Page 119 of Not Your Average Vixen
She hummed a satisfied little sound. “You don’t have to. At least, not yet. But you will need to leave this bed.”
His eyes went wide. “Why? I thought that we had something.”
Jesus! Had he read her wrong? He’d transformed himself into a pool of sappy bullshit for this woman!
She covered his mouth and chuckled. “Because you need to raid the Frosty jar.”
“The Frosty jar? Are you talking about the condom-filled Frosty the Snowman?” All those stupid nerves dissolved into a naughty grin of his own.
She raised a teasing eyebrow. “Don’t forget. I know exactly what you’re capable of, Soren Rudolph. And that was only round one.”
He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose, completely enamored.
“Bridget Dasher, you are part angel, part vixen, and all mine. And all I can say is one more thing.”
She smiled up at him. “What’s that?”
He gave her a wicked grin. “Good old Frosty better be stocked.”
16
Bridget
“When you said you wanted to play with my balls, this is not what I was expecting.”
Bridget gasped, almost knocking over the croquembouche and nearly spackling the kitchen in the hot caramel used to hold the dessert together.
Thanks to the events of Cole’s unscheduled Christmas fairy expedition last night coupled with an evening—and a few early morning hours—spent tangled in Soren’s embrace, making love like they were born to do nothing else and depleting the Frosty filled condom receptacle, she’d failed to assemble the croquembouche until now.
And even that was up for debate thanks to her sexy as sin baking assistant.
“Shh! They’ll hear you,” she whisper-shouted, glancing toward the other side of the kitchen where Delores and Tanner were prepping the Cornish hens for the rehearsal dinner.
This was it. Tonight, they’d have the wedding rehearsal, and then tomorrow, like her parents did thirty years ago, Lori and Tom would recite their wedding vows inside the Kringle Chapel on Christmas Eve.
All her planning and organizing had come to fruition along with something she’d never expected.
And what was that crazy revelation?
Soren Christopher Traeger Rudolph, the good old super player, uber-creep, stupidly nicknamed Scooter, was no longer her mortal marital adversary.
Now, the thought of the man sent her pulse racing—and not in the God, I hate you way, but in the Oh, God! Oh, God! Don’t stop way.
They hadn’t talked nuts and bolts or any long-term relationship plan. And honestly, between all the sexytimes and all the wedding preparations she’d already tackled today, there wasn’t a moment to spare. Not to mention, they’d been around everyone, and there was no way she would take the spotlight off Lori and Tom by announcing that she was possibly dating the former worst, now, truly best man.
But after last night, she knew that, whatever they had, it was real.
Between hating him and lusting after him, and then hating him a little more, she couldn’t deny that somewhere between screwing him and screaming at him, she’d fallen for him.
Her once curmudgeon of a baking assistant was now positively the devil of baking—in the best and naughtiest of ways.
She held Soren’s gaze, those cat-like eyes glittering with mischief. “You must have misheard me,Scooter. I said that I needed your assistance stacking the profiteroles into a cone shape.”
The mischief factor in his eyes dialed up another notch. “And then I said, ‘What are profiteroles?’ And then that little line appeared on your forehead, and you made that face like you’re pissed off at me. But you’re not. And then you said, and I remember this quite clearly, ‘I need your balls.’”
She bit back a grin. “That is not at all how that conversation went, and you know it!”
“Ah, semantics! It must be the law school in me,” he teased.
