Faced with the choice between a night huddling on an empty train and venturing to some unknown destination with Oliver freaking Gage, the choice was clear. But sitting in the back of a cab with him—inches from that muscular body and hot-as-hell face, I’m wondering if the train was the safer option.

At least on the train, I wasn’t fantasizing about inappropriate sex.

Small talk. A little small talk will take my mind off that face. I open my mouth, and what comes out is, “Have you decided who you’re casting for Serendipity yet?”

Smooth, Jill. Real smooth.

Oliver smirks. “We haven’t finished narrowing it down yet,” he says casually. “We might need to do another, smaller callback.”

“So you can get somebody’s hopes up all over again before wrecking their dreams?” I ask, before I can take it back.

Oliver looks amused. “Isn’t that the whole point of auditions—or do you want us to cast everyone who walks through the door?”

I sigh. “Ignore me,” I tell him. “Let’s just say you were the final straw that broke the elf’s back.”

His smile turns sympathetic. “Hey, you never know, maybe the whole production will go down in flames.”

“Oh, please.” I laugh. “When was the last time you produced anything that wasn’t a smash hit?”

He grins. “There’ve been a few duds, believe me. I just know better than to publicize my failures.”

“Unlike me, you mean.” I wince.

“Well, if it was our attention you wanted, I promise you, you had it at the end.”

Yeah. Yay for me. I swallow a groan. “Actually, I’d rather if you just forgot the whole thing. Including the elf routine tonight. Just wipe the whole thing from your memory. Never happened.”

“Sorry, but that’s not going to happen.” He chuckles, the sound of his laughter warm and inviting. “And for what it’s worth, I’m definitely paying attention to you now.”

I look over. There’s mischief in his eyes—and a hint of suggestion.

Hello.

I shift in my seat. Is this cab getting hot or is it just me? This detour would be so much easier if he weren’t so damned attractive.

And arrogant.

And tempting . . .

Oliver looks away. “Here we are.”

The cab drops us off at the front walk of a big suburban home. Snow blankets the wide front lawn, and the cozy porch has lights gleaming warmly in the front window.

“This is not . . . what I expected,” I say slowly.

“How come?”

“I figured you for the sexy penthouse type. You know, the ultimate bachelor pad.”

He laughs. “I’d be offended if I hadn’t just snapped up a sexy penthouse in the city. Come on.” Oliver heads to the front door, and I follow him. But instead of getting out his keys, he knocks on the door.

“Wait, where are we?” I ask, confused.

He gives me a look that’s almost resigned. “You’ll see. And in advance: I’m sorry.”

I’m still trying to figure him out when the door is flung open, and a petite woman with an ash-gray bob lets out a shriek. “Olly!” she cries, and smothers him with a hug. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? You had me at my wits’ end, staying away for the holidays. And who’s your lovely friend?” She turns on me with delight, and I open my mouth to answer, but she hasn’t even paused for breath. “Well, what are you doing out there in the cold. Come in, come in! Ted!” she bellows back into the house as she practically drags us inside. “Ted, Olly’s here! And he’s brought his girlfriend!”

Wait, what?

I’ve barely had time to blink before the door has slammed shut behind us, and I’m standing in a warm foyer, getting stripped of my coat and scarf. “Look at you,” Oliver’s mom beams. “Aren’t you pretty? And such lovely red hair. Olly’s always had a thing for redheads, he used to have a poster of that girl from Buffy on his wall growing up.”

“Mom!” Oliver protests, looking profoundly awkward. “Stop!”

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed.” She beams. “He used to lock himself in the bathroom for hours,” she adds with a wink. “Taking baths,” she laughs. “Like we didn’t know what he was up to in there.”

“Mom!”

I laugh, loving how embarrassed he looks.

In fact, it’s the first time I’ve seen the great Oliver Gage look anything but confident.

“So, who’s this lovely lady?” his mom demands. “And why haven’t we heard about her? I’m Marcie,” she says.

“Jill. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“She’s not—” he starts explaining. “I mean, she’s just a friend.”

“Was just a friend,” I speak up, slipping an arm around him with a grin. “But, well, it turned into so much more. Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

“Pumpkin?” Oliver echoes in horror. I beam.

Payback’s a bitch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, he doesn’t like to be called by his pet name around other people,” I tell his mom with a wink. “That’s OK, baby. I’m sure she understands.”

Oliver opens his mouth, looking stressed, but his denial is drowned out by the arrival of the rest of the family to scope us out. I count his dad, an uncle, an older brother, and a sister, about my age. And all of them are delighted and surprised to meet Oliver’s “girlfriend.”

“You didn’t say anything,” his sister, Hallie, says accusingly.

