After the Christmas Party(150)

“They don’t have to look any certain way,” he assured her, helping her straighten the wrapping. He gently pushed Casper out of the way when the cat attempted to pounce on the paper, obviously not finished with having Riley’s attention. Her cat really was smart. Brilliant, even.

“It’s not the packaging that matters, Trinity,” he continued, smoothing the paper Casper had managed to crinkle. “Like a lot of things in life, it’s what’s inside that counts.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure about what’s inside either.” She gave the packages a skeptical look, handed him the string so he could occupy her cat while she attempted to wrap presentable gifts. “It wasn’t easy buying something for someone I’ve never met.”

“You did fine. My mom will love her gift and that you brought her something. She loves presents.” He tugged on the string again, sending Casper into another pouncing fit. “For that matter, she’s going to love you.”

“Let’s hope so.”

She was nervous about meeting his family, wanted them to like her, had gone out on the worst evening to Christmas shop and fought the crowds to buy them gifts. She’d even picked up little gifts for his nieces and nephews. Her, Christmas shopping. Whatever had come over her?

And then there was Riley’s gift. Something silly and ridiculous and so emotionally expensive she hadn’t been sure she could pay the price. Yet the moment the idea had struck her, she’d known that’s what she wanted to give him.

Something she hoped would have meaning to him and make him smile.

She pulled off a piece of tape and stuck it to the box she was working on. She managed to get all the box covered with paper, but she used a lot of tape in the process. At the rate she was going, they’d have to make a tape run soon.

Much to Casper’s delight, Riley tossed the curled string of ribbon onto the floor. Grinning, he scooted over beside her and cut a new sheet of the wrapping paper the stores she’d been at had sold out of. Thank goodness, he’d been more than willing to not only share, but to help out with all the other things she hadn’t even thought of asking him if he’d had, such as tape, name tags, and ribbons.

“Here.” He set another box in the center of the cut paper. He placed his hands on her face and forced her to look at him. “Let me show you how I do this then you can develop your own technique.”

Trying to ignore the bolts of electricity zooming through her at his touch, she grimaced at the roughly wrapped package sitting beside her. “I certainly need to lose my current technique. I’m horrible at wrapping.”

At lots of things. Things she wanted to be good at. To be mind-blowing at.

“You just need a little guidance and then some practice.” He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“Is sex that way, too?”

That had his eyes bulging and her grimacing.

“What do you mean?”

Her and her big mouth. Why had she had to say any-thing? Then again, she really did want to know. Because she thought about sex with this man a lot. Sometimes in a good fantasy way and others as in a scary way that would have him changing his phone number and running when he spotted her in the hospital hallways.

“I told you I’m horrible at that, too,” she admitted, wondering if she was like the worst woman ever in making her admission. Then again, if she’d thought she could fake it successfully, they’d have gotten naked on the beach the night he’d cooked for her. She’d wanted to but had been scared of losing him, something she hadn’t been ready to admit, much less risk. “Is sex something you’d instruct me in and then help me practice?”

“Princess, happy doesn’t begin to convey how I feel about helping you with sex, but I’ve kissed you and know how wonderfully sensual you are. My guess is that you’re better than you think.”

If only. She knew she wasn’t. She’d been there. And if she hadn’t been, well, Chase had told her and the entire Christmas party how awful she’d been in the sack.

“No, I’m not.”

Twisting a piece of ribbon around the package, he frowned. “Not that I believe for one minute that it’s true, but what makes you say that you’re not any good at sex? Are you a virgin?”

“No,” she said quickly. Did he think she’d just made up that she lacked bedroom skills? That wasn’t exactly the kind of thing a woman went around tooting her horn about. At least, none she’d ever known. “My ex told me how terrible I am.”

“Your ex was an idiot.” His words were immediate and matter-of-fact.