Page 12 of Unwrapped

She’s too young for me, and I’m not on the market for a relationship. It’s just one meeting, which will hopefully bring me back to reality. Maybe she’s not as beautiful as I remember. Maybe her smile doesn’t light up a room, and her laugh doesn’t strike me speechless in the middle of a conversation. Maybe it’s the red and black dress she wore that caused my eyes to follow her every move from across the room, not the person wearing the dress.

I can’t think of anything to explain the possessiveness I felt when she was talking and dancing with Glen. Visions of grabbing him by his collar and physically putting him out of the party flashed through my mind the entire night.

I lie and convince myself that’s what tomorrow is about. It’s research, because there is no way that a thirty-six-year-old man can fall for a twenty-three-year-old woman in a matter of seconds.

That does not happen.

CHAPTER 7

NICK

My house is four point seven miles from the South Shore Plaza, which houses the Victoria’s Secret where Miranda works. Allowing for the holiday traffic, it should not take her more than twenty minutes to get here. She’s already ten minutes past the time I expected to hear my doorbell ring.

She never texted me back after I sent her my address, but I know she read the text. I look around the townhouse and for the first time, I wish I had more furniture, but it’s only been two months since I moved in. She will be the first guest who is not related to me.

As big as the place is, the lack of furniture only makes it look bigger. For the first time, I wish I had gotten something smaller.

I check my phone and note that another five minutes have passed with no messages. Irritated, I walk around the empty house, giving her five more minutes before I call. When I see headlights outside, I sprint to the huge bay window and peek through the blinds, relieved when I see a small car in my driveway.

The door opens within seconds, and I watch her as she steps out of the car. She stops mid-step when she sees me, turns and looks back at the car, seemingly uncertain. I step out of the house to stop her from leaving, but she turns back to the house and starts to walk to me.

I step aside and wait for her to stride past me. Once she’s in, I close the door behind us and help her with her long, black coat. It’s a cold December night, and she’s wearing a red knit hat decorated with Santa’s. It has a giant pom-pom on top, giving her an even more youthful look.

She’s wearing hardly any makeup today, and she’s even more beautiful than she was yesterday, so there goes one of my theories about her not being as beautiful as I remembered. She has a small beauty mark underneath her left eye, and I will myself not to run my finger over it. Her full lips are the same shade of red as her hat, and when she looks at me, she smiles, practically bringing me to my knees. Again.

I do the only thing I can do. I walk away from her and hang her coat in the closet, giving my beating heart and my mind a few seconds to calm down. When I turn back to her, I get a sight of her ass as she bends down to remove her black riding boots. She’s in tight, black skinny jeans and a plain red button- down shirt, but it’s her socks that get the first smile out of me today.

“You’re really into the Christmas spirit, aren’t you?” I ask, pointing at her socks that have Rudolph kissing a blushing Mrs. Claus.

“I see you’re not,” she says, looking at my bare first floor. “Where’s your Christmas tree?” She sounds disappointed, and at this moment, I’d do anything to take away that disappointment.

I take her hand in mine, loving the contrast of our skin tones. To my surprise, she links our fingers together. I don’t tell her that I can’t remember the last time I put up a Christmas tree. Paige’s idea of celebrating Christmas was flying to a tropical island somewhere and scheduling a deep tissue massage on Christmas morning.

“I’m late this year,” I tell her. “Maybe you can help me find a tree and decorations.” That gets her attention. She pulls her hand from mine and rubs her hands together as she looks about the room. She runs to a corner right by the window.

“The tree can go right here. You’ll need a big one so the lights can be seen through the window. I know! You should get a real tree. We’ve always just used the same fake one at home, but I’ve always wanted a real one.”

She walks around the room, probably decorating it in her mind. After she spins around, she catches herself and her smile drops as if she’s remembering where she is and who I am.

“Are you hungry?” I ask her. I grab her hand again and lead her to the kitchen.

“A little. I haven’t eaten since about noon.”

“Help yourself to a drink from the fridge, and I’ll get our dinner.”

She slides past me and opens my fridge, pulling out two bottles of water before pulling out a stool from the island to take a seat. She doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her eyes on my back as I take the food out of the oven and plate our dinner.

Since I moved in here, this is the first time I’ve used my kitchen for anything other than reheating takeout. Hell, I only have food in the fridge because I went shopping first thing this morning.

“This looks good,” she says, eyeing the lemon chicken and roasted potatoes that I put in front of her. I take the stool next to her, intentionally bumping her shoulder with my body. We sit in silence for the next few minutes as I watch while she eats. Each time the fork goes into her mouth, I will myself not to groan.

She finally drops her fork, the metal making a loud clanking noise when it hits her plate. She looks down at my body and goes still. When I look down, I notice my erection through my pants and then look into her eyes wide.

“What?” I ask as she continues to stare.

“You keep moaning,” she says, breathless. She takes a piece of her hair and puts it behind her ear. “Every time I try to eat, you moan. And now you have that,” she says, gesturing at my crotch.

She grabs her bottle of water and downs half of it in three gulps. When she puts it down, she licks some stray drops of water from her lips, and this time, when I moan, I’m aware of it.

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