A Very Bossy Christmas - Kayley Loring Page 0,60
me, he holds a croissant midair and does a slow, full sweep of me from head to toe and back up again. The grin that spreads across his face is as handsome and inviting as his apartment, and they both belong on the cover of a magazine. But I’m not ready to share either of them with the rest of the world again yet.
“Morning,” I say, grinning back and smoothing the soft fabric of his T-shirt over my body.
He has to clear his throat before saying, “Hey…” And now my day has been made. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”
“Would you like me to get back in your bed?”
“Is that a trick question?”
I spot a large, gorgeous flower arrangement on the kitchen counter, and it definitely wasn’t there when he fucked me on it last night. “Wow. Dec. Those are gorgeous. Did you get those when you went out to pick up the food?”
“Yeah. You think Mrs. P will like them?” He sucks butter off his thumb, and I’m pretty sure I remember a time when I couldn’t decide if that smirk made me want to slap or kiss him, but I have this strange urge to create another tiny person with those dimples and those shiny golden brown eyes.
I have to shake that concept off too. “Mrs. Pavlovsky? You bought more flowers for my landlady?”
“You got a problem with that? She’s my girl.”
“You planning on having more boxing equipment delivered to my apartment when I’m not there?”
“Sometimes I just like to give women flowers, Magdalena.” He crosses over to the table by the front door and holds up an elegant orchid plant in a gold patina vessel. “This is for you.”
“Dec, that’s gorgeous. I love orchids.”
“I know. It’s for your desk.”
Right. My desk. At the office. Where we work together. And he’s my bossy boss who bosses me around, day and night.
“Thank you,” I finally remember to say. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“And I definitely didn’t imagine bending you over your desk and fucking you while I was paying for this. Because that would be a clear violation of the company’s current nonfraternization policy. But I have it on good authority that the in-house attorney will be officially rewriting said policy tomorrow. So keep that desk clear.” He gives me an exaggerated wink. But not even that dimple can subdue the oncoming dread that’s even worse than what I felt when I was a kid who didn’t want to go back to school after Christmas break.
He puts his hands on my hips and presses his lips to my forehead, and okay, maybe it’s not as bad as going back to school. Because I never went to school with anyone as hot and charming as Declan Cannavale.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he says. “I’ve never used those trays before.”
Declan miraculously finds a parking space right in front of my apartment building in the early afternoon, and by now I’m not anxious about anything anymore because we showered together. And by “showered together,” I mean we had sex in his big amazing shower. Mrs. Pavlovsky is sweeping the stoop, and I know she’s a seventy-year-old widow who still loves her deceased husband and all, but from the way she’s looking at Declan as he approaches her with an arm full of flowers, I’m pretty sure she’d let him bone her on a ship if he was into it.
“Ohhh, vat is zis? For me?”
“For you,” he says, giving her a gentle hug before handing her the bouquet like she’s a prima ballerina.
“Sank you. Ohhh, zis man, Magdalena! You see? I say to you before—put more fat on bones and good man vill come. Zis is good man for you!”
Aww. Mrs. P. Your heart is going to be broken in January. “Seems to me he’s a good man for you, Madame Pavlovsky.”
“Ohhh! Psssh!” She waves off that thought and then puts her hand on Declan’s coat. “Not for me, no. Zis is a—how you say? Flirtation.” She rolls the “r” like it’s a run-on sentence and it’s lovely. A flirtation with Mr. Boss Butt would be lovely. Although I suppose that’s what we had before the holidays.
“There ya go,” Declan says, patting her hand, which is still grasping on to his coat. “We’re gonna grab a drink at McSorley’s. You want to come?”
“Ohhhh nooo! Nooo, not for me. You go! You go! Don’t let me keep you, young people. Come by for some kutya later, yes? Good. Yes.” She finally