Page 93 of Fashionista's Playbook

Moriah clung to her prize. Possibly the ugliest holiday stocking ever. It was shit brown, with creepy little googly-eyed elves all over it. And my Mariposa adored it.

Rick Stanhope had told me how much Moriah loved Christmas when she was a kid. I wanted to make sure she had something of the Christmas spirit here, in the home we shared. Hell, for the first time since my parents died, I was getting in on the holiday vibe.

I stopped in the kitchen, shut the door to the garage, and stared at her. My chest was filled with warmth and happiness, with love. Thinking the word stole my breath, made my heart beat faster, scared the shit out of me. But I relished it.

And if I made it through an entire practice without belting Ward, it would only be because I loved her.

“Why are you looking at me like that? What did you do?” She walked by me, half giggling—half eyeing me with apparent concern, and made her way into the living room.

She knew I was leaning toward violence but had let her enjoy the party. Hell, because of her I’d had fun at the damn thing.

I knew the moment she saw what I’d done for her—what I’d paid my brother to do for me—as her gasp hit me straight in the gut. Her pleasure was almost enough to make me forget how eager Vin had been to help out. Of course he had, because he didn’t want me to call him out on whatever was going on with Moriah’s sister.

Vincent’s manipulations were obvious the more I saw them. How I ever hadn’t, I had no idea.

From my position, lounging in the doorway, I watched as she inspected the large, freshly cut tree.

“I’d have sent my assistant out for ornaments, but she was busy making ugly sweaters. You’ll have to do with what I could pick out on my own.”

She cast a glance at me over a bare shoulder. The dumpy orange sweater kept slipping off of it in a way that made my mouth water. I’d met kids that thought of me as their hero, shook the hands of super fans, and none of them made me feel the way she did looking at me as she did now.

IwasSuperman.

“Travis—I, it’s wonderful. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

The pure pleasure and shock in her voice flowed through me, made me lighter and happier than I could have thought I’d be after that shit with Ward. I still wanted to beat his ass, but I could wait.

Hands loosely stuck in my pockets, I stepped into the room. The lights on the tree twinkled and winked their approval. “You deserved a magical Christmas.”

She crossed to me, boots clicking on the floor, and fisted her hands in the front of my sweater. Her eyes bright, happy, she rose and placed her lips to mine. She kissed me softly at first, offering her gratitude.

I’d take it, all day every day. When I grabbed her hips, she deepened the kiss.

No going back. My tongue sought hers, my fingers gripped the soft material of her leggings. And when she uttered the small, almost whispered moan, I came undone.

“Moriah,” I murmured as I nibbled my way down her jaw, throat and then sank my teeth playfully into the skin of her bare shoulder.

“I need you.” She gasped and rubbed herself fully against me, forcing me to reach down, cup her ass, and give it a firm squeeze. “Now.”

Just like that, she was pleading for me. I grinned. “I like it when you beg.”

Her ass was soft, malleable in my palms. I squeezed before dragging my fingers upward, lifting her enough that I filled my hands. Then I picked her all the way up, off the floor.

This time, she didn’t argue or tense, but instantly wrapped her legs around me. Her trust in me, somehow more arousing than her touch. I carried her to the couch, kissing her the entire way. Nothing tasted as sweet or as intoxicating as Moriah Stanhope.

I had it bad and wanted her worse.

In a tangle of arms, legs, and lips, we tumbled onto the couch. I couldn’t count the Tuesday nights I sat there, imagining taking her like this, wanting her. It was almost too good to be true that I had her.

Beneath me, as I slipped my hands up under her sweater eager to touch skin, she squirmed. When I nipped at her lip, she moaned. Every touch, she reacted to, proving she wanted me just as bad.

Yup, a damn superhero.

“Still need me?” I whispered against her ear and nipped at the lobe.

“Yes.” Taking my lead, she lifted my sweater and raked her fingers up my back. My stomach quivered, my body aching for her.

When I pulled away to jerk the sweater over my head and shuck my pants, she watched me through thick lashes. Her gaze was lazy, heated, and beyond sexy.

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