.

“I want to see you again,” he said, opting to get straight to the point of this visit.

He didn’t know why Monica had taken off Monday night, but after the night they’d shared, he wasn’t going to let her go without an argument. Even before they’d hit the hotel room, they’d been having a good time. In a matter of a couple short hours, he’d grown intrigued by her smarts and sharp wit, the quirky contrast between her ingrained manners and confident authority. She was a rare type who could strike a strong man down without a flinch yet still probably know the proper way to address the Queen of England. A cobra disguised as a doe, curious, complicated, and about the only woman he’d ever met who’d interested him enough to go running after.

And now that he’d found her, he wouldn’t be quick to walk away.

“That’s impossible,” she said.

He took a sip of his drink and spoke over the glass. “On the contrary, I’ve got a hotel room downtown. Unless you’d be more comfortable at your place—though that would make it hard for you to pull another great escape again.”

“There will be no repeat,” she insisted under her breath.

“Why not? According to Stryker you’re not married.”

She gasped. “You asked Mr. Stryker if I was married?”

“I needed to know if I had a fighting chance. You still owe me an explanation for cutting out on me, by the way. I get that you’re upset by me showing up like this tonight, but if you’d left me something more than ‘thanks for the good time,’ I might have just picked up the phone and called.”

Finally, those flames in her eyes gave way to something a little more promising. It looked a lot like guilt, something he wasn’t above exploiting if it got him the girl.

“You’re right,” she said. “I owe you an apology for that.”

“I’ve got a number of ways you can repay me.”

“Stop!” Her mouth quirked as though she were forcing back a grin, and it was then he knew he had her. He’d expected he might receive a brisk chill showing up the way he had tonight. He’d feared he would hit solid ice along with the harsh reality that the special spark that had ignited between them had been entirely one-sided. But despite her attempt at affront, it was obvious the woman was pleased to see him, leaving him relieved and more determined than ever to see where this might go.

He bent in and whispered close to her ear. “That’s not what you were saying Monday night.”

MONICA TRIED TO STAND firm, holding on to her anger for support, but darn if Kit wasn’t getting to her using that sexy drawl and sparkling smile to chip away at her resolve. He’d slipped under her usual defenses with ease back at the airport, charming her out of her clothes before she could ask “your room or mine?” And now, with a hundred reasons to keep him at arm’s length, she was once again biting back flutters and wondering if maybe she could indulge just one more time.

“I can’t believe you discussed my personal life with my employer,” she said, working hard to remind herself why this man was a walking hazard.

How could she ever maintain Mr. Stryker’s respect if her love life became public knowledge—with a client, no less!

Stryker & Associates was a reputable and desirable firm to work for, but it was entirely old-school. Monica was the first woman to be appointed to the board of directors and still the only one holding a chair. She’d shattered a glass ceiling most considered impenetrable, and she’d done it by being better than the rest and remaining staunchly professional on the job. The female junior executives here looked up to her as inspiration for what they could achieve. She’d accomplished what others hadn’t, but along with that accomplishment went a responsibility she couldn’t take lightly.

And cavorting with a long-time client topped the list of dim-witted behavior.

“I only casually mentioned to John that I thought you were pretty and asked if you were spoken for,” Kit explained. “How wonderful you feel naked is my business alone.”

She felt an ulcer forming in her stomach. The man was so furiously composed, so absent of propriety, that it made her want to spit nails. Yet quite pathetically, it was that same dry sense of humor and boyish disregard for protocol that made him so ridiculously attractive.

As much as she hated to admit it, she’d liked that he was upbeat, reckless and fun—pretty much everything she wasn’t. And just like she had Monday night in the lounge, she was having trouble keeping her distance. Even now, with her fingers itching to strangle him senseless, she was alternately pleased to see him. Like some helpless romantic, she was actually thrilled that he’d come chasing after her, even though she hadn’t liked his methods.

“Relax,” he assured her. “John has no idea we’ve even met. In fact, if you’d like I’ll tell him I made a pass and you struck me down like lightning.” He rubbed his chin. “Though that means we can’t invite him to the wedding.”

