was it. His chance to back out.
But he couldn’t make himself suggest alternate plans.
Gage tried to sort through his confused thoughts. Not an easy thing to do when he could barely stand, thanks to the throbbing hard-on he was sporting.
Before he could decide if he should accept or counter, she smiled.
That sweet, sexy smile that shut down his brain.
Looking like a naughty elf, Hailey wet her lips. He wanted to groan at the sight of her small, pink tongue.
And then, moving so fast she was a blur of blond, she kissed him. Hot, intense. A sweep of her tongue, a slide of her lips. Just enough hint of teeth to make him growl to keep from begging.
Then, before he could take control, or hell, even react with more than a groan of appreciation for the hot spike of desire shooting through him, she moved back.
“See ya Wednesday,” she said.
With that, a little finger wave and a smile that showed just a hint of nerves around the edges, she was gone.
Gage wanted to run after her. To grab her and insist she do something about the crazy desire she’d set to flames in his body.
Except for two things.
One, his dick was so hard, he couldn’t walk for fear of something breaking.
And two, his mind was still reeling.
He’d tried to blame the costume. Because he didn’t get stupid over women.
Ever.
But that cute little elf, with her candy-cane-sweet taste, had sent him so far into Stupidville, he might as well set up camp.
Until he’d figured it out, he needed to stay away from her.
Far, far away.
Because horny was all good and well.
And, he had to admit, stupid-horny was a pretty freaking awesome feeling.
But stupid-horny and business?
Not a good combination.
At least, not when his freedom was on the line.
4
“YOU’RE GRINNING LIKE a kid who just found a dancing pony under her Christmas tree. What’s wrong with you?”
Wrong?
This was afterglow. Sexual anticipation. And a big ole dollop of nervous energy. It’d been three days since her kiss with Gage, and she was still floating.
Hailey inspected her image in the ornate standing mirror in the corner of her workroom-slash-office. Behind her were swaths of billowing silk, yards of lace and spilling bins of roses and romantic trim.
Only Doris would look at that and say it was wrong.
Hailey peered past her reflection to the woman behind her.
Doris Danson, or D.D. to her friends—which meant Hailey called her Doris—looked as if she were stuck in a time warp.
Rounded and a little droopy, her white hair was bundled in a messy bun reminiscent of a fifties showgirl. Bright blue eye shadow and false lashes added to the image. Doris’s workday uniform consisted of polyester slacks, a T-shirt with a crude saying by a popular yellow bird and an appliqué holiday sweater complete with beribboned dogs, candy canes and sequin-covered trees.
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