Welcome to day 1 and my part of the Twelve Days of Christmas Blog Hop! This hop is all about the newest Evernight anthology, Stockings & Suspenders which I am proud to be a part of. Each day that passes a new author from the anthology with be spotlighted, and more of our scorching hot book cover will be revealed.
As the temperature drops, the women in this collection of stories find naughty and delicious ways to warm up for the holidays.
A boss with a proposal to make her sweat, a promise from an Italian assistant, a cabin in the middle of nowhere with two men waiting to cater to her every desire, a special surprise for a lonely solider...
All of these encounters and more from ten talented authors. Get ready for some holiday loving...Evernight style.
Look for my story, The Proposal
Lowly executive assistant Grace Hale is having a bad day. Perhaps epically bad, until Dravin Hall, the scorching hot advertising legend, and one of the owners of the agency, invites her for drinks to discuss a proposal. Maybe her Christmas gift will come early this year. But one thing’s for sure. She will never be able to go into The Fireside Grill again without blushing.
My day continued with the same ease, ha, ha, in which it began. After lunch, of which I skipped and worked through, I tried to rally only to find the copier jammed. With this brilliant revelation, I was forced to walk down two flights of stairs, tucking file folders under my arm, as upbeat Christmas carols rang out in a taunt through the overhead speakers. When you’ve been reprimanded. Put on your bosses permanent shit-list. Given an almost impossible deadline. Look like a wrinkled bush woman. Are hungry, lacking in good sleep, and you can’t even remember great sex, you’re not in the mood for Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.
In retrospect, I should have waited for the elevator, but I didn’t take the time to wait. So once I arrived on the third floor, being out of breath and in a hurry, I dropped all my records before I made it to the ad department’s copy room. What I had to copy wasn’t really that pressing, but what I needed to get filed into archives was.
Skillful, Grace. I bent down in a rush. Quickly, I swiped a hand over my face to brush back falling hair from my eyes, all the while reaching with my free hand for the scattered documents. For a brief moment I wondered if my day could actually get any worse then decided to forgo that thought. After all, with my current track record I didn’t want to tempt fate. Cursing under my breath, I gathered up the paperwork and folders from the floor. That’s when it happened. I stubbed my finger on the baseboard and broke a nail. Oh, not just a mere break or slight chip, but a full on into the quick extravaganza.
“Shit-fire!” I blurted out.
I stood up. Grasping my finger in a useless endeavor to stop the pain, I spun around. The files, which were quickly becoming the latest blight, started to slip. Oddly clutching documents along with my index finger, I ran right into… him.
Mr. Hall reached out to grab my arms, steady me. “Still having a bad day, I see.”
“It would seem so,” I replied.
“Here,” he said, taking my tangled mess of files into hand, “let me help you.”
I followed behind him, feeling very frumpy, a tad out of place, in pain as if someone was sticking a red hot skewer under my nail, and a whole lot of starved. He walked with my afternoon work load into the copy room of the advertising department. All I could do at the moment was pray my stomach did not growl like a Yeti.
“How was the secretarial lunch party?”
I tried to keep my eyes off his well-formed ass, I really did, I promise. But I couldn’t help but notice how well he wore his black Armani suit, nor how he possessed a sensual, confident quality about him.
“Hmm?” I mumbled.
Mr. Hall stopped. Turned. Caught my gaze.
“The Christmas party, Grace. How was it?”
I pulled my eyes up the length of his body, to his face. “Oh, um… I didn’t go,” I answered.
My cheeks turned hot. He never said a word. He just kept his gaze locked with mine for a moment before he sat my documents and folders down onto an oblong table.
Mesmerized, I stood still, unsure, watching him saunter forward toward me. He picked up my hand. My breath hitched before I noticed he was looking at the bloody mess which was my nail. His aqua blue eyes flashed. Turning my finger he examined the damage I’d inflicted. Mr. Hall actually grimaced.
“Don’t move,” he instructed. In the next instant, he dropped my hand and was gone, out the door.
I glanced around the room, wondering if I should stand there or if I should buck-up, finish my archiving job, and head back to my office. With that thought, I gazed at the clock which sat on the counter. It was after two and I still had a ton of work to complete by five. I did not want to give the devil’s minion another reason to chastise me nor did I wish to receive two write-ups in one day.
