The Christmas Set-Up Read online

  She went still, the zinger surprisingly hitting a bull’s-eye.

  When she didn’t immediately rally with a reply, he opened his eyes. “Hey, you’re supposed to hit back. It’s what we do.”

  She forced herself to breathe. “I can win.”

  He stared at her. “Well, yeah. Of course you can. Zoe…I was just being a jerk because usually we—” He broke off at the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor, walking up to the bathroom door.

  The woman who appeared in the doorway was either directly from Santa’s workshop or heading to a Maxim photo shoot. She was in her early twenties; a tiny, curvy little blonde with a bright white smile and a skimpy red sweater, emphasis on the skimpy.

  “Who are you?” Zoe asked.

  “Santa’s Helper. From the deli.” The woman’s eyes were on Jason. “No one answered the front door, but there were two cars so I walked around. The back door was unlocked. You should be more careful about that, you’re going to get bears.” Her eyes were locked on Jason’s gorgeous anatomy. “Oh, my…”

  Jason reached out for the washcloth hanging off the soap rack and dropped it over his lap. “I didn’t answer for a good reason.”

  The woman went into a full pout, quite the feat with her thick frosted gloss. “I brought your groceries. And some eggnog. I sorta thought we might—”

  “Sorry, you got the wrong idea,” Jason said. He closed his eyes, jaw bunching. “Thanks for the groceries but I’m not fit for company.”

  “Hmph.” She slid Zoe a hard look. “Who’s she?”

  Zoe opened her mouth to say “none of your business,” but Jason answered before she could. “Homecare nurse.”

  Zoe narrowed her eyes as the woman took in Zoe’s navy business suit—modestly cut, since Zoe hated when men at work didn’t meet her eyes because they were too busy looking about eight inches south.

  “Whatever. Your loss, dude,” the woman finally said, and tossed her hair. She gave Jason’s washcloth one more slow appraisal and sighed in disappointment. “Is someone going to tip me, or what?”

  Zoe saw Jason’s helpless grimace and with a sigh, she reached into her purse and grabbed a five, slapping it into the woman’s hand. Five seconds later, the front door slammed shut behind her.

  “Three things,” Zoe said to Jason. “One, you’re a pig. And two, you owe me five bucks.”

  Jason’s eyes were closed again. He looked like the epitome of a Hollywood actor sprawled out on a movie set—except for the gray pallor of his complexion.

  “What’s the third thing?” he asked.

  “Your washcloth isn’t big enough.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHE HAD TO HELP HIM OUT of the tub. Jason was sure those minutes were burned into his memory, having Zoe’s hands all over his naked, wet body.

  And her washcloth comment hadn’t helped any, either.

  The moment he was standing on the tile floor, she tossed him a towel and ran out of the bathroom as if there was a fire on her ass.

  He moved slowly, cautiously, but the hot water and her massage had helped considerably. He wrapped the towel around his hips and followed her, dripping water.

  She was ahead of him, moving through the living room straight into the small kitchen, looking around.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She whirled to face him. “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “The memory stick!” She had her hands on her hips now. “Give it to me and I’ll be out of here, and we never have to discuss this evening ever again.”

  She was still dressed as she’d been at work, in her usual business suit that he was certain she thought said: power. But what it really said was that she’d bought the suit off the rack a size too big to hide her smoking-hot bod so that the guys in the office wouldn’t stare at her.

  They still stared, they just did it behind her back. No one could help it. She was tall and her body had curves, real curves, the kind a man dreamed about when alone in his bed at night. When she took her blazer off at work, every man in the vicinity lost brain cells.

  But even with that rocking body, it was her eyes that held Jason. They slayed him every single time she directed them on him. Right now those sharp green eyes were saying “bring it, bitch,” and he couldn’t help it, he smiled.

  She didn’t return it. Her hair was aflame beneath the kitchen lights, held out of her face by a clip, though there were a few stubborn strands that had found their freedom and lay along her temples and jawline. He started to drop his head a little and stop staring at her, but at the movement, pain slashed through him, making him hiss in a breath.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no,” she said. “That isn’t going to work.” She poked him in the bare chest with her finger. “I’m not going to feel sorry for you.” With a sound of annoyance, she was on the move again, this time toward the front door.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “You’re not going to admit what you did, fine. I’m out. I still have a two-hour drive ahead of me to meet up with my family at their Quincy cabin.”

  Quincy was at least a two-hour drive, up a narrow two-lane highway that wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, especially at night.

  Not your problem… But he followed her to the door, oddly reluctant to let her go. “What if my neck goes into spasm again? I might drown in the tub.”

  “Be sure to leave me the memory stick in your will.”

  She was already at the door and he felt a surge of adrenaline hit him as he tried to figure out a way to get her to stay. Which meant that he was crazy.

  In the end he went with the only way he knew how to get her attention—by goading her. “Know what I think?” he asked her stiff spine. “I think you don’t really believe I stole your file. That’s just your excuse to see me.”

  She whipped around. “Listen, pal. I saw way more of you than I planned on.”

  “A bonus.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You cost me away time with my family.”

  “Your sisters,” he said, pulling out that little tidbit from conversations he’d overheard at some point or another. “Three of them, right? That’s a lot of estrogen in one place.”

  “Yeah,” she admitted with what might have been a very tiny smile on her mouth. “So much so that my dad chops the wood with an ax instead of the brand-new logger he purchased because it takes about ten times as long.”

  “Then you should be thanking me. Like you said, you killed some time here.”

  She rolled her eyes and once again turned to the door, and he felt his gut sink to his very cold toes. “Wait.” Moving carefully, he spun her around to face him.

  She took in his bare chest and his towel, and swallowed hard.

  Just that little involuntary movement made him forget being hurt and cold. In fact, it made him something else entirely, not a great thing while wearing only a towel.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Why don’t we work together on this thing. We—”

  Suddenly she frowned, her eyes focusing behind him.

  “What?” Moving like a turtle, hoping to God that whatever she was seeing wasn’t a bear, he looked behind him.

  “There’s no Christmas decorations,” she said.

  He blinked. “It’s a rental cabin.”

  “Yes, but you’re staying here alone? Through Christmas?”

  “Yes…”

  “Without a single holiday decoration?”

  Turning, he headed straight to the small bar between the kitchen area and living room. It was past time for a drink of something, preferably something hard that would make him forget why he wanted her to stay. Halfway there, his towel began to slip and in the name of any modesty he might have left, he grabbed it at the last second, receiving another stab of pain for his effort. He stifled his reaction and poured a healthy shot of scotch.

  “Thought your neck hurt,” she said, and he could tell by her voice that she’d moved somewhere between the door and where he stood