She let out an exasperated breath, not just from his inability to take this seriously but by the fact that his silly jokes actually charmed her. He was definitely not the type of man she ever thought she’d fall for—not that she was admitting such a notion now. Only that if she was to get serious about someone, she’d always assumed it would be with someone more…serious.

Despite it all, she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering along the lines of that strong stubbled jaw, over those talented lips, down that broad, muscled chest and beyond, gathering memories of their blissful night every step of the way. He’d been good. Really good. And now he was back, all sexy and confident and asking to do it again. How did she stand a chance against that?

“Dance with me,” he muttered through a gaze just as steamy as her thoughts.

Only then did she hear the music from the stage—“Blue Christmas,” a slow smoky version meant for snuggling close. She opened her mouth and tried to say no but her lips wouldn’t form the words. Her body was too busy screaming yes. And in the wake of her indecision, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

He held her gently at her waist, heat resonating from his palms and tingling down to her toes. He kept at a respectable distance, giving the appearance of a polite dance among associates to the common bystander. But there was nothing polite about the hunger in his gaze or the way it made her feel. That was Grade A carnal and primal, and as they rocked to the music, a giddy dizziness came over her.

“Spend the night with me,” he uttered quietly. “Come with me tonight and let me wake up with you in the morning.”

Immediately, desire waged war with her senses. This was wrong in so many ways. The man was a client, and though there was no corporate policy against dating clients, it broke every personal rule she had.

“I’ve got a number of things we didn’t get to Monday night.” Then he bent close and whispered a sampling, spreading heat through her veins.

Stop it, Monica, she insisted through the fog. You’ve got a thousand reasons why going home with Kit Baldwin would be a horrible idea. Though off the top of her head, she couldn’t recall a single one. His woodsy aftershave kept flooding her senses with the memory of his body in hers, how deliciously wonderful he’d felt and how much she’d ached to have him again. She’d been so easily seduced by his rugged good looks and fun, casual style. It was as if he’d found a switch he could turn on with a flick of his finger. She’d thought she was a stronger woman, presumed she’d end up the one in control of her relationships, yet here she was a second time, entranced by his simple touch and helpless against his wicked offerings.

From the corner of her eye she spotted John Stryker stepping back into the room, and his attention on her and Kit should have been a sign that she needed to gather her senses and walk away. But with Kit’s gorgeous brown eyes pointed in her direction—and promising undiluted pleasure—her good intentions crumbled under the weight of lust and greed.

“Okay,” she heard herself utter. “Let’s get out of here.”

3

“WHERE’S YOUR BEDROOM?”

Kit stepped through the entry and into the living room of Monica’s high-rise apartment and scanned the layout as he went. The furnishings were exactly as he’d expected—sleek, orderly, with touches of Asia and Europe that looked authentic but not decorative. Oversize windows offered a view of the Chicago skyline that would be nice to relax to someday, but right now he had a more urgent need—namely getting naked with a stunning brunette as quickly as possible.

“You wouldn’t care for a drink first? ‘My, what a fine night this is? Nice place you’ve got here?’” Monica teased.

He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close. “You underestimate how badly I want you.” Then he showed her by cupping her cheek and closing his mouth over hers.

With that one connection his spirit righted, placed back on its axis after being knocked off-kilter Monday night. Something had clicked that night, a feeling that he’d found something special, and despite his efforts to put their encounter in the past, he’d realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t going to happen.

He liked Monica Newell. He didn’t know how it could feel so solid in a single night together, but he’d known she was the one he wanted. And when Kit felt something this sure, he wasn’t going to let it go.

He slid his hands up under her sweater and found skin, then groaned at the pure luxury of the silky feel beneath his fingers. He loved the fact that her long legs squared her body with his—thighs against thighs, breasts against chest, heat against heat—and he loved her tender response when all those parts came together. He clasped her waist and made her shiver, touched her breasts and made her moan, hungry need boiling through him with every simple press. He hardened instantly, slipped his palms down around her ass and pulled her close against his erection, and she sighed.

“How do you get me so hot so fast?” she whispered against his lips.

