Free A Christmas Together by Tara Quan Page B

on the kitchen island.
    “They’re wrong. In our case, it took one.” He cupped her face with both palms. Her skin felt like silk. She smelled of sugar and spice. “I don’t blame you for wising up and walking out. I hated hearing you apologize because you’re the last person who should.”
    Her eyes widened, lending her face a heartbreaking vulnerability. “I think I finally figured out why I’m so angry.”
    He chucked her under the chin. “Oh yeah?”
    “I’m happy you’re here.” Thick lashes fanned over her rosy cheeks. “And I don’t want to be.”
    He should step away. The right thing to do was let her go. But he couldn’t—not again. It’d taken all his willpower not to chase her down the first time, and he wanted her back. The sudden awareness made his head spin. No job was worth never seeing her again. He’d been a fool, and it might be too late.
    He wanted to kiss her so much it hurt. Her scent filled his lungs. Her satiny hair whispered over the back of his hands. When he bent forward, her lips parted. A blush colored her pale skin as she drew in a shallow breath. Desire shone in those green depths, and he knew he could push her to give him what his body demanded.
    But he hadn’t earned her trust. He’d caught her in a moment of weakness, and when the sun came up, she’d regret letting him have his way. He wanted more than a night of passion—more than a single intimate embrace. Now that he knew what he was fighting for, he refused to win a battle and lose the war.
    Lowering his hands, he stepped back. “Where did you put the lights?”
    “What…?”
    He focused on keeping his tone casual. “There weren’t any on the tree in your living room. I can’t sleep, and I have energy to burn. Let me string them up for you.”
    She blinked. “You want to put up Christmas decorations?”
    He lied, “I can’t think of anything better to do.”

Chapter 6
    “I realize it’s all-you-can-eat, but isn’t three hundred bucks a bit steep for lunch?” Karl scanned his surroundings. The busy restaurant was situated on the twenty-seventh floor of the Burj Al Arab. A six-star luxury hotel in the shape of a sailboat, the beachside high-rise boasted three hundred and sixty degree views of the ocean and its own helipad. Their location public and the security impressive, he allowed himself to relax. Even Riad wasn’t dumb enough to attack them here.
    Both the hotel lobby and their current space were covered in Christmas decorations uncommon in most Muslim countries. Dubai’s ruler numbered among the few Middle Eastern leaders who faced the encroaching Western world with excitement rather than fear. All service staff, most of whom were Filipino, wore green pointed shoes, glittering red bow ties, and furry elf hats. He’d heard “Merry Christmas, Ma’am, Sir” more times here than would be expected in the States. Ever since political correctness came into vogue, seasonal greetings had shifted to the secular “Happy Holidays.”
    Brennan toyed with her champagne flute. “The per-head includes free-flowing champagne, and this is one of the few places serving whole-roasted turkey.”
    “But I have to pay for beer by the pint.”
    “Considering it’s the day before Christmas Eve, you should make an exception and drink the bubbly.” She nudged her glass in his direction.
    He looked askance at the fizzy gold liquid. “This is one hell of a racket they’ve got going. Only girls like this stuff, and your stomachs don’t fit much food.”
    “It’s why we bring men to balance the scales.” She retrieved her beverage and sipped. “Friday Brunch is a Dubai tradition. We were lucky they could squeeze in an extra chair.”
    He let the subject drop, though he couldn’t help but calculate the potential cost for a six-person table. With service charge, they’d easily spend two grand. But his sour mood had nothing to do with the price of their meal. Quite a few pairs of male eyes currently feasted on