Page 55 of Naughty or Nice

His grin is unhurried, and electrifying as fuck.

‘Yes, now, Evangeline.’

* * *

I’m on my best behaviour. This is about convincing her to work with me.

But the way she keeps looking at me...the way her face lit up when she stepped onto the jet and asked if it was mine...

Impressing her is like a drug, I want to do it again and again and again. And, luckily for me, this trip is all about that.

The Beaumonts have money—serious money—but they don’t have wealth like this.

‘Can I get you something to drink, Mr Waring?’

I pull my attention from Eva, who’s been exploring the cabin area since we hit cruising altitude, and look to Frederick, my on-call flight attendant. Ever efficient, polite and discreet.

‘Please—champagne.’

Eva’s eyes flick to me, widening.

‘What?’ I ask innocently.

‘A bit extravagant, don’t you think?’

We’re on my private jet and champagne is what she deems ‘extravagant’?

‘No.’

Her smile is provocative as much as it is coy. ‘Celebrating a bit early, aren’t you?’ she asks.

‘No.’

She settles herself into a sofa, her hands reaching out to smooth along the upholstery—yes, she’s definitely impressed.

‘This has nothing to do with work and everything to do with a drink worthy of the company.’

She laughs and it ripples through me, heat tightening me up like a coiled spring. ‘Some water, too, please, Frederick.’

‘Of course, sir.’

He disappears, and Eva watches him go before looking back to me, her brow wrinkling. She’s serious and happy all at once—speculative, if I had to put a word on it. But she’s not wary...not like she was before.

‘Are you hungry?’ I ask.

It’s almost nine in the evening and I know she’s not eaten. We’ve been together since we left her office. And I’ve loved every second.

Something’s changed since that night at my apartment—whether it’s what I told her, or something else, she’s different. She seems relaxed—hell, I’m relaxed. It’s rubbing off on me, blurring the boundaries of this trip. Personal or business...?

Something flares inside. Something akin to hope.

‘Ravenous,’ she says.

My breath catches. Jesus.

It’s an honest answer, perfectly platonic, but to my hyped-up body she might as well have begged me to screw her with that very sweet word. Frederick present or not.

And, speak of the devil, he appears, champagne in hand.