Page 11 of The Naughty List Agreement

“Who is this?” she asked. Nick must love this woman. The details in the figure of the woman were even more delicate than the pine marten. Was he married? If so, she really needed to stop noticing him as a man. He was off limits.

“Please don’t touch the things in my workshop,” he said.

She put it down like it had burned her. “Is it your wife?”

“I’m not married.”

Well, that was … good news?

It was hard not to notice how magnetic he looked in his own surroundings. His flannel shirt and worn jeans suited him here. They suited him everywhere, actually. Not her style, but on him? Oh yes, they suited him.

She wanted to ask again about the woman, but it wasn’t her business. Her business was the WonderHaus. “What about production? How fast can you make ten thousand of them?”

“We have the wooden house pieces already available in our warehouse. We can deliver all orders by Christmas Eve.”

“That’s great, but to create buzz and excitement, we want to create that feeling that they have to buy it now. I know what I’m talking about when it comes to sales.”

“Things will be different this year,” he said.

“Of course, but a perception of scarcity will drive demand. If everyone can have it, it’s not special.”

“If not every kid can have it, then it creates anxiety in children. That’s not the spirit of Christmas.”

Cora had spreadsheets and actual analytics to prove her point, but she sensed this wasn’t something she was going to win with facts and figures.

“‘The spirit of Christmas’ sounds like a slogan that the old department stores used,” she said dismissively. “Will you have a mock-up of one I can take with me on Friday?”

Better to keep him focused on the product, they could argue about sales later.

“Have you ever had a real conversation? You have to take a break so the other person can respond. It’s a back-and-forth.”

If he was teasing her, he must be softening up. She might get her way after all. She had to play the game his way for now, but once he saw how many units she could shift, he’d change his tune. His plaid-shirt charm might work on some people—like the woman he’d carved—but Cora was unaffected. The chances of her falling under the spell of a man was like pigs flying. Or Santa being real. As if!

“Why don’t you tell me about the lady you sculpted? That’d be a nice conversation,” she said, and then watched, transfixed, as he rubbed his hand through that thick chestnut hair of his and it fell back into place looking rumpled and messy and way too sexy.

What would it feel like to push her own hands through his hair? Would those pieces fall over his eyes in exactly that same coyly bashful way?

There was absolutely no way he was going to discuss Ana with Cora Quill, of all people. And yet, the way she was looking at him, was new. There was a question in her eyes that hadn’t made it to her tongue. A look in her eyes that, unless he was much mistaken, was hot. Like … hot, hot.

“She’s my sister.”

“She looks so … ethereal. I had no idea you were so talented. With your hands, I mean. No, wait, that’s not what I⁠—”

“I definitely am,” he said, not sure whether he was covering her awkwardness or adding to it.

She flushed. The latter then.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she mumbled.

“I’m happy to show you,” he said, walking over to her. She smelled of peppermint and pine. No doubt the pine came from his workshop but the peppermint, that was all her.

He had a weakness for the stuff. She sucked in a shaky breath as he stopped right beside her. Tipping her head to the side, his eyes were drawn to her mouth. Her full lips were a warm pink color.

They parted and her tongue dashed out to moisten them. He had an immediate, visceral reaction. His blood felt heavier in his veins, pounding through the base of his throat. His pulse started to thump. And then his cock stirred.

This was a dangerous game.

He was in the market for a wife. A wife for all eternity. Not this sudden rush of physical attraction that signaled the desire for a one-off, hot hookup. He had to put a stop to this.