Aaron squashed the urge to comfort Zara. He should never have suggested that she come along. A relationship with a coworker was out of the question, but he couldn’t shake the desire to touch her, hold her, kiss her.

The second Zara had slipped into the bathroom, Cheryl suggested he sleep in her loft. When they’d dated, Cheryl had been jealous of every women with whom Aaron interacted. If she planned to use the trip as a way to reconcile, he needed to keep his feelings for Zara wrapped up tighter than a Christmas gift.

“Let’s start with a team building activity.” Cheryl dumped the contents of a tote bag onto the table. Squares of paper, tape, markers, colored pencils, and other art supplies thudded onto the wooden surface. “My family had a tradition of hanging handmade ornaments. Let’s each make an ornament for the Christmas tree.”

Her cellphone rang, and she went up to her loft to take the call.

While Zara worked on an abstract creation, Aaron drew her. Sketching had always been his escape. Each stroke brought more of the stunning woman to life from her long dark hair and her full lips, to her expressive eyes. For a festive touch, he drew holly around the border.

Once he put the finishing touches on the shading, he drew her cat with a Santa hat on the creature’s head.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” She examined his work. “That’s me and Licorice. I had no idea you were such a talented artist.”

“I wouldn’t call myself an artist.” He added a border of twisty black licorice strands.

While sketching was his passion, he’d pursued a more practical career. One that ensured he’d never drown in a sea of debt like his parents. He’d helped them pay off their bills, but his money failed to patch the rift that had become a chasm between his parents. Their bitter divorce proved that the world conspired to kill love.

“You are a hundred times better than that hack we hired for Wondrous Worlds.” Her gaze darted between the two drawings. “If you did the art for the game, it would sell like gangbusters.”

“The game graphics aren’t that bad.”

She shook her head. “Not bad, huh? We’d be lucky to get a three controller rating from Good News Gaming. The head of marketing commented that the graphics are ‘kindergartener-grade.’ Basically, because of your budget cuts, the best we could afford was the equivalent of a five-year old with a box of crayons. The thing that irks me the most is that the game has the potential to be a top pick.”

“I’m sorry.” Unable to meet her gaze, he kept sketching. He had done his best to fend off the need for restructuring and layoffs at the expense of her game.

“I thought you didn’t like the cat kind?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She placed her hand on his forearm and he lost himself for a moment in the moss green of her eyes. “Licorice. If you don’t like cats, why are you drawing mine?”

“I guess the little guy is growing on me,” he said.

Aaron wanted to hang the portrait of Zara from the top branch of the Christmas tree. Her image would burn brighter than any star or angel could, but he didn’t want to set Cheryl off. He shoved the drawing under Zara’s folder and went to work on a picture of Tiny.

Cheryl returned and started working on her own ornament.

“When do you want me to do the pitches?” Zara reached for her folder and the portrait fluttered to the table.

Cheryl examined the drawing. “Maybe tomorrow. I may already have all the information I need to make my decision.”

Aaron’s heart raced. He needed to convince Cheryl both Zara’s project and the woman herself were assets to the company.

* * *

After a couple of awkward meals and more teambuilding crap, Aaron tried to origami his six-foot frame into a comfortable position on the couch to no avail. He was about to give up and stretch out on the floor, when he heard a cry from Zara’s loft.

Overcome with the need to check on her, he crept up the ladder.

She thrashed in her sleep with the blankets twisted around her legs. Her t-shirt had ridden up exposing the silky skin of her midriff.

He leaned over and patted her arm. “It’s only a nightmare. You’ll be okay.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Aaron?”

“Sorry to burst in. I heard a noise and got worried.” Showing up in her bedroom in the middle of the night was all kinds of wrong. He laced his fingers together behind his back. “Were you dreaming of Oompa Loompas or pumpkin spice indulgence gone wrong?”

She shook her head. “I dreamt that Licorice got out of the apartment. I ran and ran around the city, but I couldn’t find him anywhere.”

“Why don’t you ask your neighbor to check on him?” It killed him to make the suggestion, but he wanted to alleviate her worry.

“Great idea.” She grabbed her cellphone from the nightstand and started typing. “Will you wait until I confirm he’s safe?”

“Of course. Would you like a glass of water? There’s leftover eggnog, or I could make you a hot drink if you prefer.” Hell, he’d drive around until he found an open coffee shop if that could erase the fear from her face.

“No, thanks.” She scooted over and patted the bed next to her. “You’d better get comfortable. If Warren’s working, it could take a while.”

He laid next to her, and his heart did a rat-a-tat-tat in his chest. Never had he allowed himself to imagine being in bed with her.

“Rationally, I know it’s just a stupid dream, but Licorice means the world to me.” Her lower lip quivered.

“You’ve convinced me of the importance of having a pet. After the holidays, I’m going to visit the shelters and pick out a dog or cat.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re going to get a cat?”

“Or a dog. I’ll keep an open mind.”

“You never cease to amaze me.” Her phone buzzed. “Thank goodness, Warren says that Licorice is curled up on one of the pillows on my bed. Thank you.” She threw her arms around him.

Her touch and sweet scent set him on fire.

He gritted his teeth. The best he could hope for was to move from the shit list into the friend zone.

She leaned back with her arms clasped loosely around his shoulders. Those green cat eyes of hers seemed to peer into his soul and expose all the pain he kept locked up inside. Her light illuminated his darkness.

Something shattered inside him.

Damn the consequences. He needed to kiss her. To release the tension that came from being teased by her pranks and by their emotional connection.

He moved closer, pausing inches from her lips.

Her breath grew ragged, but she didn’t so much as twitch.

Their lips met in the softest caress. He wasn’t sure if he’d closed the gap, or if she had. And he didn’t care. All that mattered was the moment.

Their kiss evolved, the sweetness transforming into molten desire.

His hands tangled into her long hair, while she reached beneath his shirt to stroke the curves of his back. His dick went rock hard.

She pulled away, and he braced himself for rejection.

“I want you.” She shimmied out of her baggy pajama pants exposing the Cubs logo on her panties.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You adore that damned baseball team.”

“I only wear my Cubs undies when I’m pissed at you.”

“Are you mad at me right now?”

“I will be if you don’t make love to me.” She got up and rooted around in her suitcase.

He admired the way the moonlight seemed to cradle her curves. His conscience nagged at him, reminding him of the futility of attempting a relationship with someone so different. The awkwardness of working with an ex-lover. The fact he was part of the senior management team. But he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t finish what they’d started. Damage control could wait for the morning.

She spun around and deposited a small square packet on the nightstand. Her wicked grin made all sorts of carnal promises. “Back in the day I was a Girl Scout. I believe in being prepared.”

He hoped she’d brought more than one rubber. “I should rip those panties off you.” The ferocity in his voice startled him.

“Go right ahead. I bought a couple more pairs for this trip. I had a feeling you’d get under my skin.”

He let out a growl, yanked off her panties, and tossed them into the corner.

She giggled until he captured her lips again.

All of their differences would be revealed in the light of day. If they only had one night, he’d make it count.