A Thigh Hih Christmas
Maxwell Santino has a wonderful present for his wonderful wife.
It’s been a year in the making and now it is time to unwrap his wife’s new favorite toy. But a simple ploy to keep the spectacular secret backfires and he is forced to either reveal the year long secret early or keep quiet for two more days.
Fiona Day Santino has had her largest account taken from her by her sexy, overbearing, boss, who won’t listen to reason. She is insulted, hurt and angry.
Max is Fiona’s boss.
What happens when this passionate couple isn’t speaking, yet can’t keep their hands to themselves? Disagreement sex is defiantly in order.
Make-up sex may be a little jealous in:
A Thigh-High Christmas.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.
© 2014 Tiffany Monique
Editor: Katriena Knights
Cover Art: Marteeka Karland
Books are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.
Contents
“Does she know that’s distracting as hell?” Maxwell Santino asked, allowing his gaze to be commandeered by the hypnotic sway of silk-covered hips.
“I think so, but I doubt she cares,” replied Maxwell’s best friend and partner, Jonas DeMarco. “She’s been handing out Christmas presents to the office all morning. I don’t think I’ve seen the IT department smile so much since this year’s ComiCon. She even came by my office and left a box on my desk this morning.”
“In that get-up? Really…
”
Maxwell questioned, his voice trailing off, the disapproval fairly dripping from his lips.
“
She hasn
’
t spoken to me since Monday unless I spoke to her first. I
’
m getting a little tired of her silent treatment, and she pulled a stunt last night that took this whole misunderstanding to another level. I only hope this afternoon’s little surprise will make up for the mess we’ve had this week.”
Fiona Day Santino carried a Santa-sized sack of presents up and down the aisle of the IT department, wishing each and every employee happy holidays. Taking into account that not everyone celebrated Christmas, she joked and called them “winter thank-you gifts.” What she didn’t realize was that every time she bent over to retrieve a present from the sack, the kick-pleat in the back of her silk pencil skirt flared, giving a flirty glimpse of her holiday thigh-high stockings. Four small red satin bows surrounded each thigh and connected to a matching black garter that was discreetly hidden under her skirt. The only reason Maxwell knew what the garter looked like was because he had given her the damn set last Christmas.
Maxwell leaned his wide shoulders against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his massive chest. At six foot four and two hundred forty pounds, he was both an intimidating and beautiful sight to behold. His anger was almost palpable as he observed his four male interns leaning conspicuously out into the aisle, ogling the same delightful, feminine curves he was watching with thunder in his eyes. He turned when Jonas chuckled and came up behind him to clap him on the shoulder.
“Well, my friend, first let me do my duty as your best friend and say this surprise is not little, by any means. She will love it, love you, and all will be well in the Santino household by tonight or my name isn’t DeMarco. Have faith in your lady. She hates drama in her house as much as you do,” Jonas said comfortingly. “But as much as I want to stay and wallow in your domestic despair with you, I have a lunch date in twenty minutes with a lady friend who’s feeling amorous in the extreme. If I don’t come back after one o’clock, know that I’m enjoying the kindness of some female companionship. Consider it my Christmas gift to myself,” Jonas informed with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye.
“You know you’re taking advantage of being a forty-nine-percent shareholder in this company, right?” scoffed Maxwell. “Your licentious tendencies and lagging work ethic are not amusing to this fifty-one percent.”
Jonas laughed mightily and wiggled his eyebrows.
“If you met Stephanie, you would agree that giving up those two percent to you and your obvious disapproval are
so
worth it. Besides, you’re the figurehead here and the one with the final say. I’m just your genius second-in-command. No one cares what I do, and I like it that way. I’ll see you in the morning…maybe.
”
With a cheery whistle, Jonas sauntered toward the office elevators with a jaunty wave.
“Reprobate,” muttered Maxwell as he shut the door to his office, effectively blocking his view of Fiona laughing uproariously with a gaggle of office co-workers.
