How to Resist Prince Charming(7)

Both men had to be over sixty. Pat was bald, and Charlie was about forty pounds overweight.

Braxton laughed and spun his stool around to watch the two men she’d named. “Yeah, I understand the indecision. Though I’m not sure Mrs. Fairbanks would appreciate it if you swept Charles off to happily ever after.”

Lenna glanced at Braxton and eyed him thoughtfully. “You prove a good point,” she agreed, and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

He had no idea why, but the move struck him as one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. If only he could tug at her supple lip with his own teeth.

Jerking his gaze from her mouth, Braxton jiggled his foot, hoping that would keep the blood circulating and not pooling in his lap.

He stopped breathing when she touched the stray hair tickling her neck and tucked it behind her ear as she turned to study the balding widower. “I guess that leaves Pat by default,” she announced.

“Uh, not that I’m critiquing your decision. That’s completely up to you, of course.”

“Of course,” Lenna agreed, smiling like maybe she was enjoying their talk as much as he was.

Braxton nodded, ever serious. “But are you sure you’ve considered all the possibilities?”

Lenna’s eyes scanned the room again. She turned back to him, frowning slightly. “Why? Who’d you have in mind?”

Braxton knew he shouldn’t shift the mood, but his mouth didn’t listen to his brain as he softly answered, “Now that question’s just loaded with trouble.”

Lenna’s eyes flashed wide, probably realizing he’d taken her comment differently than she’d meant. She’d no doubt been planning on him to point out some other old codger as a possible candidate, someone like Ben Hendricks, perhaps.

And here, he had to go and admit he’d like to apply for the position of her prince.

Her face flamed bright red. “I’m sorry,” she spilled out, looking worried and a little scared. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” Braxton assured her, already shaking his head. “I knew what you meant. I shouldn’t have—” He broke off and glanced away, feeling like a bumbling moron.

Jesus, what kind of tactless idiot attended the company Christmas party, only to hit on an employee’s kid and strike out majorly? Way to pull off the professional appearance he’d been determined to project tonight. He’d rather spook Lenna Davenport off by picking his nose and wiping the booger on her dress.

“Just ignore me,” he mumbled.

When he risked a mortified glance her way, he found her still blushing. She guzzled from her drink as if her throat had gone bone dry. Then she waved a hand in front of her watering eyes and clutched her half-full glass until the wine inside splashed against the sides.

When she looked at him, her lips parted and her chest rose—not once, not twice, but three times in a succession of jerky movements, telling him she was sucking in too much air. Then her bare shoulders fell as she exhaled.

Braxton’s humiliation died an instant death as he watched. Mother of God. He hadn’t turned her off. He’d amped her up. She was just as excited by him as he was by her.

Forget professionalism. He was totally going to hit on his employee’s kid.

“I’ve heard Tom mention he has three children,” he said, starting fresh as if they hadn’t been heading toward forbidden territory. “Where do you rank in there?”

Lenna finally lowered her glass, looking beyond grateful they’d returned to safe ground.

“I’m the oldest.”

He grinned. “Really? I’m the oldest of three, too.” When she sent him a startled look, he asked, “Do you have younger brothers or sisters?”

“One of each.”

Interest jolted through his abdomen. “Me too.”

Lenna Davenport looked equally startled they shared a common trait.

A moment of silence followed, so Braxton said the first thought that entered his head. “They can be a pain sometimes, though, can’t they?”

Lenna blinked. “What can?”

“Younger siblings. I remember when I first moved out, both of mine seemed to think my place was their second home.”

“Oh, my God.” Lenna brightened as she squeezed his arm. “I know exactly what you mean. My brother, Aaron—he’s in high school—he keeps begging to have his friends over for a party in my apartment.”

Braxton laughed. “What a coincidence. My brother, Tyler, actually did that a year ago, without asking.”

Her jaw dropped as she gasped. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “Nope. I came home from work late one night to find two dozen complete strangers—all underage college kids—just milling around my house like they owned the place.”