For the first time in his life, he had no witty comeback. Truth was he’d wondered the same thing and had come up with nothing other than this must be what genuine need felt like.

With quick fingers, he unclasped her slacks, letting them drop from her waist where they pooled around her feet. And when he tucked a hand into her panties he nearly lost himself from the wet readiness that greeted him.

He muttered off a curse, slipped a finger where his cock ached to follow, and the breathy gasp that escaped her throat propelled him into action. He ground against her, smoothing his fingers over the soft spot between her legs, not intending to move so quickly but unable to stop the momentum. He dropped to his knees, pulling her red laced panties down with him, and when her musky scent of sex filled his nostrils he couldn’t help but dip in for a taste.

He nibbled at her mound, taking light bites and pressing kisses to the inner flesh of her thighs, trying to tease her slowly and draw out the pleasure, but the burn for more kept pushing him to drive harder. Helpless against it, he slipped his tongue between her folds, feeling a surge of pleasure when her clit pulsed against his tongue and she groaned in ecstasy.

Her long, slim fingers tangled in his hair, nudging him against her and coaxing him to keep going, as if he’d needed the prod. He’d started something he couldn’t stop, and with desire doing the driving, he dove in and stroked her sex.

Greedily, he kissed and sucked and licked, her fists clasping him hard as her legs began to tremble. Her sweet taste fueled him, urging him on with the scent of impending climax that absorbed through his lungs and pooled heavy in his loin. Her breath came out in pants, growing shallow and dire with every lap of his tongue. And when her tender flesh swelled against his lips, he grabbed her hips and held tight.

Her release was swift and hard, quaking through her body and shooting pulse after pulse of sensation straight to his cock. He’d always enjoyed pleasuring a woman, but this one seemed to give him an extra dose of satisfaction. There was something empowering in taking that staunchly held control and crumbling it down to raw lust. And when he did, the woman he found underneath excited and seduced him.

She slid to her knees and settled against him, neither of them having the strength to move to the bedroom. Instead, he pulled her red sweater over her head and tossed it aside, then guided her down to the carpet right where they’d stood.

His heart beat like thunder, need straining against his jeans as he yanked a condom from his pocket and quickly went to work shucking his clothes. With the flush of orgasm still coloring her cheeks, those green eyes remained hungry, prompting him to keep going as she unclasped her bra and bared herself to him.

He bent in and took her modest breast in his mouth, unable to deny himself for the briefest of moments as he released the last button of his shirt and tossed it aside. Sex was supposed to satisfy a soul, but when it came to Monica, all it seemed to do was leave him greedy. The more he took the more he ached, one climax only fueling the need for another. So with the last of the barriers tossed aside, he quickly sheathed himself and rose over her.

She eyed his stiff shaft and uttered, “Yes,” spreading her thighs and arching her back to receive him. And through the rawness in her voice, he saw the inner soul of this sharply mannered executive, the bare woman underneath the corporate facade. She was sexy as hell, and he relished his power to uncover her, to draw out that piece that she kept so tidily wrapped up to everyone else.

He slipped between her legs and pushed inside, nearly bursting as he watched that sensual woman unravel. Those lustrous lips parted as the length of him filled her, thrusting deep until his cock was fully seated. And when he began to rock and stroke, a warm calm smoothed her sharp features.

He pressed his lips to hers and let their bodies tangle together, grinding toward a climax that would take them both over the edge. He rolled her over on top of him, taking her breasts in his hands as she rode him, that lustrous heat encasing him and pushing him to the brink as those emerald eyes soaked up his gaze. This was a connection more than sex, he knew. He’d felt it that first night and sensed it again, something strong crossing between them. And when release found them and their bodies crashed together, he knew she felt it, too. It was desire beyond attraction, want that bordered on obsession. And something he had no intention of walking away from.

He rolled back over and drove the last of the climax until his body was sated, heart thudding wildly against her breast and his lips gently stroking the sensitive space under her ear. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, neither speaking, only breathing and basking in the pleasure of their union. And only when he feared his weight crushing her did he roll to his side and draw her close, cradling her head on his shoulder and closing her into his arms.

