Page 34 of Christmas With The Kings
Glasses froze. Jawline paled.
“Thanks for the duet!” I chirped, stepping forward to pocket my phone before Marcus could confiscate that too. “Now on to keeping my end of the bargain. Tell me what your relationship is—”
“Uh-yeah…I think we’re good,” Jawline murmured, not even looking at me. Then they bolted.
I turned to Marcus, who was still fuming.
“You know we don’t…” I made a cut mark across my neck. “People not on the list.”
“Yeah, tell that to the Crow. I have a job to do.” He let out a long-suffering sigh as I shook my head.
I checked my tally. “Only four more to go,” I announced cheerfully.
“I don’t like this game,” he muttered, scanning the mall.
“That makes two of us. I’d probably like it more if you weren’t trying to scare off every man who breathes in my general direction.”
“Can’t help it,” he said with a shrug. “I suggest that going forward you pick your targets wisely.”
“Meaning?” I put my hands on my hips and blew the hair from my face.
“Find some nice old ladies who aren’t going to flirt with you and try to look up your damned skirt,” he replied, folding his arms. “It doesn’t help that it’s too fucking short for my liking. I’m about ready to tie my jacket around your waist.”
I huffed. “This competition is rigged.”
He didn’t smile. But he did say, “Yeah, well, take that up with your ‘Daddy’. Time’s ticking. Better get back at it or admit defeat.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it was a small miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Fine. Old ladies, huh? Challenge accepted.”
He visibly relaxed. We walked a few booths down, and I spotted a trio of sweet pensioners in matching snowman sweaters by a cookie decorating booth. I approached, and they were delightful. One of them had a literal sleigh bell in her purse. They were happy to sing along with me. We were finishing “Jingle Bell Rock” when I spotted them.
The holy grail.
A cluster of brawny rugby players—real ones, based on the logos on their uniforms. They were lounging by the Santa photo line. One had a clipboard. One was handing out candy canes. The rest were flirting with moms.
My eyes sparkled.
Ten or so rugged men. All in a single swoop. If I split them up, played things right, I’d win and get enough footage to screenshot some serious biceps to fill a calendar for Isabella.
I could throw in one or two of Pasha. He had muscles galore. She’d hate it, but now nothing would do but to get those pictures and win this damned thing.
But then I glanced over my shoulder. Marcus. Ever-vigilant and still watching. I had to act fast. I leaned into the lead snowman-granny. “Quick question,” I whispered conspiratorially, casting a furtive glance over my shoulder.
Her eyes lit up like a fiber-optic tree. “Oh, we love quick questions.”
“See that man over there?” I pointed to Marcus, who had his arms crossed and was looking over to the right, where a group of rowdy teens were making a ruckus.
“Oh, the tall, brooding one? Looks like he eats raw steak?”
“That’s him. His name’s Marcus. He’s my…well, he’s technically my bodyguard. But it’s Christmas, and he’s lonely. Really misses his granny. Hepretends he’s not, but really, he really needs a few lovely women to make him smile.”
Their faces softened into one collective awww.
“You mean to say he’s alone on the holidays?”
“Tragically so,” I sighed, pressing a hand to my heart for effect. “Do you think you could…maybe…go talk to him for a minute? I think it would really make his day.”
“We’ll do more than that,” one said. “Marlene, fix your lipstick. Sylvia, get out your peppermint chews. We’re deploying our Christmas charm.”
