Page 25 of Santa's Girl
He shook his head slowly. “MC men don’t do fun, sugar plum.”
He pointed back toward the clubhouse lights, now just a faint glow through the trees. “That’s Wolf in there. He’s the one who does fun—and he bites.”
I snorted. “Okay, Bear. So what doyoudo?”
His eyes traced over me, unhurried, assessing. Not leering—just seeing, in that quiet way he had that made me feel both nervous and safe. The night pressed in close; I could hear the snow shifting off the branches, the tick of the engine cooling beside us. My heart was a drum in my ears.
He looked at me for a long moment before answering, voice low and even.
“You don’t want to find out.”
And somehow, I wasn’t so sure he was right.
The world had gone quiet again, just the whisper of wind and the low rumble of the snowmobile idling beside us.
I could still hear his last words, low and rough—you don’t want to find out.
My pulse hadn’t slowed since.
He swung a leg over the machine and jerked his chin toward the seat. “Helmet.”
I climbed on behind him, the plastic cold against my palms. When I settled my hands at his sides he said, “Closer.”
The engine’s growl swallowed everything. The moment I wrapped my arms fully around him, the vibration ran straight through me—steady, mechanical, vibrations. I could smell smoke in his jacket, pine in his hair. Every time he breathed, his back moved against my chest, and I had to remind myself to do the same.
We cut into the trees, the headlight slicing through drifts of white. Snowflakes spun past like sparks. The road was gone; there was only trail and shadow and the hum of the engine.
The cold should’ve hurt, but it didn’t. The rush of air stung my cheeks, the moonlight turned the world silver, and for a few minutes I stopped thinking. No Huntley. No job. No plans. Just the speed, the sound, the feel of his heartbeat under my hands.
When the cabin lights finally appeared through the trees, I almost hated to see them.
He parked by the porch, killed the engine. The sudden silence felt louder than the ride. I slid off, legs shaky, hair tangled under the helmet.
Inside, the cabin was dark except for the faint orange glow of the stove. The fire had burned low, throwing soft light over the floorboards. Bear brushed past me, hanging up his coat, boots thudding onto the mat.
I stood there, still buzzing, still catching my breath.
He crouched by the stove, added two logs, and the flames jumped. The glow caught his face—sharp lines, tired eyes, that same steady calm.
“You should sleep,” he said quietly.
“Sleep?” I tried to laugh but it came out thin. “Afterthat? You just took me on the wildest ride of my life.”
A small sound—almost a laugh, almost not. “Wasn’t that wild.”
“For you maybe.”
He looked over his shoulder, the firelight flickering across his beard, his eyes. “You’ll get used to it.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant—the mountain, the storm, or him—but I nodded anyway.
He rose, towering for a heartbeat in the firelight, then stepped past me toward the stairs. As he did, his arm brushed mine, and the contact—brief, accidental—sent another spark up my spine.
“Goodnight, sugar,” he said, voice low.
And then he was gone, leaving me in the warmth and the quiet and the steady crackle of the fire, wondering if maybe I’d already started to melt.
6
