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her and wearing a sexy, lop-sided grin. He flicked her cheek. “Nice to meet you, Angelica O’Malley.”
    “Back atcha.”
    “I should—”
    “Stay right where you are.” She tightened her hold on him.
    “No objections here.” He brushed his lips to hers.
    “Are you one of those men who likes to have their partner leave right away?” Now why had she asked that question? It wasn’t as if she had any intention of staying, even though he’d mentioned running her back to town the following day.
    “You bet. But not in this case.” He leaned onto one forearm, cupped her breast, and tongue-tickled her nipple. “Not when I haven’t had a chance to taste every inch of you.”
    “I can stay a little longer, but I really do have to get back to the city tonight. I have a meeting at ten.” She finger-combed a lock of hair back from his forehead, surprised at how easy and familiar he felt. How right this strange intimacy seemed.
    Angel contracted her vaginal muscles once she felt him go flaccid inside her and grumbled her disappointment when he withdrew.
    “Be right back.” He kissed the tip of her nose.
    She traced the contractions of his powerful butt cheeks when he ambled across the bedroom and disappeared into what must be the bathroom. Only then did she begin to absorb the opulence of the enormous bedroom.
    He had either inherited or created a significant fortune. She recognized an ornate Rolex clock on an antique writing desk in the corner of the room.
    The bedroom didn’t fit him. Too fussy, with too many knickknacks everywhere. A warrior like Satan didn’t collect expensive model cars, and certainly not Russian peasant dolls. A half decade spent as a journalist meant she could pretty much glance at a person and read their personality. Clothes, stance, body movements were dead giveaways, but a bedroom—that was where deep secrets were revealed. She’d bet any odds that nothing, not a single object in this bedroom, had been purchased by him.
    She heard the toilet flush.
    He strolled through the doorway not two seconds later and gestured to the bathroom. “All yours.”
    Angel rolled onto her side. “Can you toss me my dress?”
    He bent, snatched the dress, and offered the fabric to her. “Want to borrow a T-shirt and sweats? Be more comfortable.”
    “I’ll definitely take you up on that.” She hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean, I really should leave.”
    “You’d never get a cab at this hour. And a limo’s highly improbable. I’ll run you into town tomorrow. No problem.”
    He was probably right on both points.
    “There are six bedrooms. We don’t have to sleep together if you’d prefer otherwise.”
    She laughed. “I’d definitely not prefer otherwise. I’ll take the sweats and the T-shirt, thanks.”
    “Hang on.” He pivoted, went over to a mahogany dresser, opened a drawer, retrieved two garments, hip-bumped the drawer shut, and returned to her side. “Black definitely suits you.”
    “Thanks.” She took the clothes from his grasp. “Kind of cliché—you know, redhead dressing in black. I’ll be right back.”
    While Angel had no illusions about her body and knew she had a good figure, getting off the bed and walking to the bathroom knowing his gaze would be locked on her ass proved unnerving. She washed up, used some of his toothpaste to finger-brush her teeth, and donned the sweats and T-shirt.
    He was sitting on the bed, dressed in the same manner, when she exited the bathroom. Immediately, he stood and drew her into his embrace.
    Her stomach picked that moment to complain its emptiness. She coughed to cover the embarrassing growl.
    “Ten is your meeting? Can’t reschedule?”
    “No. Not this one, but it’ll only last a couple of hours, I hope. After that I’m on vacation for four days, and definitely available” Shit.
    That was so not what she’d meant to say.
    Only a crazy woman would offer to spend Christmas with a man she just met. And fucked.
 

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