Page 98 of Not Your Average Vixen
Ah, crap!
Bridget pressed her hand to Lori’s back and guided her toward the door. “It’s a catchy little phrase. But never mind. You need to get yourself on that gondola, little sis. I’m going to tidy up in here, and then we’ll be down to get the kids ready for bed.”
“We’re babysitting, too?” Soren blurted.
She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side, channeling a little vixen into this exchange. “Yes, see what fun it is to be aresponsiblebest man?”
“Be good, you two,” Lori said, tossing her a confused glance, before continuing down the aisle, but she stopped when she got to Soren. “Could you help Birdie with this? I’m terrible with clasps,” she added, dropping the necklace into his hand.
The rush of mountain air entered the space as Lori left, and then it was just the two of them.
She crossed her arms, dredging up a little more vixen sass. “Rough night,Scooter?”
He started toward her, his long strides eating the hardwood.
Why did his walk have to be so sexy?
He was awful. He was about to kill off Cupid Bakery. He didn’t want Tom to marry Lori. If only the cavewoman inside her could get the memo and stop getting all tingly whenever he was within ten feet of her.
“I’ve had rougher. Turn around.”
She sucked in an audible breath. “Why?”
It was happening again. She could feel the rational part of her brain turning into oatmeal raisin cookie dough.
Something hard and dark flashed in the man’s eyes. “So I can bend you over that bench and have my way with you.”
She parted her lips, but not even the vixen part of her had a response for that.
A mirthless smirk twisted his lips. “I’m kidding, Bridget. It’s so I can help you with your damn necklace,” he answered, holding the delicate chain in front of her face as if he were preparing to hypnotize her.
“Right, yeah,” she swiveled around and waited, biting her lip to get herself under some semblance of control.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“The Kringle Cares group sent it as a thank you,” she replied as his fingers trailed across the base of her neck.
“That lady did call you her angel.”
She steadied herself. “It was no big deal. I was happy to help.”
“Always, the helper. There, it’s on,” he said, stepping away from her as heat again bloomed on her cheeks. But this time, she wasn’t embarrassed. No, she was angry. What kind of Grinch was against helping others?
“Yes, I like to help when I can. You should try it for once,” she countered.
He scoffed. “It’s not who I am.”
“No kidding,” she huffed under her breath.
She had to remember that this was who he was to her—a grade A jerk intent on keeping the Abbotts a Dasher-free zone.
He ran his hands through his hair. “Listen, Bridget, I’m here. What do you want me to do?”
She glanced around the chapel. All the decorations and greenery were in place. Once the candles were lit, the sanctuary would glow, bathed in the warm light. There was really nothing left to do but clean up. She spied the broom in the corner and pointed to it.
“You can sweep up the loose pine needles.”
He frowned. “You want me to sweep?”
