Page 44 of Naughty-ish

I stare at him, shifting around spices and pulling out vanilla extract, like he’s completely comfortable in my home. Like he belongs here.

He turns to give me a smile, and his signature wink. “I already gave you my sugar.”

I roll my lips and fight a giggle. He gave me sugar alright.

“Okay. Cookie time,” I call out and both my kids cheer, returning Eloise to her energetic self.

+ + +

Hours later, my countertops and dining room table are covered in an array of cookies. Nick had all the ingredients I didn’t, and we baked more cookies than my family of three could ever eat.

“I think I’ll make up little tins and have the kids give most of these to the neighbors.”

My children lost their interest in baking a while ago and went off to play with the wooden train set underneath our tree. Another new tradition established this year.

“That’s the spirit.” Nick’s bright expression shows his pleasure at my suggestion.

“It’s only cookies,” I brush off.

“It’s generosity.”

I pause. Does he think I’m not generous? I mean, he gave me four orgasms where I only gave him two last night but I’m hoping he doesn’t consider me too greedy in that area.

Still, I can admit that Nick has done more for me than I’ve done for him this holiday season.

Donate time.

He’s given me an invaluable gift but what have I done for him?

“What happened to your list?” Nick says, staring at my fridge and the magnetic clip still at an angle from when I tugged the list free.

“Oh, I . . . I lost it.” I chew my lip, attempting to wrestle back the lie.

As if Nick knows I’m not telling the truth he turns toward me, watching me. “Huh.”

“It was only a list.” I shrug. “I make plenty of them.” Full of things I’ll never complete or achieve.

“Remember, I know when you’re lying,” he says, lowering his voice and tapping the side of his temple.

“Well, considering the whole bad and good thing, we’ve already established I’m a little bad.” Still a good person, but not without my faults.

Nick gives me his full attention, adding that flirty eye twitch while whispering, “Very bad.”

“Speaking of bad . . .” I cross the kitchen for my living room and lift a gift I’ve placed beneath my tree. My children have moved from playing with the train to watching a holiday movie. “I have a present for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” His smile hints he’s pleased, though. Who doesn’t like to receive gifts, like he once said to me.

“It isn’t as great as what you gave me,” I whisper, holding his gaze at the reminder of the robe, negligee, and adult-only toy.

“Did you go out purposely seeking this gift for me?” His question suggests intention. I wanted to give him something. He nods at the package I still hold. “Were you excited to purchase it for me?”

“Well, when I saw it, I thought of you.” The item spoke to me.

His gaze lifts to meet my eyes. “You think of me?”

Of course, I think of him. Probably a little too much lately. Chewing on my lower lip, I fight a grin.

When I don’t answer, he reaches forward, making grabby fingers. “Okay, well, give it to me.”