Page 4 of Santa's Dirty Secret
Ugh.
Day drinking is never a good idea. I don't care how anyone tries to spin it. This feeling of being hungover and yet still a bit buzzed sucks. It probably doesn't help that I drank a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine on my own in under an hour. I'm the girl that sips on one watered-down cocktail and calls it a night. I don't know why I thought—my vision clears, and I see the Christmas decorations—oh right, that’s why.
I slump off the couch and slowly stand. The floor tips, and I have to focus on each step back into the kitchen. I manage to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and nearly down all the contents in one long swig. I finish it and grab another before heading to my room. I'm already feeling a little steadier, but I'm still careful to hold onto the wall as I walk.
Nothing but a warm bath will clear my mind right now, so I strip naked and grab my Kindle out of my bag. I light some candles and drop in a peppermint bath bomb as the hot water fills the tub. When it's filled a quarter of the way, I step in and dip my body into the water.
I can't hold back the moan of relief as the water envelops my body. I lean my head back and wait for the tub to fill more before using my foot to shut off the tap.
Opening my Kindle, I open the Christmas book I started on the train ride down here. It's a collection of stories about three brothers who make a sexy marketing video that goes viral overnight in an attempt to save their Christmas tree farm. The farm and the brothers are suddenly swamped with news crews and single women looking for the guys from the "lumberjack porn video." It's funny as they try to navigate their newfound popularity and find love in the process.
I click on the second story and settle in to read. The momentary distraction from reality is healing to my hangover, at least until the water loses all heat and my fingertips turn to tiny prunes. I finish the last story just in time and get out, wrapping a fluffy white towel around me.
My mind slips back to the sexy lumberjacks, and I can't help but think about what Nick would look like in an open flannel, bare-chested, and chopping wood. It should be a comical thought, but I saw a picture of Nick on a gossip site a few weeks ago. Photographs were taken of him in Miami on the beach, wearing tiny skin-tight swim shorts that left very little to the imagination.
My pussy pulses at the memory of his powerful chest and shoulders, his lickable washboard abs, and thick muscular thighs that looked like they'd be enjoyable to ride.
"Oh fuck," I moan as my hand dips under my towel and my fingertips brush over my slick folds.
The towel loosens and falls off my body as I lay down on the bed. My mind flips through images of Nick as my hands move up and down my body. I cup my breasts and gently pinch the stiff peaks. Another pulse of pleasure shoots through my body, and I cry out.
“Nick.” No one is here but me, so I can say whatever I want. “Fuck me, Nick.”
I move one hand over the soft flesh of my stomach to the apex of my thighs. One knee drops to the side, making it easier for my fingers to brush gently over my throbbing clit. My hips nearly buck off the bed as I circle the sensitive spot. I push myself closer to release.
“Nick!”
NICK
It was nearly impossible to focus on anything with Alexis’s message playing on repeat in my mind. I barely made it through the formalities of signing off on the deal because I was desperate to get back. I tried calling her back on the plane, but her phone kept going straight to voicemail. The need to talk to her, to see her, consumed me.
When I checked her social media to see where I could find her, I realized that she was at her father's penthouse apartment. It was clear from her posts that the wonderland she was talking about in her message was the winter wonderland she put together in her father’s living room. It looked just like something Bella would have put together.
When I read what she wrote on the post—Surprising Dad with throwback Winter Wonderland!It all became clear what Alexis was saying in the message she left me. I'm sure her father saw one look at that living room, and he was bombarded with the reminder of Bella, and he bolted. I don't like that he used me as an excuse, but I understand it.
The flight back is excruciatingly long, but eventually, we begin our descent. Gretchen knows something is up with me, but she doesn't ask. If she needed to know, I'd tell her. Her ability to read and anticipate what I need without me having to say it makes her an invaluable asset to the company and me.
“Your car will be waiting for you when we land,” she says.
“I will drop you off.”
“No need, sir. I’ve already called for another car to take me home. I don’t want to delay you.”
I nod gratefully at her as the wheels hit the runway.
“You’ll be getting your standard holiday bonus on your next check.” I pull an envelope from my suit pocket and hand it over to her. “But I wanted to get you something extra.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Think of it as an early wedding present.”
She opens it and finds two flight vouchers for first-class tickets to anywhere in the world. I had already tried offering her my plane, but she refused, saying it was too much.
Her eyes are wide like saucers. “I can’t accept these.”
“They are non-refundable,” I tell her. “So, you can’t refuse them.”
We pull to a stop, and I'm out the door before Gretchen can think of some new inventive excuse to refuse my gift. Lucian is standing by the car, ready to take me. I wave him off from opening my door. I don't want to waste another moment trying to get to Alexis so I can check on her.
