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“Oh, you charmer.” Shuffling around to sit cross-legged, Noelle pages through the Mulberry Inn menu. “Hey, look! They have a whole holiday-themed section.” A sly glance at me. “Think they’ll roast a ham at this time of night?”
Kicking off my shoes, I loosen my necktie an inch. “So sad that you don’t want your December bonus. Won’t your flea-bitten cat be disappointed? Billy, isn’t it? Brian?”
“You know his name is Bo. And he had fleasonetime, you jerk.”
“My mistake.”
It’s easier than it should be to stretch out on the bed beside my assistant, my back propped against the headboard. I cross my ankles and fold my arms over my chest. No accidental limb-brushes here, even though Noelle’s freshly scrubbed skin smells like lemon-scented soap.
I am in control.
“Want to watch a movie?” she asks, already digging around for the remote.
In. Control.
Seven
Noelle
Reid is losing his mind. I put on a movie to give him a distraction, something to fixate on instead of freaking out, but I forget that Die Hard is one hundred percent a Christmas movie. Ho ho ho, motherfuckers.
“This is treason,” Reid says, his tone mild as he watches gunfire spray across the screen. “Kiss your bonus goodbye, Noelle.”
Yeah, right. “I don’t believe you.”
My boss’s mouth twitches, like he’s pleased I’ve finally seen through his threats.
When our food arrives, we eat wedged together against the headboard, bowls of chana masala and rice held up by our chests. It’s delicious—hot and spicy andgah, so perfect—and even Reid hums with approval as he chews, eyes on the movie.
That pleased little rumble, reverberating around his chest… itdoessomething to me.
I want to cause sounds like that from Reid Merryweather. Want to make him hum and moan and groan. Would he ever let me?
“You’re not going to shower?” I ask once we’re both finished eating, placing our plates on a tray by the door. My pajama pants swish as I cross back to the bed, hopping back up onto the mattress. “Seriously, the hot water feels so good after that drive. And you can’t spend all night in a necktie.”
Wordlessly, still watching the movie, Reid tugs his tie off and drops it on the rug beside the bed. My low belly tingles.
“That shirt can’t be comfortable, either.”
Reid flicks open the top two buttons, still not looking my way. My cheeks glow. And he’s shown the tiniest strip of bare skin, the merest sliver of his toned chest, but somehow it’s more erotic than if someone else paraded around buck-nude.
Reid Merryweather isalwaysbuttoned up. Always stiff and reserved, snapping and snarling when people try to get past his barriers.
But not me.
With me, he’ll stretch out on this patchwork quilt and watch a holiday movie; he’ll eat room service food and take off his tie.
What else would he do? What else does hewantto do?
“So, those PJs,” I try again, but Reid shakes his head and pats the bed next to him.
“Come here, Noelle.”
Oookay. Wriggling back into place so I’m propped next to Reid against the headboard, I try to focus on the movie. Try to follow the plot.
It’s impossible. This close to my grumpy boss, so close I can smell the faint scent of his aftershave and feel the heat of his body, I can’t think straight. Can’t focus at all. Can’t do anything except lie here, body humming beneath my borrowed pajamas, nerve endings singing out with how badly I want to be touched.
Touched byhim.Reid.
