A Christmas Seduction. Daire St. DenisЧитать онлайн книгу.
the devil possessed him, and that might be true. But he didn’t think that was all there was to it. There was something about the woman, something that drew him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
* * *
JOLIE LAY SNUG under the covers, existing in that space between sleep and wakefulness. It was her preferred mode of waking every day because it was when her imagination took over, ungoverned by inhibitions and the critical internal editor who was her regular companion during the rest of the day—though so far, this morning had remained completely silent.
Perfect.
Jo revisited the scene in the hot tub, but this time she wasn’t embarrassed by her state of undress. This time she was bold and flirty. This time she flaunted her nakedness, turning the lights on in the tub—to red—instead of turning them off.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Thaddeus Knight. At your service.”
“You said you’re a hand. What does that mean, exactly?”
“I could tell you, but showing you would be way more fun.” His gaze swept over her body, his blue eyes dark with desire.
“Then you’d better show me.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
He removed his hat and winter jacket—
It was one of those cowboy-style ones. They had a name, oilskin or something? She’d have to look it up later...
“Shh,” she muttered to herself as her internal editor started to rouse. She willed herself to focus once more on the vivid scene playing out behind her closed lids.
“Close your eyes,” he said in that deep Southern drawl.
She obliged him, then rested her head against the edge of the tub, feeling the submersion of his body by the way the water lapped higher up her chest.
“Give me your hand.”
Languidly, she lifted her hand out of the tub and presented it to him.
“You have nice fingers. A nice hand.”
“Thank you.” She sighed with pleasure as he began to massage her palm. “So do you.”
He did have nice hands. Big and strong—she remembered how they’d felt when he’d tried to help her up after she’d freaked out.
“Shh,” she said aloud, working a little harder this time to slip back into her fantasy.
Thad worked the tender part of flesh between thumb and forefinger before sliding his hands up to her forearm, massaging as he went.
“You’re very good at this.”
“I’m good at a lot of things.”
“I bet you are,” she purred.
“Do you want me to show you?”
“Yes.”
His hands moved up higher to her shoulders, pausing to massage before caressing her collarbones and then dipping down her chest to her breasts.
“Is this okay?”
“It’s wonderful.”
He fondled over and under before gently pinching a nipple.
She groaned.
“You’re so beautiful. I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”
Jolie’s eyes popped open.
I wanted you from the moment I saw you?
Seriously?
Creating sexual fantasies featuring a virtual stranger as a sort of ranch gigolo? Ridiculous. How did she ever expect to make it as a serious journalist when she wiled away her spare time coming up with this sort of nonsense?
Jo sat up, threw off the quilts and swung her legs out of bed. She went to the French doors and drew back the blinds.
“Beautiful,” she said matter-of-factly. The view was exactly like the panoramic shot on the webpage.
While she might not be an acclaimed journalist yet, she was still here to do a job, so she sat down, opened her laptop and called up her travel article. After tapping out a few awkward sentences and random ideas, she stared at the screen.
Screw it.
Going over to her bag, Jo took out her leather-bound journal, a gift from her father last year.
I know writers do everything on computer, but I thought you might like this. Or not. Here’s the gift receipt if you decide to return it.
She hadn’t returned it. It was the best gift her father had ever given her. Opening the journal up to her last entry, she reread what she’d written a couple of days ago and then began writing—longhand. She didn’t even have to think; the words just poured out of her as she filled page after page, like she was merely the conduit for ideas coming from another realm.
The aroma of fresh coffee and bacon drew her out of the story and back to reality, her stomach growling.
After dressing, she joined her host in the dining room, where breakfast was already laid out.
“I hope you slept okay,” Gloria said while she poured the coffee.
“Amazing.”
“The rest of the guests arrive today. Festivities begin once everyone’s here. We’ll go out and cut a tree and then decorate it tonight while we celebrate Tip’s Eve.”
“Tip’s Eve?” Jo was thankful to have something else to discuss.
“It’s a tradition of Thad’s, from his Catholic roots, I think. Anyway, it’s a pre-Christmas party, always on the twenty-third. We thought it would be fun for the guests.”
“Sounds like it.” Jolie smiled as warmth infused her, starting at her core and radiating out to her extremities. The sensation had to do with the thought of celebrating any kind of Christmas tradition and had nothing to do with the mention of Thad’s name.
Nothing whatsoever.
“How many guests do you expect?”
“Only five, including you. It’s our first time opening up the ranch to guests over the holidays.”
Jolie nodded and took a bite of omelet, which she’d drowned in ketchup.
“So,” Gloria said, drawing out the one-syllable word as she sat opposite her. “You’re a writer?”
“Journalist.” Why did she correct her? She liked the title of writer.
“And you’re doing an article about the ranch for Travel America?”
Jo looked up, nodding as she chewed.
“I hope you’ll take into consideration the fact that we’re still in the development stage...”
“Oh.” Jo wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin. “This isn’t a travel critique of the place or anything. I’m here to enjoy myself and then write about it. That’s all.”
“Okay.” A blush crept up Gloria’s neck and into her cheeks. “I’ll be honest—I’ve been feeling a bit of pressure knowing you were coming. I just really want this ranch to take off, you know?”
“Please think of me as just another guest.”
Gloria released a big sigh. “Right. Well, you let me know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all. And if I can’t help, then I’m sure Dillon would be happy to. Or Thad.”
Jolie’s throat felt funny.
“Well, speak of the devil.”
The omelet in her stomach flipped over at the sound of boots approaching on the wooden floor. Head