Page 90 of Unwrapped

Dev had confided in me earlier that she and Rog had been expecting before but that she had lost the baby before she could even celebrate.

“I feel good. It’s Christmas and anything can happen. I still believe.”

“Believe for me too then, cause I’m done.”

“Don’t say that. Just wait until this time next year, you’ll be back in Springdale. This place has a way of sucking people in.”

I turn with my face against the glass. Miles of evergreens grow far up past the low hanging clouds into the sky. Thick snow blankets the ground in every direction. Woodsmoke curls from log cabins nestled under pine trees. All of them decked out with garland and lights. She’s right. There is something about this place and the people in it. It feels like home. But it’s not and I can’t forget that.

The parking lot is full, but Devon pulls into a reserved spot right out front. The place is Christmas on steroids. It was decorated before, but now big multi-colored bulbs glow from the roofline. The live music coming from inside makes the ground shake and the windows rattle.

“This is insane.”

“Just wait,” she winks, “the night has just begun.”

I lose her in the packed crowd but I’m not lonely. Men are everywhere; each more jacked and handsome than the next, in that rugged bad boy way.

“Hey darlin’.” I’m handed a frothy beer. “Don’t worry. We don’t need to drug our women,” he winks tipping his mug to mine.

“Why not?” I smile, letting the frothy, cold beer take away some of the heat in the room.

“Hey.”

I turn finding Federico’s warm chocolate eyes. He leans down to my ear so I can hear him over the music and noise. “It’s all good. Rog would kill anyone if they messed with drinks in his bar.”

“Got that memo,” I grin. “Wanna dance?”

“I’m not sure if I should. Dare’s gonna kick my ass.”

I squeeze his solid bicep. “As if.”

“You don’t know about him, do you. He’s one bad-ass mother fucker.”

“I’ve heard,” I shrug. “There’s nothing going on between us anyway.” The band starts playing their cover song of “Last Christmas.” Federico grabs me by the hips, and we start swaying to the beat. It’s nice having a big brute of a man hold me. Knowing it’s just fun, knowing I can let go. So, I do. Let go. I let go of all my past heartache, all the Christmas eve’s I spent alone locked up in my room or with men who just saw me as a status symbol. We dance and drink, doing it over and over. I have a good buzz going and decide to switch to water before we head back to the dance floor. But as the tune changes to a ballad of “All I want for Christmas is—you” melancholy fills me. Because I wish I was dancing in someone else’s arms, swaying to the beat as he holds me close.

“Excuse. May I cut in?”

I lift my head from Federico’s shoulder gasping as my mystery man dressed as Santa pulls me into his arms before I can get a better look at his face.

“I’ve got you, now.” He growls low against my hair. He feels good. Dancing with him feels almost right. But now my heart aches for Dare and dancing with this man feels wrong but yet right. I’m so confused. Torn. But then I remember Dare’s whispered promise he gave to someone else on the phone. Some woman named Freddie, not me.

I let him draw me in closer, my nipples peak as they press against his hard chest. He took off the Santa coat, leaving him in a tight, white undershirt that hugs every ripped muscle in his chest. The tips of my nails graze lightly up and down his back. His breath gets heavier, something hard and hot pokes into my tummy. “Damn, girl,” he groans as I press closer to it. My gaze drops to his forearms covered in ink. I trace the designs with the tip of my finger. “They’re beautiful,” I whisper as he shudders under my touch. The ink disappears under his shirt but spread across his chest, the deep blue and green patterns of it visible beneath his cotton T-shirt.

The band switches it up, but we stay pressed, close together. No one bothers us or thinks it’s strange and I don’t think much of it either as other couples start making out hard.

His lips find my neck, teeth nipping down. “I dream of you, woman.”

“I dream of you, too,” I confess as his large palms move down to cup my ass lifting it at the same time to bring my core tighter against his. My legs fall open, hooking around his waist as he spins, placing me back against the wall. He holds me up with one hand on my ass while his other palms my breast over my sweater. “All I want for Christmas is you,” he groans pushing his hips against me. He feels so good. I’m lost in the music, the noise, the merriment. Maybe I should let go just this once and do something just because it feels good, just because I want to.

“Kiss me. Show me your face. Tell me who you are,” I breathe against his neck, peppering it with tiny kisses; the same kind he gave me.

“Hold on.”

I’m lifted in his arms, moved through the crowd and carried down a dim hall. He kicks open the door to a small supply closet, turns off the lights and lets his sturdy back fall against the door practically barricading us inside.

He grins and flicks the light off. My hands rip off his beard, his hat, those stupid spectacle glasses—as I tip up and smash my mouth against his. “Why? Why won’t you show me your face? Are you injured? In some bad accident?” I gasp in between kisses.

He doesn’t answer.

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