* * *
Fiona couldn’t deny she was being deliberately overt in her holiday festivities this week: hanging lights on her office door, bringing in Christmas cookies to meetings, and finally delivering office gifts. She loved the holiday and the values it represented: faith, hope, and charity. But she had been fighting the overwhelming urge to slap the hell out of Maxwell for days. She was never a vindictive person previously, but this past week she was attempting to pass a clear message on to the President and CEO of IWorks. She would not be undermined. In any fashion. If he couldn’t see her professional worth, someone else damn well would. She might be overcompensating with the overload of Christmas cheer, but it was keeping her from going to prison.
When she returned to her office, she tossed the empty Santa sack on the mahogany leather loveseat and made her way to her desk. Dropping into the desk chair, she kicked off her heels and booted up her laptop. Since giving the company’s largest potential account to the Director of Advertising last week, Maxwell had made sure to stay out of her way while they were in the office. He knew she was seething and was avoiding any “unprofessional confrontation” as he called it.
Fiona ran her palms over her face, inhaling deeply, trying to shake off her tiredness. Last night, for the first time, she had spent the night alone in her marriage bed and she was regretting every angry moment that brought her there. Even though she might have had her biggest account taken from her, she was still the Senior Advertising VP, and other accounts needed to be pitched and won. One thing she knew for certain was that she was the best at what she did. She could sell ice to an Eskimo, a Mac to a Mormon, and still have time to go home to Max and cook up a meal. This was what had initially infuriated her—the reason why Max undermined her. It didn’t make sense.
“What do you mean my workload will suffer?” questioned Fiona. “I’ve always been generous with my time with all our clients, and I have never been late with a presentation, project, or deadline. What game are you playing, Max?”
Fiona perched her hand firmly on her hip. She was not in the mood for this random BS Max was throwing her way on a Monday morning. She had a conference call with CompuFire in thirty minutes. This was IWorks’ first potential multi-million-dollar account. Her game had to be tight, her demeanor confident. Angry and disgusted were not going to work for her. At all.
“Bill Macy will be sitting in with you at the call today so you can introduce him to the client and he can be brought up to speed on the account’s current status. I am concerned that you have too much on your plate as it is, and with your work ethic, either your health will suffer or the quality of work will falter due to stress and lack of sleep. As your boss, I feel the work quality has to be foremost on
your
mind—pride is secondary. As your husband, your well-being is foremost on
my
mind at all times,” Max explained succinctly, almost clinically. What happened to the man who’d made her thighs tremble this morning and feasted on her pussy like one more drop of her cream would sustain him all day?
Fiona walked slowly to the front of Maxwell’s desk. Placing both hands on the edge, she leaned forward just enough to make Max’s eyebrows rise at her challenging demeanor. Instead of yelling her head off or becoming belligerent at this blatant power play, she spoke quietly and slowly, her jaw clenched in anger.
“At the risk of sounding insubordinate, Maxwell, you taking an account from me without discussing it with me first, undermining me in front of my department, and then giving me this bullshit excuse of it being for
my
benefit shows all the signs of weak leadership and a lack of respect.” She knew her quiet reprimand was a slap in the face to her naturally domineering husband, but she wasn’t one to be trifled with regarding her hard-earned reputation. “I suggest you think hard and long before addressing me again unless you want your VP to take her overworked behind back to her former employer, where my work quality was never in doubt.”
With a curt nod, she pivoted on her red-bottomed, patent leather pumps and walked toward his office door. Then, as an afterthought, she glanced over her shoulder and with her full lips curved into a humorless smirk she let the other shoe drop.
“Now that I think of it, Arabella and I will be visiting Nona Santino tonight for some well-deserved granddaughter-and-grandmother time. I suggest you call Bill or Jonas if you desire company this evening. I have a feeling we will be out rather late. Unless, of course, you question my capabilities as Bella’s mother also. Then, by all means, let me know what is in
my best
interest.”
* * *
Max had sincerely thought his plan was sound. More free time, a less stressful workload, and, more importantly, making his queen available for his rather extravagant Christmas surprise. He’d had no idea she would take it as a personal attack on her character. He slammed his hand on his desk and swung around in his office chair so he was facing the Boston skyline. He had two more days until he was supposed to spring his surprise on her, but until then he had to be hush-hush, even if it meant being the focus of her ire for forty-eight hours. When you plan a present for eleven months, it’s worth a few takeout dinners and snide remarks to get to the end game. He was nothing if not a focused individual. He could do this. Her expression would be priceless.
