Page 62 of Santa's Baby

That isn’t the real reason I’m having stomach flips, though. I’m too fascinated by the other option on the table.His place.Where does Reuben Sinclair live? What does his home look like?

“I think we should try yours, if that’s ok, User 5639?”

“That’s more than ok with me, Creamgirl. Do you want to swing by yours first to grab anything? Belgravia isn’t too far out of the way.”

I have to laugh, even though I’m knackered, because it’s another straight up round ofwhat the fuck?

“You know I live in Belgravia?”

“Yes, I do. I am your boss, remember.”

“Are you turning into a stalker boss? Want to do a stalker play scene next?” I grin. “Do you know what my apartment number is?”

He shoots me a side eye. “West tower, number 27, if I’m correct?”

I laugh. “Jesus. Do you know what colour my living room carpet is, as well?”

He tips his head. “Not yet. Shall we go take a look? Like I said, we can swing by.”

“Nah. I don’t expect I’ll be wearing my favourite PJs for our booking. You’re alright. I’m hardly there at the moment anyway. They’re probably still in the washing machine.”

“I did notice your calendar is extremely busy,” Reuben says. “I’m surprised you get any time in there whatsoever. Do you ever even take an evening off, you kinky workaholic?”

“Workaholic? Says you who practically lives at the grotto as well as running a multi-million-pound empire.”

He smirks. “I guess I’m not the only stalker in this car. Have you been checking me out?”

I hold up my hands with another laugh. “Guilty as charged.”

“We seem to be two very bizarre fitting peas in a pod. You’re not the only one who rarely gets to spend time at home, Tiffany. It will be nice to spend some time at mine, actually.”

“Aren’t you in the grotto today?”

“I am indeed, but I’ll be back this evening.”

My head feels fuzzy – glory wall catching up with me. My timings must be screwed.

“That’s when the proposal will start? This evening?”

Reuben smiles. “You blindly accepted without so much as checking the details, didn’t you? How unprofessional.”

He’s got me there.

“What can I say? Guilty as charged. Again.”

“Take a look.”

I get a hint of something underlying in his tone, but I don’t know what. He’s still a mystery to me. The man seated beside me is a beautiful oddity, and comes with a chemistry I don’t understand. I’m alight with it. It’s like a layer of static under my skin.

“Go on,” he says. “Take a look.”

I take a look at the proposal again and have to blink twice. The booking started at six a.m. sharp, exactly when he picked me up. Twenty-four hours for £48k, and it started when I stepped out from the glory wall. Jesus.

But why? What the fuck?

Reuben just stares at the road as I stare at him. His profile as he drives is fascinating. I’m drawn to the way he grips the wheel, and the way he’s so straight in his seat. The very opposite of a show off boy racer.

The static builds, and it’s addictive. I get crazy waves of want – obsessive to the extreme. It reminds me of my younger days when the mega attractions I had really meant something.