Page 85 of Santa's Girl
“Promise?” she whispered, and that was it. The last thread of my control snapped.
I kissed her. Hard. My mouth crashed into hers, and she gasped, then melted against me, her hands fisting the front of this ridiculous red coat. The fake beard got in the way, and I tore it off, tossing it somewhere in the dark. Her lips were soft, warm, and she kissed me back like she’d been waiting for this as longas I had. My hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and she made a sound that sent heat straight through me.
“Damn it,” I muttered against her mouth, half angry, half desperate. Angry at Jinx for this stupid bet, at her for looking like that, at myself for wanting her this bad. Horny as hell because—well, look at her. She was trouble, and I was drowning in it.
Her fingers slid under the coat, finding my shirt, tugging me closer. “Bear,” she murmured, and the way she said my name made my knees weak. I kissed her deeper, one hand sliding up to cup her face, the other gripping her hip like she might vanish if I let go.
Somewhere outside, kids were yelling, Christmas music was blaring, but in here, it was just us. Her breath hitched as I pressed myself closer, the stupid Santa pants too tight for what she was doing to me. I pulled back just enough to look at her, her lips swollen, eyes dark, and I wanted to burn this whole bazaar down just to keep her here.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” I said, voice hoarse.
She grinned, breathless, and tugged at the coat again. “Worth it, Santa.”
I groaned, kissed her again, and decided Jinx’s bet might not be the worst thing after all.
19
BECCA
Bridge night with Aunt Margie and her crew was supposed to be chill. Cozy. Something soft and warm while the snow came down thick outside, already icing over the sidewalks. Margie and I had walked over with a thermos of spiked cider and a box of holiday sugar cookies. I was wearing a chunky knit sweater, thick socks, and the last of my mascara from work. I wasn't expecting fireworks.
But damn, the tension hit as soon as we stepped into Lorraine's house. The place was decked out in a blizzard of tinsel and holiday kitsch, and the charcuterie boards were overflowing with more cheese than conversation. Until they weren’t.
The wine was flowing. The peppermint schnapps made everyone bold. And the gossip? Brutal. Harmless at first—who was getting divorced, who dyed their dog green for Christmas. Then someone mentioned the motorcycle club. And Bear.
"Well," said Loretta, the type who smiled with her teeth but not her eyes, "my niece Jessica dated him this summer. Had him wrapped around her little finger until he ghosted her."
I blinked.
"Oh?" I said lightly, trying not to flinch.
Margie cut her eyes toward me like a warning shot, but it was too late.
"You’re dating him now, aren’t you?" Loretta asked, loud enough to make three heads turn.
I sipped my wine. "I am."
That was the spark. Cards forgotten, wine glasses refilled. Jess herself showed up half an hour later, blowing in with snow in her hair and a red lip that screamed war. I got the once-over from her, head to boots.
"Didn't realize Bear liked repeats," she said, tossing her gloves onto the table.
"He doesn't," I said sweetly. "Guess that makes me the upgrade."
The room went dead silent. Then Margie coughed to cover her laugh, and Lorraine nearly choked on a cheese cube.
From there? Game on.
The bridge game turned cutthroat. Jess sat across from me like we were dueling at dawn, throwing shade with every card she laid down. Loretta kept sighing like she'd lost the lottery twice. And the rest of the ladies? Jealous.
Not just because of Bear.
Because I was glowing.
Because for once, I wasn’t the woman left behind or overlooked. I was the one he picked. The one he was picking still.
Even if he wasn’t here tonight, his shadow was.
And damn if it didn’t feel good to be the woman it followed.
