One Winter's Night

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.