Page 3 of Baby One Last Time
I shrugged, figuring that a buffet with untouchable goodies could work both ways. I pulled off my work outfit of shorts overalls and tee shirt and slid the shimmery thing over my head.
“You know, gold’s more my color.” I adjusted the girls so the low-cut neckline showed them off to perfection.
Derek shook his head. “No. You always say that, but you’re definitely a silver blonde, not a gold. Speaking of which…” He pulled my ponytail free from its holder and ran his fingers through my loose hair.
That set off an adrenaline rush that had nothing to do with the job at hand. I pushed him away from me. “I’ve got it.” I tried to sound annoyed to hide the fact that I was turned on and probably did a good job of it.
“Perfect,” he said. “You look desperate to get laid.”
OK, maybe I wasn’t doing such a great job of hiding it. I changed the subject. “If the recon on this job was bad enough to confuse a solo hit with a team effort, how can you be so sure I’m his type?”
He narrowed his eyes as he stared past me, out my side window. “Well, there’s a ninety percent chance you’re his type. If he falls into the other ten percent, come back here and I’ll slip into that dress and you’ll take the gun. Just keep your shooting hand steady. I wouldn’t want you to hit the wrong man.”
“Ha ha. I’m an excellent shot and you know it.”
Derek leaned in close. “How about a kiss for luck, like old times?”
No. Of course not. We absolutely couldn’t. “OK. For luck.”
He planted one hand on each side of me on the seat and bent his head toward mine. His soft breath tickled my lips, and I sighed like the pathetic creature I was.
“Hold that thought,” he whispered, then shifted back into his own seat. “It’s show time.”
I followed his gaze out the window and saw a thirty-ish-year-old guy with thinning brown hair and serious stubble, holding a Santa hat and beard in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, clad in a Santa suit complete with belly padding.
“You didn’t tell me we’re pulling the Santa Baby onSanta.”
“Don’t worry, little girl. The real Santa is safe and sound at the North Pole. This is just one of his helpers.” Derek leaned close to me again. “Besides, you’re already on Santa’s naughty list. Which reminds me, take off your panties.”
An electric jolt shot straight up my spine. “Are you crazy? Right now?”
He laughed. “See, your dirty mind is what gets you on the naughty list. The lines are showing through your dress. It ruins the effect.”
I gritted my teeth as I slid off my panties, neither of us missing the fact that he’d ordered me out of my underwear and I’d obeyed. I’d make him pay for this, one way or another.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I said. “To do the Santa Baby, I need—”
He pulled a whiskey bottle from under his seat. “To smell the part.” He handed it over to me. “Just like at the dentist office. Rinse and spit.”
I let that one pass.
I pulled off the cork, took a swig, and swirled strong whiskey around my mouth. Not the excellent stuff Derek usually drank, but still good. It was warm and rich and I swallowed it, loving the burn that lit its way down my esophagus.
“What the hell, Cynthia? You’re on the job.”
I shook my head and handed the bottle back to him. “You forget, I don’t have that job anymore. I’m just helping out an old…colleague.”
I eased open the truck door, slid down to the pavement, and crossed to the opposite side of the street. Carrying my stilettos, I snuck down the sidewalk and kept out of Santa’s view, then re-crossed the street, slipped on the shoes, and made a beeline right for the jolly red target. When I had his attention, I added a woozy wobble to my step, which is harder than it sounds in four-inch spike heels.
“Santa!” I exclaimed as I came upon the mark. I lurched forward and leaned against him. “Do you have your sleigh? I need help getting home.” I stuck out my lip in a spoiled-party-girl pout.
He flicked away his cigarette. “Sorry, baby, I didn’t bring my sleigh today.” He glanced behind me. “Anyone with you?”
I shook my head. “I was at a party and left and drove my Beemer right up over a curb. Now it’s stuck.” Again with the pout, which he seemed to like.
“I could, uh, help get you unstuck, but I’m not sure I should put you behind the wheel in your condition.”
Bingo.
