Christmas at Cupid's Hideaway by Connie Lane

Author:Connie Lane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“Love Nibbles, chocolate-flavored. Passion Plus, peppermint-scented. Wild Thing, vanilla. Tropical Nights, coconut. Eve’s Temptation, green apple.”

Leave to it Maisie to find flavored massage oils with the world’s least subtle names.

Fighting to keep her mind on her work and off the thoughts that floated through her head as she checked inventory in the Love Shack, Meg marked off the appropriate items on the list she had attached to a clipboard. She moved on to the next row.

“Burning Love, apricot. Good Enough to Eat, tuttifrutti. Nuts About You, peanut butter. Paris Erotica, champagne. Oh!”

With a barely controlled screech, she gave up. She slapped the clipboard down on a nearby table covered with a lace cloth and a selection of scented candles with names like Seduction, Burning Love and Hot Stuff.

“This is the last thing I need,” she muttered, but since she was alone in the Cupid’s Hideaway gift shop, her protest went nowhere at all.

Unlike her fantasies, which were well on their way here, there and everywhere.

As long as everywhere was where Gabe happened to be.

No happier to admit the sorry fact than she was to realize there wasn’t a thing she could do about it, Meg turned and went to the other side of the shop, far away from the gleaming blue-glass bottles of flavored massage oils and all the interesting possibilities they conjured.

Love Nibbles-coated Gabe. Wild Thing-scented Gabe. Those nice, muscular arms glossy with oil that smelled like Paris Erotica, tasted like champagne and made her just as crazy-drunk. Those long, lean legs glossy with the stuff and his hands, slick and hot, smoothing oil over her shoulders, across her breasts and—

This time, Meg didn’t even try to control herself. She let out a shriek that was muffled by the wisps of lacy panties displayed on a rack to her right and the gauzy negligees hanging in the antique wardrobe on her left.

Spending the day in the Love Shack was, she decided, the equivalent of a chocoholic being sentenced to a long-term stay at a Godiva factory.

Temptation all over the place.

And no lack of ideas about how to turn that temptation into reality.

“Fat chance.” With a sigh, Meg gave up even trying to make sense of the whole thing. Facts were facts and the fact was, ever since he’d stepped across the threshold of Cupid’s Hideaway, Gabe Morrison had been her own personal equivalent of a solid-chocolate Easter bunny. Yummy. Mouth-watering. And oh, so tantalizing.

“Don’t forget about bad for you, clogs up your arteries and stop your heart, makes you sick and miserable,” she reminded herself.

Disgusted with herself and with the ideas that had been pounding through her head since the night Gabe had almost kissed her, Meg decided a change of venue was in order.

“No more massage oil,” she told herself, and she checked the note Maisie had written on scented, flowery stationery before she’d left for a day of shopping on the mainland with Doc Ross.

“After the candles and the massage oil,” the note said in Maisie’s flowing, old-fashioned handwriting, “don’t forget the sex toys.

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