“It’s been kind of a whirlwind,” I agree. I grab Oliver’s hand. “But when you meet the right person, there’s no point in taking it slow. Isn’t that right, cuddle bear?”

Now Oliver’s eyes look ready to pop right out of his head. I smile sweetly at him, and he manages to shoot daggers with his gaze. “I’m not sure—”

“I know, it seems like longer than it’s been, boo-boo.” I turn my smile on his family with a playful roll of my eyes. “Men and their troubles keeping those special dates straight.”

“Tell me about it,” a cousin agrees, grinning back.

Oliver sucks in a breath, and then his mom is ushering us down the hall with a sweep of her arms. “Have you eaten? We have leftovers from dinner. I always seem to think I’m cooking for more people than are actually here.”

I haven’t had anything since lunch except those few stolen hors d’oeuvres. “I’d love a quick bite,” I say. “It seems rude to rush straight off to bed. Don’t you agree, sweetie pie?”

Oliver’s mouth has set at such an odd angle I can’t tell whether he’s trying not to laugh or not to bite my head off. Maybe a little of both. His mom bustles on ahead to grab our food, and for a second the others are all talking to each other. Oliver tugs me close enough to murmur in my ear.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His lips brush against my skin, and I feel a shiver of awareness. “Practicing my craft,” I reply sweetly. “They’re so happy for you. You don’t want to ruin that, do you? Snookums?”

For a second I think Oliver is going to insist we tell everyone the truth. Then he shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Oh, you’ll regret this.”

“What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” Hallie says, coming over. “More secrets?”

“Nothing you need to hear about.” Oliver reaches as if to ruffle her hair, and she swats his hand away.

“I can’t believe you were on your way and pretending to me that you weren’t coming until Christmas Day.”

Oliver shrugs. “This wasn’t actually planned. Our train got stalled nearby, so I figured we might as well drop in. We aren’t exactly prepared to stay over.”

I realize he’s right. “I don’t even have a toothbrush!”

“Oh! That’s all right.” Hallie smiles. “I’ll lend you some stuff.”

On the way to the dining room, I meet Oliver’s older brother, Ben, his wife, Allison, and assorted cousins. All the names are getting hard to keep track of. His mom sits us down at the table and sticks plates heaped with homemade lasagna in front of us. A rich, meaty smell fills my nose, and I start to salivate.

Forget those crab flowers. Now I’m in total heaven.

The family jostles around us as we eat, asking questions about Oliver’s career and life in the city. Whenever talk turns to our coupledom, Oliver lets me take the lead. I spin a quick story about how we met, involving a last-minute audition, a prop sword, and a bucket of fried chicken. “I almost didn’t go to that callback,” I say, shaking my head. “Can you believe it?”

“So you’re an actress?” Hallie says, and shoots Oliver a look. “I knew that resolution wasn’t going to stick.”

I’m not sure what she’s talking about, but Oliver’s shoulders tense in a way that tells me I don’t want to ask. Not right now, anyway. I read all those articles about him before I did my first audition for Serendipity. Didn’t one of them mention an actress he’d dated? I don’t remember the details.

After the food hits my stomach, I sit back and begin to relax. It’s amazing how different the atmosphere is here compared to my own family home. The room hums with chatter and positive energy. Everyone’s smiling and laughing. My parents would have sat there stiffly asking a few perfunctory questions and doing a really bad job of hiding their disapproval of my life in general. Oliver’s seem to think everything about him—and me—is wonderful.

And his family is big. I’m an only child, and my cousins live on the West Coast, so I hardly ever see them. I didn’t know you could squeeze this much happiness into one room.

When I’m stuffed full of lasagna and familial affection, I feel obliged to repay all their generosity. I grab my plate and glass as I get up, ready to clear the table.

“Oh, that’s all right, dear,” Oliver’s mom says. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ve got it.”

She gives in and leads me to the kitchen. Then she insists on putting the dishes in the dishwasher herself. After she shuts it, she steps closer, lowering her voice.

“I just want to say, it makes me so happy to know Oliver won’t be spending the holidays alone. After what he went through this year . . .” She shakes her head sadly.

Interesting. Now I definitely need to find out what went down in Mr. Hotshot Producer’s love life.

Before I can get those answers from his mom, Oliver ambles into the room. “I’m thinking we should turn in for the night,” he says.

“Oh, my goodness, yes. You two must be exhausted. I had your father set up the room.”

The room? Singular?

Uh-oh.

Oliver’s mom leads us up the stairs and into a guest bedroom that, yes, has only one bed. One tiny, narrow, single-person bed. Hallie ducks in with a stack of supplies: a flannel nightshirt and some toiletries. Then they leave us together, closing the door behind them.