“I still don’t know where your bedroom is,” he muttered.

Her smoky laugh brushed warmly across his chest. “You did fine without it.”

“That was just a warm-up.” He tugged her chin up to his and kissed her on the lips. “For everything else I’ve got planned, I think we’ll want to get more comfortable.”

“WHAT DO YOU DO FOR fun, Monica?” Kit asked as the two lay in her bed sharing a glass of cognac.

“You mean, besides picking up strange men in airport lounges?”

He winced. “I’d like to think that’s not a common pastime.”

She reached over him and set the glass on the nightstand then sidled up close, resting her head on his broad shoulder and circling her leg around his. It was nearing 10:00 p.m. and they were entering their third hour of naked bliss. Monica would have called it record-breaking sex if Kit hadn’t already treated her to a marathon evening four nights earlier. Up against that, tonight was simply par for a very delicious course—one she wouldn’t mind playing again and again if she could only get beyond the business relationship that still wasn’t settling well with her.

But that was a quandary better left for another hour. Right now, she intended to enjoy as much of the generous lover as possible before morning brought up reality with the sun.

“The other night you said you loved traveling,” he went on. “I noticed some pieces in your living room looked Japanese and Scandinavian.”

His eye for art impressed her. “Yes, once a year I take a trip abroad. I spend most of the rest of my time planning it. It’s a passion of mine, researching cities, finding the exact perfect accommodations, planning meals and putting together a schedule.”

She rested casually against him and told him about the countries she’d visited, sharing stories about some of the sights she’d seen and places she hoped to go in the future.

“One place I need to return to is Italy,” she said. “I’d completely misjudged the amount of time I’d need to see the sites on my itinerary. In the end it wasn’t enough, but now that I know, I can do a better job planning out the next trip.”

“Have you ever just packed a bag and taken off?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “No schedule. No plans. Just go where the day takes you.”

She tried to imagine that but couldn’t. Granted, she knew people who traveled on the fly like that, but Monica preferred knowing exactly where she was going and what she would be doing.

“I like to be a little more organized than that.”

“It’s not about organization, it’s about adventure. One night you might find yourself in a hostel. The next you could be the personal guest of a family you just met.” He sipped from the glass of cognac then set it back on the table. “Some people find it exciting.”

Monica shook her head. “I’d find it unsettling.”

He slid lower under the blankets, turning to face her and drawing her close so that their noses nearly touched. “You should give it a try. Come out to my ranch in Austin.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“I can have my pilot ready to fly out in an hour.”

“Your pilot. You have a plane?”

“With my lifestyle, it’s a necessity.” He kissed her nose and brushed a tender finger across her cheek. “I promise to have you back at work bright and early Monday morning.”

She blanched. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Why not?”

“A thousand reasons. I’ve got a preliminary report to read for one. It requires my comments and narrative.”

“Read it on the plane. It will work out good. I’ve got calls to make anyway.”

She pulled away and sat up. “It could take hours. I’d already cleared my weekend to get through it.”

“I’ve got a nice quiet study at the ranch.”

“But that would be rude. I can’t come as a guest to your home then spend half the weekend ignoring you.”

“I’d like to think of you as more than just my guest. And as far as ignoring me, as long as you have dinner with me and sleep in my bed I’ll be satisfied.”

She clasped the blankets to her chest, feeling panicked and silly and nowhere near ready to entertain the idea of a trip. She hadn’t even come to terms with tonight’s encounter, what it meant about their relationship—if it was a relationship. And if it was, she still wasn’t sure it should be. For the moment, she’d accepted a one-night stand, though technically now it was two. Jetting off to Texas for the weekend?

He tugged the blanket off her shoulder and began pressing kisses up her forearm toward her neck, circling that tongue ever so lightly, which only scattered her thoughts more.

“I’d have to pack,” she started. “I’d have to consider what to bring. I need my laptop. I left it at the office. That alone will take, ooohhhh—” He’d found a sensitive spot right at the tip of her spine.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

She lolled her head to the side while he spoke between kisses.

