Page 55 of Unwrapped

I finally face her and shit…she’s gorgeous as fuck. My fingers itch to run through her thick mahogany hair again. I want to feel her pressed up against my dick. I wonder what the color of her nipples are soft pink or dusky with a hint of honeyed-brown? I hiss through my teeth, suddenly my jeans are too tight. “I didn’t do jack. He probably had club business. How are you getting home?”

“You big guy.”

“Shit.”

Her devilish smile has me shaking my head. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” She holds her palm up.

“Ugh-huh.”

“Fine,” she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and leans closer. “I heard you were good at finding people.”

“You did?” My eyebrow rises.

She nods. “I need you to fine someone for me.”

I knew it. I knew she came here looking for someone. No one comes to Springdale.

“Who?” I ask suspiciously. Fur baby is trouble—a petite, gorgeous, sexy as hell ball of trouble and I don’t want to get mixed up in it.

“Santa.”

I stare at her lips for far too long, then throw back my head and laugh.

“It’s not funny.”

“He ain’t real sweetheart.”

She stomps. “Springdale’s Santa.”

“Why do you want to find him?”

“Because we have unfinished business.”

“What kind of unfinished business?”

“The dirty kind.”

My laughter dies on my lips. I’m sober as fuck now. This woman grates my nerves, but I can’t stop remembering the chemistry we had when she thought she was kissing a stranger. I could just tell her. Here’s my chance. But I just can’t. Something is holding me back from blurting it out.

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked you. With my luck you’ll find him and send him to the North Pole just to spite me.”

“Fur baby, you’ve got me pegged.”

“Please. Can we just call a truce? Afterall we will be spending Christmas together.”

“That depends…”

“On what?”

“On you telling me about these dreams you’ve been having,” I shoot her a slow wink, pressing her up against the wall, not giving her an inch to escape.

“What?” She shrieks. “Who? How—?”

“My room’s bugged isn’t it? And you work for that mafia guy Roque?”

I lean in close, my nose brushing against her soft hair as I speak against her ear. “One—I have no idea if your rooms bugged. Two—I absolutely do not work for Roque Salvatore. Three—I’ll agree to a truce if you promise not to come down to breakfast in that silk sleep shirt and Ugg slippers.”

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