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

That was how his grandfather had built the company. On the concept of seeing what people thought they wanted and coming up with ideas to meet those wants.

That was how Devon developed new product offerings. He looked at the ideas people thought were so appealing and made them better. Bigger. More attractive, so they’d pay top dollar.

And that was how Gage sold it. By tapping into what people thought they needed and convincing them that his product was the only one that could perfectly meet that need.

It was Psychology 101, combined with Economics and Marketing 102.

But he didn’t think telling her that was going to score him any points.

So he shrugged, then shot a smile at the waiter, who chose that perfect moment to bring their food.

“Imagery is imagination, yes. It’s packaging and appeal. But romance is more than that,” she said as their dishes were set in front of them. His favorite spinach salad, he noted with a frown. “Romance is emotions.”

“Imagery taps into the emotions. Plays them,” he said, still frowning at the salad and wondering how she knew exactly what he liked. He glanced up to ask her and winced at the look on her face. Clearly she didn’t think the emotions were something to be played with.

He waited for her to chew him out.

Instead, she leaned closer, resting one hand on his forearm for support as she lifted her mouth toward his ear.

“And just so you know,” she said, her words a whisper of heat against the side of his head, low enough so the waiter couldn’t hear, “the lace is bittersweet chocolate. You know, like frosting.”

Gage closed his eyes and bit back a groan.

Every time he thought he had the upper hand, she found a way to knock him off balance.

“Enjoy,” the waiter said, breaking his thoughts.

Opening his eyes, Gage watched the guy leave. In the three seconds it took him to regain his equilibrium, Hailey dug into her own salad with a tiny moan of delight.

“I’m so glad you insisted we eat,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “I was starving.”

“What’s for dessert?” he asked, noting that her salad was slightly different from his. Spinach, yes, but hers had strawberries, which he was allergic to. Did she know that? “Something frosted, I hope.”

She laughed, looking more relaxed than he’d seen her since they’d realized they were rivals.

“You don’t really mean that about romance, do you? That you don’t think it’s real?” she asked after a few bites. “I didn’t peg you as the kind of guy who didn’t believe in the softer side of love.”

Another one for the imagery books. Gage shoved a forkful of spinach in his mouth to keep that opinion to himself.

“I think we buy into what we want to believe,” he finally said. “If you want to believe that love is romantic, you look for that. If someone else thinks that sex is about physical gratification, they find images to support that belief.”

“And if I wanted to believe you’re a grumpy sort of emotional curmudgeon who, after being exposed to a little romance, has his heart grow three times too large, will I see that, too?” she teased, her smile bright and her eyes dancing as she referenced his Grinch costume.

“I have no doubt you could make something grow three times larger....” It was difficult, but he managed to hold back his smile until he saw that pink on her cheeks. “But I doubt it’d involve my heart. Disappointed?”

Her lips pursed, as if she was debating.

“Well, I suppose it won’t jeopardize my chances of winning the account to admit that I was disappointed to find out you were my competition,” she said with a little shrug. The move did delicious things under that filmy shirt, the lush pillows of her breasts moving against the satin bra as if protesting their confinement. Gage’s fingers ached to touch. To see if she was as soft as she looked.

“Disappointed because you are worried I’ll win?” he asked, too distracted by the view to worry about nicing up his words.

“Disappointed that it meant we can’t date,” she denied, just a hint of irritation. “The man I met at the party was very appealing.”

It wasn’t her words, so much as the snap in her tone that grabbed his attention. Gage noted the annoyance as it flashed in her eyes, then was gone.

“But now you’re wondering if that man was real.” Gage frowned, wondering that, too. And wondering why he cared so much.

“You’re obviously real, seeing as you’re sitting right next to me all but licking—” she hesitated, took a breath that made her breasts shift deliciously again, then said archly “—your plate. The only question I have is who you really are.”

Marcus Milano’s son.

Devon Milano’s younger brother.

The last one consulted, the one who least fit the Milano mold.

And—definitely—a man who didn’t need a pretty little blonde poking into who he really was.

Time to change the subject.

“Isn’t the more important question how you’re going to pitch this romantic fluff idea of yours?” he said with just a hint of disdain. As he’d hoped, her eyes flashed and she shifted her shoulders back into combat position.

Good.

The only time he wanted her focused on him was if it included naked skin, hot tongues and the buildup to incredible orgasms.

“You’re very dismissive of something you don’t understand.” She arched one brow, poking a strawberry with her fork and lifting it to her mouth. She didn’t bite it, though. Instead, she slid the juicy fruit over her lower lip. Gage’s eyes narrowed and his body stiffened.

She smiled, her look pure triumph, as if her x-ray eyes saw through the table at his burgeoning boner.

“Don’t you think you’re proving my point?” Gage asked, shifting in his chair. He wasn’t embarrassed at his physical reaction. But he wasn’t sure where she was going with this, either. Hailey had a way of leading things along, all innocent-like, then just when he was sure he’d won, she’d bat those lashes and outmaneuver him.

He had to admire that about her.

“No.” She touched the strawberry with the tip of her tongue, as if testing its taste. Gage’s brain shut down and he suddenly didn’t give a damn whether she won or not. Just as long as she did that same move on a particular part of his body.

“Your point was that it’s just about sex. That the physical act and gratification are all that matters. My point is that the packaging is what makes that act so powerful. The buildup, the anticipation. The emotional journey.”

She paused to let her words sink in, then bit that strawberry right in half. Gage almost groaned out loud as his dick did a happy leap to full attention.

“You know,” she reminded him softly as she licked a tiny piece of strawberry off her lip. “The romance.”

“Visuals,” he countered after clearing his throat. Then, always ready to play to win, he leaned closer. Close enough to get in her space. Close enough that the delicate scent of her perfume wrapped around him. And close enough to see the rapid beat of her pulse against her throat.

“Imagery is powerful. I could describe to you exactly how I want to strip those clothes from your body, what I’d like to do once you’re naked and beneath me, how I want to taste you and where I’ll touch.” He waited, letting those words sink in. And sink they did, as she dropped her fork next to her plate and blinked quickly, looking as if she was trying to fan away that image with her eyelashes. Gage grinned. “But that’s sex. Which is my point.”

As if he’d been waiting around the corner for just the right moment, the waiter came in again with their entrées. Gage vowed to give the guy an extra tip for perfect timing, since Hailey now had to sit quietly, looking shell-shocked and absorbing his words instead of skipping right past them while trying to prove her point.