“I think your problem isn’t your laptop or packing or being a rude guest. I think you don’t like surprises.” He pressed his lips to each vertebrae, slowly trailing his way down her spine. “You need to always stay in control and you can’t do anything that isn’t precisely planned and thoroughly considered.”

She scoffed. “That’s my mother, not me.”

He slipped a warm hand over her breast as those succulent lips neared her tailbone. “So that’s where you get it from.”

“I’m nothing like her. She’s a homebody, I’m an executive.” His mouth touched the curve of her butt before he turned and went back the way he came. “Honestly, the woman drives me crazy. She’d had my life planned out while I was still in the womb. To this day it burns her that I didn’t settle in the Hamptons with a surgeon husband and two-point-seven kids.”

“I’m sure your mother’s proud of you,” he uttered.

“Maybe, but she wasn’t pleasant to live with. I don’t know how my father handles it. Everything has to be done exactly her way. She has ideas in her head how everything should be, and heaven help the person who tries to change her mind once it’s made up. You should have seen her planning a family reunion last year. Every minute of the day was—”

She stopped and gasped. “Oh, my, I really am like her.”

“I’m sensing similarities,” Kit said casually.

Monica stared blankly at the shelves on the wall—the ones she’d meticulously placed and decorated with books stacked exactly so. She recalled the day the maid dusted and mistakenly put things back in the wrong place. She’d noticed immediately, couldn’t do another thing until she’d taken it all down and put it back the way she had it.

How could she have gotten to this age and never seen it?

Everyone always said she was exactly like her father. And in many ways she was. But in the face of this discussion she realized that she’d also picked up a few traits from her mother, too—and not the ones she’d preferred. The perfectionist, unbending and controlling—Monica wouldn’t have believed it, yet here she was, shooting down Kit’s suggestion exactly the same way and using the same unyielding attitude she would have expected of her mother. She didn’t want to be that person.

“I can’t believe this,” she uttered. “I sound exactly like her.”

Kit took her hand and pressed kisses to her fingers. “Then I like her already.”

Monica shook her head. “No, not in a good way.”

She’d never noticed the similarity before, but it seemed obvious now, and her reaction was nothing short of pure horror.

“Let’s do it,” she said. “Let’s go to Austin.”

She tossed the blankets, intent to prove that she didn’t have to be that person. The best part of self-awareness was the ability to make a change, right? So just because she’d inherited a few of her mother’s least desirable traits didn’t mean she had to accept them. But when she scooted from the bed Kit clasped her forearm and pulled her back.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to take me to your ranch.”

“In a minute.”

He nudged her down and began ravaging her like he’d done several times this evening. “First, I need to make love to you again.”

Heat spilled through her as flesh connected with flesh and those dark eyes took on the familiar glaze of sultry intent.

“What’s this? Another sudden change in plans?” she asked.

He dipped his mouth to hers and spoke through a kiss. “Yes. You’re incredibly sexy when you act on impulse.”

4

MONICA WOKE UP TO THE smell of coffee, bacon and something deliciously sweet. Pancakes? Blinking her eyes open, she looked around the large room for a clock and found none. Her only clue as to the time was the sunlight peeking through the wood shutters, which didn’t tell her much.

She reminded herself that it didn’t matter. She was on a new quest to be less rigid, and things like hours and minutes on her days off weren’t supposed to matter. Pulling herself from the bed, she padded across Kit’s bedroom and found the overnight bag she’d thrown together. Then she washed up and dressed before venturing out to track down the source of those delectable smells. On the way she gathered her watch and was startled to see it was after nine, but considering how late they’d gotten to bed, she supposed it was reasonable. It was nearly two when they’d finally turned in, later than that when they’d actually gotten to sleep.

A smile curved her lips. A late night indeed, but well worth it.

She stepped out into the large great room. It was bigger than it seemed the night before. The decor was rustic and manly, comfortable and casual. A true reflection of Kit, as she was learning, and it recalled the old saying that everything was bigger in Texas. His house and his ranch—and a few other things—most definitely were.

“I knew the bacon would draw you out,” Kit said from the stove as she stepped up to the stone counter and took a seat at the bar. “Or was it the coffee?”

