Page 54 of My Rival for Christmas

I stare at him for a beat, at his thick lashes resting across his cheeks. He looks so peaceful. It’s almost a shame someone has to ruin it.

Oh well.

“Wake up,” I growl, smacking his chest with my open palm.So I can maim you properly.

Nate doesn’t stir, and it only makes me want to hurt him more as his chest continues to rise and fall in that slow, tranquil rhythm.

Nothing about this is tranquil!“Wake up, Nathan Gabriel?—”

I go to smack him again, but before I can, with reflexes faster than a sleeping man should be allotted, Nate seizes my wrists, pulling me until I’m straddling his chest.

I suck in a sharp breath, hidden flames scorching my body as I force myself to ignore the way it feels to be spread out on top of him, but it’s hard to not notice how my arousal has seeped through my underwear and now soaks the crotch of my pants. Pants that are directly touching Nate’s bare chest.

“It’s not nice to hit people, Princess.” Nate’s sleep-addled voice cuts through my thoughts.

His voice is so husky and deep, the sound runs straight to my pulsing libido.

Nate’s eyes are still shut as I hiss, “It’s not nice to kidnap people in their sleep either.” All the irritation in my body is fighting for dominance right now. “Let me go.”

But all Nate does is tighten his grip, putting my hands behind my back. Restraining me. His ink-covered arms brush against my hips in the process.

My heart feels heavy in my tight chest as I fight to break free.

Until a sweet, sweet friction zips through my body as I rub against his. Dots prick my eyes, then I freeze. Not daring to move, save for my laboring breath.

Nate’s eyes finally flutter open. Those brilliant blues are laden with sleep, making the color look all the more vibrant as he takes me in, straddled on top of him.

A deeply satisfied smile, like a fat cat who ate an off-limits canary, spreads across his bearded face. “Now, what did I do to get this kind of wake-up call?”

Sex and seduction and smoke fill that question.

I try not to focus on the mess of his dark hair, the half-mast eyes or the way his abs constrict under my thighs as I give him the most hate-filled stare I can muster. “I wouldn’t look too pleased with yourself just yet, Nathan. Not when it’s the very last thing you’re going to see.”

Instead of having a lick of concern for his well-being, Nate sinks further into his pillow. “I beg to differ. I can’t think of a better way to go out than with you on top of me.”

My nails dig into his wrists, but he doesn’t hiss in pain, doesn’t pull away. I watch as his eyes darken, and I stop immediately.

Ugh, he won’t even let me hurt him without enjoying it. How is that fair?

“Just for that, I guess I’ll spare your life.” There would be no fun in killing Nate if he enjoyed it, anyway. Never mind the faint pang in my chest at the thought. At the idea of him not being around to annoy me, to get under my skin.

“Aw, sweetheart, I always knew you cared about me,” he teases.

“It’s not for you, Nathan,” I tell him sternly. “The orange jumpsuits in prison would clash with my hair. I couldn’t live like that forever. This is strictly a vanity choice.”

“Hmm, of course. Not because you’ll miss me.”

“Right. Because I wouldn’t.” That pang echoes again.

“No,” he agrees, so much amusement in that two-letter word. “How dare I ever think that.”

“I’ll forgive you if you give me back my hands.” I shake them behind me for emphasis.

“I don’t know.” Nate gives me an over-exaggerated frown. “I was having a really good dream when I was woken up with your fists of fury.”

“They were my palms,” I correct matter-of-factly.

“Care to explain why you felt the need to hit me with them?”

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