Merry and Bright(10)

“Home sweet home,” she said, and strode toward the center workstation. “Thanks for the TLC, good night.”

“What’s your hurry, you have your Mr. Wrong waiting for you at home?”

The tips of her ears went pink. “I shouldn’t have told you. In any case, I changed my mind.”

“Look at that, you’re lying again.”

“I . . .” She flipped on another light. “Okay, yes, I’m lying.”

“Why? Am I your Mr. Wrong?”

“What?” She whipped back to face him, dropping her keys.

One look at her face had him letting out a surprised laugh. “Me? Really?”

“You were only guessing.” She let out a breath and shook her head at herself. “Of course you were only guessing.”

Fascinated, he moved in close. “So what exactly was it that you wanted from your Mr. Wrong?”

“Nothing. Because trust me, I’m so over it.” And with that, she walked out of the lab, into a connecting bathroom, whose door she shut and locked.





4


Maggie stared at herself in the small mirror over the bathroom vanity. “You are an idiot.” She opened a drawer, searched around, and yes, found her own damn Band-Aids. Then she pulled out her cell and called Janie. “You’re not getting a Christmas present.”

“Oh, no. You promised. You’re going to do Mr. Wrong.”

“I am not going to have hot sex with that man. He’s . . .” Gorgeous. Hot. “Insufferable.”

Jacob’s voice came through the door. “I’m not insufferable during hot sex, I promise.”

Dammit! “I’ve got to go,” she hissed to Janie. Red as a beet, she opened the door and found Jacob sitting on one of the worktables, a big mixing bowl on one side, toying with her electric mixer on his other. He held up a thistle tube and dropper. “I feel like we’re back in chem lab.”

She just looked at him, tall, big, and rough-and-tumble, a bull in her china shop. She couldn’t help but picture them back in chem lab, where she’d once dreamed of him clearing the workstation with one swooping hand, then laying her down and—

He hopped off the table and patted the spot he’d just vacated. “Come here.”

When she didn’t, he merely scooped her up himself and put her on the counter himself.

“Hey—”

Taking the Band-Aids from her fingers, he tore one open and smiled at her as he took ahold of the hem of her skirt. “It’s like we’re playing doctor.”

She slapped at his hand, which didn’t deter him. “We are not playing doctor.”

“Spoilsport.” He pushed her skirt up above her knees and put on the Band-Aids, during which time she became hyperaware of the feel of his fingers on her skin, of the fact that when he was bent over her that way, she could smell his soap and absorb the heat of his body. But mostly she became aware of her own breathing and how it’d quickened, but once he’d finished and yet left his hands on her, the opposite happened and she stopped breathing entirely. “You listened to my conversation with my sister.”

“Yes.”

“This is a little awkward.”

“Not for me.”

Dammit. “Okay, so you were my Mr. Wrong of choice.”

“Because . . .”

She grimaced, hating to admit this. “Because historically speaking, I tend to go for a certain type of guy.”

“Uh-huh. Someone like yourself probably. A little anal, a little uptight—”

“Yes,” she agreed, trying not to be insulted. How was it that he could be both so gorgeous and so irritating? “But it’s no longer working for me. Hence the juvenile behavior of my sister and I, and me going for my Mr. Wrong in the first place. I just wanted to . . . feel. I wanted . . .”

“Hot sex.”

He was smiling again, and she gritted her teeth. “Nothing permanent.”

“How long has it been for you?”

“That’s not really any of your business.”

“How long?”

“Not quite two years.” One year, eleven months, two weeks and three days, not that she was counting or anything.

“So you wanted me to be your Mr. Wrong,” he said. “To break your not-quite-two-year dry spell with some hot sex.” He arched his brow. “Were there any particulars? Special requests? Kinks?”

She sighed. “Do you have to be crude?”

“Oh, baby, if you think that’s crude, then we’re going to be in trouble when we get down to the doing.”

“I’m not doing! Not with you!” She covered her face. “I’m over it.”

He put a hand on either side of her hips. “But you wanted to. With me.”

“Could you shut up now?” she begged. “Please?”

“I’ve got a better idea.” His mouth nuzzled at her jaw and she attempted not to melt. “How about I keep my mouth busy with other things? God, something smells delicious.”

“It’s not me, it’s the stuff in that mixing bowl.”

He lifted the bowl. “What is it?”

“Organic honey cream. Sort of.” It was a skin repair formula, and also a cell rejuvenation. Magic lotion, really.