Tawny Weber - Naughty Christmas Nights

“Being on top is better than being on the bottom …”

“Not always.” Hailey’s words were low and teasing. The look in her eyes was hot, sexy.

“Being on top has a few definite benefits,” Gage murmured, now having completely switched places so her back was against the wall and his toward the ballroom.

“Does it? Like what?” Her eyes were huge, so big they were lost in the curls tumbling out from the white fur brim of her hat.

Need, stronger than any he’d felt over a simple flirtation, surged through Gage. He angled his body so Hailey was trapped between him and the wall.

For a second, one delicious second, he just stared. The tempting display of luscious flesh, mounded above the tight satin binding her breasts.

The need intensified. Took on a sharp, hungry edge.

“Like this,” he said, giving in to its demand. He took her mouth, intending to be gentle.

But the kiss was carnal and raw and dancing on the edges of desperate. Tongues tangled. Lips slid, hot and wet.

And she tasted just as sweet as she looked … But the sounds she made were sexual nirvana.

Naughty Christmas Nights

Tawny Weber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author TAWNY WEBERhas been writing sassy, sexy romances since her first Mills & Boon ®Blaze ®was published in 2007. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordination, she spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook.

Readers can check out Tawny’s books at her website, www.TawnyWeber.com. There, they can also join her Red Hot Readers Club for goodies like free reads, chapter excerpts, recipes, contests and much more.

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To my awesome brothers, Ron and Kevin!

I love you guys.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Prologue

HOLIDAYS SUCKED.

Gage Milano had no issue with the idea of a holiday. Celebrations were great. Kinda like parties, which he rocked. Or remembering and commemorating events, which showed respect. Gage was all for respect.

But holidays?

Holidays meant family.

Obligation.

That freaking heritage crap.

Gage looked up from his plate. Crystal glinted, china gleamed. Ornate flower arrangements in fall tones lined the center of the rosewood table big enough to seat two dozen people. Which was twenty-one more than were sitting here now.

Stupid.

There was a perfectly sized, comfortable table in the breakfast room. But no. Couldn’t eat Thanksgiving dinner in the breakfast room. Not because it wasn’t fancy enough. Nope. Gage figured it was because his father was still trying to drive home the fact that in the Milano dynasty, he still had the biggest...table.

Marcus Milano was all about who was biggest. Best. Holding the most control. Something he loved, probably more than his sons. He’d taught Gage and Devon to be fierce competitors. From playing T-ball to pitching deals, he’d set the bar high and dared both his sons to accept nothing but a win. Unfortunately, with two of them, that meant one of them was always losing. Something Marcus always found a way to capitalize on.

As if hearing Gage’s thoughts and ready to prove them right, Marcus looked up from his perfectly sliced turkey and portion-controlled serving of carbs to bellow down the table.

“Gage. New venture for you to take on.”

Ahh, dinnertime demands. The Milano version of conversation.

“No room.” Gage scooped up a forkful of chestnut dressing and shot his father a cool smile. “I’m in meetings with my own clients next week, then I’m on vacation.”

“Make room,” Marcus barked. “I want this account.”

Ahh, the joys of being under the cozy family umbrella. Gage might be thirty years old, have a rep as a marketing genius, be the VP of a Fortune 500 company and own his own marketing start-up, which was quickly racking up enough success that he’d be forced to make some decisions soon.

But in his father’s mind he was still at the old man’s beck and call. There to do the guy’s bidding.

It wasn’t that Gage didn’t appreciate the opportunities Milano had afforded him. But dammit, the company’s success was as much because of him as anyone else. When he and Devon had come on board six years previous, it’d been sinking under the economic collapse. Between Devon’s restructuring and Gage’s marketing, they’d turned it around.

The old guy didn’t see it that way, though. To him, he was Milano and his sons simply adjuncts.

Gage glared down the table. Pointless, since his father was nearsighted and too far away to notice. Not that he’d care if he could. Marcus Milano had built his rep on not giving a damn. So Gage shifted his anger across the table at his brother.

Devon, his black hair and blue eyes the spitting image of their father, only grinned.

“You’re the king of the sales pitch, little brother. You know how we depend on you for these special projects.”

Devon was also the king of bullshit.

“I don’t have time,” Gage repeated, his words delivered through the teeth of his own smile. “I’ve been going full speed ahead for six quarters with no break. When I signed that multimillion-dollar deal last month for the electronics division, we all agreed I was off the books until the end of the year.”

Five weeks away from Milano. Time to chill, to relax. Hightail it to the Caribbean, where he could lie on the beach, chug the booze and check out the babes. And think.

Think about his future.

Think about leaving Milano.

Weigh the risks of going out on his own.

The old man had built a multipronged business with its fingers in various consumer pies. Milano made everything from tech to textiles. Devon was R & D, Research & Development. He came up with the ideas, put together whatever new product he thought would reel in more coin for the very full Milano coffers.

Gage was marketing. He could sell anything. Water to a drowning man. Silicone to a centerfold. Reality to the paranoid.

He knew people. What made them tick, what turned them on.

A trait that served him well, in business and in pleasure.

A trait that told him that getting away from this dinnertime trap was going to be one helluva feat.

“Off the books except in an emergency,” Marcus said around his mouthful of oyster stuffing. “This is an emergency.”

“An emergency is pictures of Devon doing a donkey being displayed on the cover of People magazine. An emergency is the accounting department being caught using our computer system to embezzle from a foreign government or your last wife showing up pregnant, claiming the baby is yours. Whatever new product you want to peddle isn’t a marketing emergency.”

“I say it is.”

Gage ground his teeth. Before he could snap, his brother caught his eye.

“Look, it’s an easy deal,” Devon said quietly, forking up a slice of turkey and swirling it through his buttery puddle of potatoes. “We’re launching that lingerie line. The merchandise is ready. We just need a platform. Marketing came up with a great idea.”