Silence.

“Ummm,” I start, looking at the bed. Maybe this ruse has gone a tiny bit over the line.

Oliver throws himself down on it with a bounce. “I was going to make sure you got your own room,” he says. “Until you decided to pull that whole ‘girlfriend’ thing.”

“Right,” I say, gulping. “Well, I’m definitely not sharing that bed with you.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the wall in a particularly drool-worthy pose. “You can forget it if you think I’m sleeping on the floor. I’ll manage to keep my hands to myself.”

Does he have to?

Ack. Thoughts like that are exactly why this isn’t a good idea. “It doesn’t really seem appropriate.”

“What? Sharing a bed with your whirlwind boyfriend? I’m hurt, snugglebuns.”

I glare-slash-laugh at him.

“Isn’t there anywhere else to sleep?” I ask.

“There’s a pullout couch in the basement. But we can’t split up for the night without raising a lot of questions. Unless you want to come clean now?”

I’ve only known Oliver’s family for an hour, but I already can’t stand the thought of disappointing them. “You’re Mr. Makes Things Happen. Can’t you figure out a better plan?”

He cocks his head at me, looking so damn sexy I begin to rethink the bed-sharing idea. Then he sighs.

“Look,” he says. “I know this situation is ridiculous, but I don’t want to break my mother’s heart. If we stick it out until everyone else goes to bed, I can sneak down and sleep on the pullout. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, disappointed-slash-relieved. “Thank you.”

His gaze falls on the folded nightie. The mischief comes back into his eyes. “Are you going to get changed?”

In an excellent show of maturity, I stick my tongue out at him. But I am exhausted after the longest day of my life. “Eyes to the wall, mister.”

He does without complaint. I still feel his presence like a tingling on my back as I quickly pull off my clothes and tug on Hallie’s nightshirt.

And tug. And tug.

It’s not budging any farther down. I didn’t really think about it, but Oliver’s sister is at least four inches shorter than me. This nightie must hit around mid-thigh on her. On me, it’s skimming the bottom of my panties.

“Are you decent yet?” Oliver says. “The wallpaper is fascinating and all, but . . .”

I suck in my lower lip. “Er.”

He turns around then, damn him. His gaze skims right down my body, leaving me flushed in its wake. “Oh,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well. That’s quite the look.”

“Hey!” I sit down on the bed, which only makes the nightshirt ride higher, and yank the corner of the blanket over my lap.

Oliver spreads his hands innocently. “You can’t blame a guy for appreciating the view.”

“Oh, believe me, I can,” I mutter.

His eyebrow twitches upward. “In many ways, you’re showing off less than you were at that party in front of a lot more people than me.”

“That was a performance. I was acting!”

“Really?” He studies me, a smile playing with his lips. “You’d never get dressed up to show off? Not even for your actual boyfriend?”

“I don’t have an actual boyfriend,” I say automatically.

Maybe I’d have been better off pretending I did. I think Oliver’s eyes darken at that admission, with what looks an awful lot like lust. Heat surges through me again.

“That’s too bad,” Oliver says. He’s been pretty good about keeping his eyes on my face, but they dip to my bare legs just for a second. He clasps his hands in front of him. Firm, muscular-looking hands. I bet they’d feel amazing sliding over my—

Okay, that train of thought took a wrong turn somewhere. “How do you sleep?” I ask pointedly. And realize that wasn’t the best direction either.

Oliver grins. “Are you the one asking for a show now?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I say. Though maybe I wouldn’t mind . . .

No! Shut up, brain.

“Well, I guess you’re not going to find out.” Oliver smirks. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about sharing the bed?”

“Not a chance.”

He’s just kidding around. I know that. But I can’t stop my gaze from lingering for a moment on his well-muscled chest, which his dress shirt doesn’t do much to disguise. I bet that body is every bit as panty-melting as his face.

When I return my eyes to his face, he’s smirking at me again. Shit, did he notice me checking him out? But all he says is, “You can get right into bed if you want, you know. I won’t be offended. It sounds like your day was a lot harder than mine.”

I pause. He’s actually being . . . nice. Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s got a kind streak under those dashing good looks somewhere, considering his family.

Nice, and hot, and sexy as hell . . .

For an instant, I reconsider the whole bed thing. Would it really be that bad to be lying there with him just a few inches away, in however little clothing he usually sleeps in . . .

My brain says no. The rest of my body says yes. Before I can wrestle control over one or the other, Oliver cocks his head. He steps closer to the door.

“I think everyone has turned in now,” he says. “Let’s both get some sleep. See you tomorrow, honeybunch.”

He winks at me and slips out the door. And I’ll be damned if I don’t immediately start wishing he hadn’t.