Page 70 of A Very Naughty Christmas

A word of advice was also gifted to her as she left on Walter’s arm. “Knock ‘em dead, dear. If only I could be a fly on the wall.”

Dixie smiled, thinking if Emmaline Goodwin wanted to attend the gala, crashing it uninvited, not a soul would utter a word.

As it was, she followed the flow of guests making their way through the gorgeous, high-ceilinged, cavernous, amazing mansion, glancing frequently around for her date in the sea of black tuxedos. She bypassed the short and the portly, keying in on tall men with sandy hair, and swept past a handsome bearded man waiting by the door. The blueness of his gaze penetrated her anxiety-laden brain and she tracked back.

It was Kyle, his teeth flashing white in a neatly trimmed beard as he grinned at her. He moved forward and pulled her to the side, out of the flow of traffic. His arm slipped around her waist as his mouth lowered to hers. The kiss was soft and sensual at first, becoming more heated as the tip of his tongue flicked along her lower lip. A frustrated groan followed.

“Two hundred fifty rooms in this behemoth of a house, thirty-five of them bedrooms, and I can’t use one of them to fuck my woman after being apart from her for eight days.”

She should have been shocked, but she was so glad to see him, she smiled up at him.

“Welcome home, honey.” She couldn’t resist going up on her toes for another kiss, returning the same caress of her tongue along his lower lip. His beard, while soft and sexy, tickled.

“Damn, how I’ve missed you,” he groaned, pulling her so close that she could feel the hard length of him pressing into her belly. He held her for only a moment. “We better go in before I get us thrown out of here when I lift that beautiful dress and bend you over one of the millions of tufted couches.” His eyes skimmed down the front of her, lingering on her bodice, hips, and the shoes that peeked out beneath her hem. “You look beautiful, baby. And Alana did great; I couldn’t have picked out something more perfect for you myself.”

“You haven’t seen the full package.” She spun, watching over her shoulder as he took in the sheer back and further below where the dress hugged her backside.

“You better stay close to me tonight. I don’t want to have to fight off any poor saps that fall under your spell.”

“The dress is very beautiful.”

He hauled her up against his front once more, turning her back toward the wall as one hand slid down to cup her bottom. “It isn’t the dress, Dix.”

She felt the heat of her blush suffuse her cheeks at his compliment.

He formally offered her his arm. “Shall we go in and show one and all what a gorgeous girl I’ve found for myself?”

“And what a handsome man, I’ve found. You look great in a tux and I like the beard, but it tickles.”

“We’ll see if you like it even more come morning.”

Her mouth fell open as the notion of his beard brushing over her inner thighs, and the smooth lips in between, filled her head.

“Damn,” he muttered as he moved her into the flow of traffic headed for the Vanderbilt ballroom, “it’s gonna be a long night.”

In reality, it flew by for Dixie. Once inside, he was charming and attentive, and not nearly as bold and risqué as when they were in private. He kept her close as he introduced her to key people, and only left her side early on to retrieve two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. And when it came time for supper, he seated her at the table and included her in conversation with their dinner companions, all of whom he knew.

The topic was art, naturally, which Kyle smoothly directed to Dixie’s paintings and the work she had on display at Penny’s gallery downtown. By the time dessert came, she’d given out the gallery address to them all.

While coffee was served, the band that had been playing quietly in the background stepped it up and the staff cleared an area for dancing.

“Can you dance in those shoes?” Kyle murmured in her ear, while leaning in.

“I’m on my feet twelve hours most days. I think I can take it.”

“I doubt you wear four-inch heels working at Pete’s.”

“Try to keep me from dancing, Doctor. It’s been forever and I don’t care how much it hurts; I’m not sitting this out.”

He smiled as he pulled out her chair and she rose to her feet. “If you like to dance, we’ll go often.”

“Dr. Prescott?” The intrusion came from a young man dressed in period clothing, standing behind them. “There’s a call for you.”

“Why didn’t they call my cell?” he wondered aloud as he pulled out his phone and checked for messages.

“The signal inside the mansion is patchy. All the stone, they think.”

He glanced at her. “Do you want to come with me?”

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