As of nine o’clock that morning, St. Sebastian had completed its purchase of Las Ventanas, and they’d cleared Paul Barrington to tell his direct reports about the sale in advance of the broader employee announcement scheduled to occur at the holiday party.
When Chelsea had shoved him into the closet, he’d intended to stop things after the kiss. In part because he’d tasted champagne on her lips, but more importantly, because a heat-of-the-moment hookup with the assistant manager of their newest acquisition was no way to convince his father he was ready to step up as chairman of the board of St. Sebastian Enterprises.
Strategic advantage guided Luc St. Sebastian’s every decision. Rafe, on the other hand, preferred to balance analysis with gut instinct, and an occasional risk. Traits his father deigned impulsive and reckless.
The impulses Chelsea inspired had felt a little too reckless, even for him, but once she’d pressed her soft, eager mouth to his, he couldn’t for the life of him bring things to a halt. He remembered thinking, two consenting adults, and then simply not thinking.
Maybe it had been an attempt to combat the tedium of what promised to be another boring corporate party, or maybe a deeper act of rebellion. He wanted the helm of St. Sebastian Enterprises, and fully expected to earn the chairmanship, but he chafed at the expectation he turn himself into a carbon copy of his father to do so. Their philosophical differences ran deep. He liked taking chances, both personally and professionally. His father never made a move that wasn’t premeditated, considered to the fullest, and designed to further the interests of the company.
Rafe found operating under such a constant state of caution and duty stifling. He’d walked the line this year—mostly to prove to his father he could—right up until the moment Chelsea had pulled him into a closet and wished him a Merry Christmas.
And, God, she’d wanted him, with an honesty he’d found refreshing. No games. No secondary agenda. Just pure, simple lust. At his barest touch, she’d burned for him, sparking an answering fire he hadn’t expected. Within minutes, they’d both been out of control. Luckily, she’d come prepared. He’d gratefully accepted the condom she’d offered as she’d bent over the stack of tables, invitation in every line of her body. An invitation he couldn’t possibly refuse even though an annoying voice in the back of his mind had tried to tell him those big, brown eyes didn’t belong to the type of girl who fucked a stranger in a closet. He’d hauled her red skirt up and given her an RSVP she’d never forget. She’d gasped and squirmed, either startled by the contact or tickled by the beard.
Loving her uninhibited response, wanting more, he’d kept going, slowly tortured them both. Her restless moans had filled the small room, followed by a startled cry after a particularly energetic move from her had damn near toppled them. He’d managed to stabilize them just in time, and then gotten swept up in her throaty laughter.
The playful moment should have released some of the tension, and instilled some caution, but no. By that point, only one release would do, and by God, he’d given it to them. Call him jaded, but no woman had gotten him that hot, inspired that kind of all-consuming urgency, in a long time.
The stolen moment had seemed like the perfect pre-party until the very end, when she’d kissed him, called him “Paul,” and walked out. At first he’d just stood there thinking, What the fuck? The next instant, all the implications had hit him like a category five shit storm. He’d yanked the door open and scanned the hall, hoping to catch her and clear up her misimpression. Unfortunately, there’d been no trace of her and he’d known with a sinking certainty he was too late. She’d already joined the party.
Now he was about to step on stage in front of a room overflowing with new St. Sebastian employees, where he’d make eye contact with Chelsea, and convey…what? No harm no foul?
Shit. He was screwed. But he sure as hell wasn’t bored.
Chapter Two
Relax. Nobody will ever guess you just had sex in a supply closet.
“Your clothes are wrinkled, you’re fifteen minutes late, and you’re glowing like a Christmas tree.” Laurie Peterson’s voice carried over the coy innuendos of “Santa Baby.” “This forces me to ask, who the hell are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”
Chelsea rolled her eyes and made her way toward the long table where the catering team put finishing touches on the buffet. “Sorry. I had to put out a fire.”
“You had to put out a fire here, on your day off?”
“Uh-huh.” Technically, the fire in question had been in her panties, but no need to go into those details. Determined to redirect Laurie before she wrangled the rest of the truth out of her, Chelsea stepped closer to the poinsettia-accented table where her friend stood transferring cupcakes from her baker’s cart to the serving pedestals lined up along the center. She’d decorated each little cake like a gift, complete with piped fondant paper and intricate icing bows. “These look amazing. Thanks for squeezing our order in.”
“Business is good,” Laurie agreed, with the half-dazed, half-pleased expression of the newly self-employed. She arranged the last of the cupcakes on the pedestal closest to her, examined the presentation with narrowed hazel eyes, and nodded. “But I couldn’t forget my peeps at LV. If not for the three years I spent working here, I would never have had the money or skills to open my own place.”
Pride bubbled up in Chelsea’s chest like uncorked champagne. Laurie had always dreamed of opening her own bakery, much the same way Chelsea had always dreamed of running Las Ventanas. Now here they stood, two women pursuing their dreams—Laurie as the proprietor of Babycakes, Montenido’s hippest, cutest, yummiest bakery, and Chelsea as the assistant manager of Las Ventanas, Southern California’s premier coastal resort.
Laurie grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bar, where the early arrivals had already started to gather. “Don’t try to change the subject. Why are you all flushed and flustered?”
Chelsea wondered why the heat from her cheeks didn’t melt the stylized “LV” ice sculpture beside the bar. And yet she couldn’t tame her smile. The opportunity to shock Laurie didn’t knock every day. She decided to go for it. “If you must know, I was late because I was having sex in a supply closet.”
“Oh. My. God. My responsible, respectable best friend had closet sex at the holiday party. I’m scandalized. With who?”
The question made her want to roll her eyes. “Who do you think?” She’d been dating Paul for almost six months. As usual, Laurie preferred to pretend the relationship didn’t exist. Defensive of him, Chelsea added, “Not just closet sex—wild, passionate closet sex.”
“With Paul? Impossible.”
“Oh, come on. I know he’s not your cup of tea, but he can be very uninhibited and spontaneous. Now and then.”
“He’s got the slick, buttoned-down thing going on, but he’s not the uninhibited, spontaneous type.” She pointed a finger at Chelsea. “Which means…hold the phones…the wild, passionate closet sex was your idea.”
Chelsea blinked at the revelation, and then quickly looked around to make sure they hadn’t picked up any unwanted listeners. More employees filled the room now. A low hum of conversation competed with the music. “Guilty.”
“I’m so proud of you, stepping out of your two goody shoes for once in your life.”
“Paul did this very sweet and unexpected thing, and I couldn’t help myself.” Laurie’s arched eyebrow compelled Chelsea to elaborate. “I caught him hovering in the hallway, wearing the Santa costume I ordered for him.”
Laurie blinked. “Paul Barrington dressed up like Santa? Are you sure?”
She led the way to the buffet table, nodding and waving to people as she went. “I know it sounds out of character. He surprised me, too, because I didn’t think he was in the mood to do it. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately. He got hit with an operational audit of the entire resort. Loads of late hours and off-site meetings. Tons of extra work.”