The air conditioner kicked on, causing the snowflake garland which hung off the work space countertop to flutter. Yes, I did say air conditioner. Something this born and bred southern girl would never quite get used to. Heat in December. Nope, Los Angeles would not be privy to a white Christmas, not that it ever was. Perhaps I would turn into Scrooge, but no snow at Christmas, well, that didn’t seem right.
My attention was drawn to the art on the wall by the window. It was some of the agency’s top advertising campaigns. And hanging in the center, the campaign which made Mr. Dravin Hall a superstar in the ad world. I studied the ad, the use of color, the layout of the design. He’s really good.
The sound of whistling caught me off guard. I turned, looked over toward the table and saw him. He breezed back in, first aid kit in hand, whistling along with the song which was playing. Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. This week was almost over, and soon the incessant sounds of Christmas would be no more.
“Take a seat,” he directed. I complied. I moved to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. “Give me your hand, Grace.”
Obediently, I lifted my hand, presenting it to him.
He took hold of my wrist. Held it carefully. A scowl, temptingly delicious, crossed over his brow. I came to the conclusion Dravin Hall had the kind of face which made you want to stare. It was a mixture of rugged masculinity, perfect proportions, with a touch of male model good looks. I had to snap out of it, stop staring.
He studied my throbbing finger. Rubbed the middle of my palm softly with his thumb. Chills ran up my arm. Mr. Hall had strong hands, yet gentle. He opened up the first aid kit, pulled out some antibiotic ointment along with a Band-Aid then hesitated. “This won’t do,” he said. “Come with me.”
Without argument I got up and followed him, but this time we did not go into an office. We entered into the men's restroom.
“Um… I don’t think I should actually be in here,” I managed to say. He turned around, eyed me then grinned.
“Give me your hand, and don’t worry.”
I gave him my hand. He walked me forward three steps, coming to a stop at the sink before he turned the levered handle, allowing the stream of water to flow. Without notice, he pulled my hand forward.
“This might sting,” he said.
Mr. Hall placed my battered finger beneath the faucet. It did in fact sting. I jumped a bit when the blood began to wash away in pinkish streaks down the drain of the snow-white porcelain.
“I’m fine. I’ll live.”
He twisted my hand under the stream of water to the left, the right…While doing this, his body brushed up against the side of mine. He smelled scrumptious, but I needed to keep my head. I desperately tried not to allow my imagination to wander. And it wanted to meander into some very naughty territory which included my hands tied to a headboard and his head between my thighs. With the knowledge that particular terrain would be filled with exploding landmines, I focused on my throbbing finger and not the warmth of his body.
He pulled some towels from the dispenser, it clanged and grinded, releasing them like a long flapping tongue at the bottom of the dark machine. I needed to stop thinking about tongues. His tongue. My tongue. The places our tongues could mutually explore… Stop it, Grace.
Carefully, he patted dry my hand then the offending finger. Mr. Hall shook his head as if he were dissatisfied. His dark hair fell over his right eyebrow, tempting me. Then in a blinding move he lifted me up, causing my breath to catch in my throat. He had placed my backside down onto the long marble counter. I sat, tucked in-between two sinks. I must have looked dazed, confused, and maybe even a little turned on.
“Relax,” he said softly. “This is a much better angle.”
He placed his large hand into his pant pocket. My eyes roamed down the length of his well-tailored body. Oh, I meant his well-tailored suit. He pulled out the antibiotic ointment and the Band-Aid.
My skirt seemed to ride up into immediate obvious territory. In a panic and unsure of what to do with my legs, I wondered, leave them dangling or try to cross them? Mr. Hall made my choice when he walked forward and placed his body between my thighs. Once again he picked up my hand. I watched in blushing amazement as he gently blew his warm breath across my finger as if to sooth. It took all of my strength not to reach out. Touch him. He rubbed the ointment onto my broken, jagged nail then circled a bandage around the felonious digit. It was strangely erotic.
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DAY 2 Stop by and visit C.R. Moss to find out about her story, Chasing Miss. Kringle at http://www.crmoss.blogspot.com/