Page 38 of Christmas With The Kings
You’re so damn delicious, sexy and so sweet.
I can’t wait to lick you like a frozen treat.
Your next clue is where the wind whispers and the pine trees sway.
A hidden treasure awaitsin the cold light of day.
She was off before I could blink. A blur in red plaid and thigh-high socks, darting toward the trees like a sugarplum on a mission.
“Cheater,” I called after her, grinning as I broke into a jog.
She laughed but didn’t slow down, her curls bouncing, her breath forming little puffs in the crisp winter air. God, she was beautiful. Radiant, even. She was built for this season, and it showed. I caught up as she veered toward the back of the property, eyes scanning the woods with wild glee. She paused near one of the old oak trees, her breath catching when she saw it.
The soft flicker of a flameless candle sat at the base of the trunk, its light dancing inside a frosted glass jar.
She slowed, enchanted. I held back a few paces, not wanting to disturb the moment. My eyes swept the trees, the shadows beyond the lights. I didn’t see him, but Marcus was once more lending a hand. Thank God he loved us as much as he did. He was stealthy, like Ivan.
She knelt by the candle, her fingers brushing a small package and another card placed neatly beside it. Her smile softened as she picked them up, reverent, like she could feel how much care had gone into even this small piece of the puzzle.
And it had. Every step of this day was designed to honor her. To make her feel cherished, adored, and to make up for the lack of attention. I stepped closer, and her eyes met mine. She turned the package over in her hands, delicate but eager. She was savoring each second and I loved it.
“Go on, open it,” I breathed.
She nodded and tore into the present and let out a hearty laugh. Her eyes lit up. “Okay, I see you, Crow.”
She held up the heart-shaped bottle. It was a dark, glossy glass. And the words edible chocolate body paint was scrawled in elegant script across the front. She blinked once, then looked up at me with mischief blooming behind those lashes.
“It’s made with real cocoa powder,” I offered casually, like I hadn’t spent twenty minutes debating flavors and packaging before settling on the onethat would make her cheeks flush. And boy were they. I loved seeing the pink bloom then settle.
“Can I paint you later?” she asked, voice innocent, eyes anything but.
I smirked, unable to help myself. “Maybe. Let’s see what else Santa left you first,” I teased, waggling my brows and reaching for the canvas tote I’d carried with me to hold her little trinkets and treasures.
She gave me a narrow-eyed look but didn’t argue, placing the bottle into the bag as I held it open for her. I watched her fingers linger on the ribbon as she folded the wrapping carefully, always sentimental with things like this.
Her attention turned to the note, and I saw her expression shift. She once more read aloud.
Walk three trees over off to the right.
Don’t dally, we don’t have all night.
It’s tied to a branch, so you won’t have to search for long.
This gift will have you singing a song.
She darted ahead, following the path I’d mapped out with an excitement that made my chest tight. She even checked the map a few times. I stayed back a few steps, letting her lead and enjoying the way she bounced through the trees .
When she found the next candle, I saw the exact moment her breath caught. The package was tied to a low-hanging branch, a neat little bow Marcus must’ve secured with his usual overachieving precision. She reached up, untied it in front of the candlelight, tearing into it like a woman on a mission.
And then she saw it.
The delicate silk thong glimmered in the soft golden light—ivory, nearly sheer, with a string of perfectly placed pearls running along the front. She gasped, full-on gasped, and I swear I saw her pupils blow wide. Her fingers trembled as she held it up, and then in true Kinsley fashion, she closed her eyes and shuddered.
I took two steps forward and smacked her ass hard enough to make her squeal. Her eyes flew open.
“What were you thinking about, baby girl?” I asked, just shy of containing the laugh in my throat.
She spun toward me, flustered and pink, clutching the gift to her chest. “Nothing!”
