Tawny Weber - The Night Before Christmas - Naughty Christmas Nights / The Nightshift Before Christmas / 'Twas the Week Before Christmas

But for once, she didn’t care about that cautioning voice. She wasn’t worried about upsetting anyone. Not when she was already this upset herself.

“Look, have a glass of wine and let’s eat. We might as well,” Gage persuaded. “There’s no point in letting this ambience go to waste. The wine is chilled. The stomachs are growling. Let’s enjoy it.”

Hailey looked around the room.

Ambience, indeed. A cozy table for four covered in white linen, lit candles amid holiday greenery on the table and the sideboard. Instead of the Christmas tunes that were playing gently out in the restaurant, the speakers here played the bluesy romantic tones of Cherry’s music. A bottle of wine waited, as did a tray of hors d’oeuvres and fruit.

And Gage.

Looking oh so sexy and sympathetic.

She might be able to resist the sexy—and that was a huge might—but the sympathy in his dark eyes? Her heart melted a little; it was so unused to anyone seeming to give two good damns about her.

“Maybe we should hold the meal until Rudy joins us,” she murmured, sure an evening alone with Gage was a bad idea. One that’d feel amazingly good, but still... “Wouldn’t it be better to wait for him?”

“No.” Gage took her hand, led her to a seat with a perfect view of the garden and held out the chair. “He said to start without him. I’m starving, so let’s eat.”

Hailey hesitated, then sat. Because she was starving. Not because she wanted more time with Gage. She’d been so amped over this evening, so busy planning it all, that she hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast.

“This doesn’t count as my pitch for the contract. Once we eat or drink, unless Rudy or Cherry are here, the pitch is void.” Determined to settle that point, Hailey gave him an intent, narrow-eyed look. “Okay?”

“You sure?” Gage leaned back in his chair, giving her a considering look that made her shiver and wish she’d worn something that didn’t actually show her underwear. When she nodded, he lifted his glass of ice water with a twist of lemon and drank. “I guess we’ll just have to call this a date, then.”

Her eyes rounding, Hailey gulped.

“No—”

“Hey, you said it,” he interrupted. “It’s not for business. Which means this is a date. Just you and me and what dates are all about. Pure pleasure.”

* * *

GAGE LOVED WATCHING Hailey’s face. She was an open book, every emotion, every thought playing across those pretty features. Right now, her slick berry lips pursed and her brows creased, he read irritation, dismay and—yes, oh yes, baby—a whole lot of interest and sexual heat.

He figured the heated interest was enough to overcome the other dismay. And he kinda liked the irritation. It meant he was keeping her on edge. And Hailey on edge was fun. Like watching a hissing, spitting kitten.

“This is not a date.”

Gage grinned. She was so cute when she was stubborn.

“Sure it is. You. Me. Candlelight dinner, all the foofy romantic accompaniments. That says date.”

“Foofy?” Her green eyes slitted and she spat the word, just like the hissing kitten he’d thought her. “You call romance foofy?”

“Sure. It’s like frosting.” When she frowned and shook her head, he elaborated. “Frosting is sweet. It’s fluffy and tasty and quite often decadent. But it’s not the point. The point is the cake.”

“And you think leather lingerie is cake?”

“No.” He waited for the stiffness to drain from her shoulders and her face to relax again before adding, “The cake is sex.”

He laughed when she almost fumbled her glass of water.

“You’re awfully naive for a woman who designs sex clothes.”

“I don’t design sex clothes. I design lingerie. Underwear, sleepwear, apparel to make a woman feel confident and attractive and empowered.”

As much as he was enjoying the view of her face, those round cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing, Gage let his gaze drop.

Her see-through blouse was ruffly and full, creating a hazy distraction from the delicious curve of her breasts, highlighted to perfection in a pink bra. He had to hand it to her. Lacy and dotted with pearly things, the bra was attractive. And if it made her feel confident and empowered, well, more power to that sweet satin.

But he was thinking sex when he looked at it.

A fact he knew was clear on his face when he met her eyes again. A fact that, if the way her gaze blurred and her breath hitched were any indication, got her a little excited.

Good. He still had hope of rescuing this evening. As irritated as he was to put off his departure to Tahoe until next week after he’d nailed down winning this contract, spending more time with Hailey was a pretty good consolation.

He’d be even happier if they could spend some of that time naked. Or at least—his gaze dropped again—seeing her lingerie in more detail.

“Then I guess I’m all for empowerment if it comes in pink satin and—” He made a show of leaning closer. “Is that lace tan or brown?”

Pink, even darker than the last blush, washed her cheeks. Gage grinned. Teasing her was fun. Something he’d never actually experienced when it came to business. Missing was that sharp competitive edge, the driving need to win. Not that he had any doubt he’d triumph when it came to the contract. But for once, it was more about enjoying himself than proving himself.

Just then, the waiter stepped in with wine and a tray.

Gage leaned back, watching Hailey relax as she chatted with the man as he poured wine, letting him know it’d just be the two of them for dinner so to go ahead and serve. He waited until the man had left before arching a brow.

“We don’t order for ourselves?”

She gave an impatient little sniff, then after an internal debate that had him wondering what she was hiding, she shrugged.

“The point of this dinner is romance. Which is more than just candles, wine and music.”

“I might hate whatever you chose, though,” he teased.

“If you do, then I’m not very good at relaying the message of romance, am I?”

She said it as if romance was real. As if it was more than a sales pitch. He knew she was sweet, bordering on naive. But to really believe in that fairy tale? She wasn’t crazy.

“C’mon,” Gage said with a laugh. “It’s just us. Be honest. You’re not really buying into this whole romance-versus-sex thing, are you? That’s only a ploy to strengthen your pitch.”

Her lower lip stuck out when she frowned. He wanted to reach over and trace the pad of his thumb against it, test its softness.

“You don’t believe in romance?”

“It’s a device. A sales pitch.” He waved one hand to indicate the room, lifting his glass of wine with the other. “It’s all imagery.”

He sipped his wine, then gave an approving nod, pretending she wasn’t staring at him as though he’d spouted a third head and started babbling about the coming of aliens to take over the world and dress everyone in little pink tutus.

“Imagery? Romance is emotions, not packaging.”

“What’s its purpose?” he challenged, leaning back to rest one arm on the back of his chair and giving her a curious look. “To sell something, right? Sex, maybe? Companionship? Accoutrements like candles and wine and lingerie?”

Instead of rising to the bait and defending the fluff and froth of romance as he’d expected, Hailey just stared. Her look was intense, searching. Gage shifted, wondering if she could suddenly see through him the way he could see through her blouse. If so, he was pretty sure she wasn’t nearly as intrigued by what she saw.

“Is your lingerie just packaging?” she countered. “Is it just a way to make money?”

Yeah.