He stood barefoot at the stove wearing only a pair of worn jeans and a button-down flannel shirt that looked soft to the touch. His dark hair was still damp from a shower and through the heavenly scent of bacon and maple, the fresh odor of soap and aftershave seeped through. He’d left his shirttails out, giving him that rumpled look she found delectably attractive. Why she’d always gone for the polished look she’d never know. This easy, rugged strength was so much sexier.

“It was the smell of maple syrup,” she said. She eyed the feast he was constructing and her stomach growled. “Tell me you’ve got fluffy carbs for me to pour it on.”

“Pancakes are in the warmer.”

She brightened. “If they’re good, I’ll ask you to marry me.”

He smiled and winked. “I’ll say yes.”

She laughed at the joke, even though the look in his eyes said he might be serious. Instead, she focused on the coffee he placed in front of her.

“I’ve set you up in my office,” he said, placing platters in front of them before joining her at the bar for breakfast. Grinning, he added, “I suppose you didn’t get as much work done on the plane as you’d hoped.”

No, she hadn’t. Once they’d settled on his private jet she’d opened her laptop and tried to read through the reports, but she’d underestimated how sexy Kit would be on his phone talking business in that smoky Texas drawl. She’d kept forcing her attention back to her numbers and he’d kept yanking it away, and with one thing leading to another, she ultimately ended up a card-carrying member of the mile-high club.

“I had some trouble concentrating,” she replied, returning his knowing look.

“Well, that won’t be a problem today. The study is quiet and I won’t even be within earshot.”

“What are your plans?”

He talked around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “I’m working on a project out in the barn. When you want a break, come out and I’ll show it to you.”

She took a bite of pancake—fluffy enough to marry him, it turned out—and replied, “Fair enough.”

UNFORTUNATELY, TWO HOURS later she was no less distracted than she’d been on the plane. She’d gotten through the reports, made some cursory notes, but every time she started her write-up her mind wandered to the glorious time she was having with Kit and how much she really liked him.

They had more in common than she’d assumed that first night. At the time, she’d thought she was only dealing with attraction and sexual desire, but the more she got to know him, the more she began to recognize genuine affection. It was an experience that both excited her and left her a little afraid. Up to now, her life had been simple. She had her job and her travels, neither one interfering with the other. Now a man had come into that world, one who didn’t even live in Chicago, and her boat was starting to rock.

She wondered what he was doing. What was his project in the barn?

Then she scolded herself and put her focus back on work. John was expecting her briefing Monday morning, and she always provided him with the materials beforehand so he could review them in advance.

But that was Monday, and technically she had plenty of time to put her presentation together. Even probably on the plane ride back to Chicago if she really focused and buckled down.

Biting her lip, she closed her laptop. She’d never made a habit of putting off work, not even back in college. She’d always preferred to get it done first and play later—if there was time left over. But it wasn’t every day that a woman got whisked off in a private jet by a sexy cowboy to spend the weekend at his big sprawling ranch. It might never even happen again. So caution thrown aside, she left her write-up and set off to find him.

Despite several buildings on the property, she headed toward the one that most looked like a barn, pleased when she pulled open the door and found Kit inside. He was standing at a lathe, its motor whirring and sawdust flying as the machine spun what appeared to be a wooden table leg. He held a tool that was either smoothing or shaping the wood as it spun.

With her presence unknown, she stood and watched him work. The man was lethally handsome with his thick brown hair and solid square jaw. Though he shaved daily, his beard grew quickly, giving him a perpetually masculine look that she found deliciously attractive. He’d taken off the flannel shirt he’d worn at breakfast and was now clad in a T-shirt that showed off those muscled biceps she’d already grown so fond of. For several minutes she stood watching, listening to the country music from the radio, and as she took in the scene, she couldn’t help but be amused over this odd situation she’d found herself in.

If someone had told her last week that she’d be standing in a barn outside Austin tapping her toes to honky-tonk music while her wealthy cowboy lover sanded table legs, she would have checked them for drugs. Yet here she was.

And she was enjoying it, too.

