Page 47 of Not Your Average Vixen
Sweet Jesus, this was hot!
She lowered her voice. “I see you playing the nice guy, and we both know that you’re not a nice guy.”
His fingertips grazed hers as electricity crackled between them. “You thought I was nice enough last night after I gave you, what was it, five orgasms?”
She looked away and murmured something under her breath.
He wove his fingers with hers, and the contact had him rock-hard.
“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you, Bridget?” he continued, loving the sound of her name.
Her chest heaved with each punctuated breath. She felt it, too—this crazy charge between them.
She schooled her features. “Seven, I said seven! I had seven orgasms last night. Are you happy now? You shouldn’t be. That whole orgasm business is over. From this moment on, I won’t have any time for orgasms because I’ll be watching you like a hawk.”
“Is that right?” he purred.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “You bet your life,Scooter.”
They were back to the Scooter and Birdie game.
He cupped her cheek in his hand and licked his lips. His one-night vixen looked good enough to eat.
“What ifIplan on not lettingyouout of my sight,Birdie?”
Her bottom lip trembled, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The cold air paired with the inferno blazing between them sent a delicious buzz through his body. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in, unable to stop himself when a sharp knock on the mountain house window broke the kissing spell. Bridget shrieked, then shoved him with the force of an NFL linebacker. Surprised at his vixen’s upper body strength, he lost his footing, hit the side of the steps, then fell into a mound of snow with a frosty thud.
“Are you two coming in, or do you plan on standing in front of my door all afternoon?”
He raised his hand to block the sun and got a glimpse of a smiling older woman with round wire-rimmed glasses and a coat covered in candy canes.
“Mrs. Claus?” he sputtered.
“No, dear, it’s Mrs. Donner. I’m Dan’s wife. You can call me Delores.”
Jesus! More damn reindeer names. And, in his defense, the Claus remark was a knee-jerk reaction to a woman who looked like she’d been deployed from Christmas central casting.
“Are you okay?” Bridget exclaimed, hurrying to his side.
Worry creased her brow as she extended her hand to help him up. He knew she was sweet. He’d seen through her vixen facade, but it turned out that she was also genuinely kind—another reason he could never be with someone like her. Still, he hated how easily she could awaken that lost, lonely part of him that longed for more.
“You must be Birdie and Scooter! Come in. I’ve got the oven all preheated for you,” the woman said warmly.
“You do?” Bridget asked as he came to his feet and stood beside her.
“It’s on your schedule. I figured since you got delayed in Denver and lost a day, you’d want to get started baking right away.”
Dammit! That’s right! His one-night vixen had a schedule.
Delores gestured for them to follow her inside. He dusted the snow off his ass and trailed a few steps behind the women, then stopped in his tracks and couldn’t hold back a grin.
This place was fantastic!
Antler chandeliers strung with white lights hung from exposed timber beams built into the pitched roof as the scent of evergreens and fresh-baked cookies wafted through the room. The main gathering space was part living room with plush seating and part dining room with a long rustic table running down the center. A decorated Christmas tree sat in each corner of the room, while stockings hung along the hearth. Everyone had a stocking with their name written in gold or silver glitter, and his Scooter stocking hung next to the one with Birdie written in swooping silver letters.
“It’s…” he began, but Bridget cut him off.
“It’s exactly how I remembered it,” she said, her voice full of wonder.