He shut off the machine and pulled off his safety glasses, and when he caught sight of her his face lit with a smile that touched her chest.

“Hey, sexy,” he drawled.

KIT SLAPPED THE DUST from his hands and tugged Monica into a sensual kiss as soon as she came within reach. He knew he shouldn’t be so insatiable. He didn’t want her to think he only wanted her body, but he couldn’t help it. He’d found an appetite for the beautiful brunette he couldn’t seem to control.

Pressing his lips to hers, he found the sweet taste of maple sugar and it made him think of candy. He loved kissing her, loved having his hands on her and feeling those long fingers on him. It was a sugary treat he could get used to every day.

A low moan purred from her throat as she slid her hands up his chest, getting him hard and horny in one smooth stroke. And as he pulled her closer and dove in for something serious, he wondered where in his workshop might be the best spot for a quickie.

“You were going to show me your project,” she uttered to his lips.

“Something better just walked in.”

He slipped his hands up under her light cotton blouse and cupped her breasts in his palms, deciding that the workbench could be cleared pretty quickly. But then he remembered that Doug Rawlins, a mechanic, was due any minute to give him an estimate on one of his trucks.

Reluctantly, he pulled away. “You torment me, you know that?” he grumbled.

“I didn’t ask you to stop.”

“No, but I’m expecting company, and give me two more minutes near that sexy body of yours, we’ll end up putting on quite a show.”

“Hmm.” She touched a finger to her lips. “I could do kinky, but I do draw the line at voyeurism.”

His interest piqued. “How kinky?”

“Your project,” she said, straightening her blouse and moving toward his lathe.

Storing that comment for later, he guided her toward another room, where he’d been finishing the desk he was working on. “It’s a Christmas present for my niece.”

Monica gaped as she stepped over and studied the piece. “You made this?”

Shrugging, he tried to brush off his boyish pride in impressing the woman. “I’m working on a matching chair, but I’m running out of time.”

He stepped to the desk. It was pine with a beveled top and three drawers, simple in construction and stained in a light natural finish. What made it special was the carved roses around the drawer pulls, and seeing her reaction confirmed it had been worth the effort.

She ran a finger over the carvings. “You did this by hand?”

He nodded.

“Kit, it’s beautiful. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Well, she might have to wait for it. Christmas is next weekend and I’ve got to be in Chicago and Omaha for half the week. I’m debating between canceling some important meetings or just giving her the desk and promising the chair after New Year’s.”

She balked. “You’ve got to do both.”

Her insistence made him smile. He liked people who didn’t accept limitations. It was one of the first things that had attracted him to her. Not many people could lift his own standards on what he was capable of, but he’d learned pretty quickly that Monica could be one of them.

“What’s left to do?” she asked.

“Cassie, my niece, asked for pink flowers.” He stepped to a table where he’d stored an array of craft paints and brushes. “The table needs one more undercoat then I need to figure how I want to paint the roses. I’ll need a clear gloss over that, then I need to repeat the whole process for the chair.”

“You know what would be pretty—” She stepped to the counter and surveyed his paints, and he watched as she grabbed a brush and a paper bag and began mixing colors.

Like a master, she created an almost identical replica of his roses on paper, using several shades of pink, white and red to add depth to the finished product. It blew away anything he’d been thinking.

“I had no idea you could paint.”

“I minored in art in college. Economics, math and accounting could be grueling, and I needed an escape. And since I’m tone deaf, music was out.” She nudged the paper toward him and spoke casually as though she hadn’t just floored him with her artistry. “What do you think of something like this?”

“It would be beautiful.”

“Then why don’t you get back to work on your chair and let me finish the desk?”

He blinked. “You wouldn’t mind? Sweetheart, I didn’t bring you out here to help me finish my niece’s Christmas present.”

Stepping close, she pressed her palms to his chest and whispered. “It will cost you some serious sexual favors.”

He circled his arms around her and wondered how many more wonderful surprises this intriguing woman had up her sleeve. He’d love to spend a lifetime finding out. But recognizing the need to take this slowly he kept those intentions to himself and instead kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’m going to have a hell of a time repaying you.”

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