Page 162 of Screwged for Christmas

GETTING SCREWGED

Turn the Elf on the shelf away for this naughty tale! Christmas comes once a year, but Eve will be coming every night!

I get what I want. But my hot bodyguard knows every little sweet thing my body needs this Christmas.

It's Christmas eve, just another day for me. Staying home to unwrap presents in an empty home isn't my idea of fun. Hanging out with friends, making bad choices and losing my pesky V card seems like the better option. At least I won't be alone.

Until he shows up.

Captain Dyson is everything you imagine a former Marine to be. Sinfully gorgeous, intimidating AF, and deliciously hard all over. Just the kind of man you never want to tick off.

Of course, it's my new favorite hobby when he thinks he'll be dragging me home for another empty Christmas with my scrooge father.

But the arrogant Marine has no intentions of waiting for my permission. When a freak snowstorm lands us secluded and all alone, it’s just me, my handsome well-dressed bodyguard, a handful of those bad ideas I mentioned. And a whole lot of snow.

It doesn't take me long to learn I like the way my guard uses his body to warm me up by the fire and chase away the wintery chills. Suddenly Christmas isn't looking so bad after all.

You see, I've made a list and he's checking it twice. If I'm naughty he's promised I'll get every inch of my present.

My bodyguard is about to find out his sweet Holly is more naughty than nice.

CHAPTER 1

GABRIEL

Isank my hands into my pockets, staring out over a bunch of people in bathing suits in the middle of winter. In Michigan.

Fucking lunatics. Portable heaters maintained the glass atrium warm I’m sure, but the sight of snow-covered everything and bathing suits just didn’t mix in my books.

“Sir, and these?”

A shaky voice pulled my attention away from the site below.

A bellboy, barely over twenty, held out an unused tube of lube and a hot pink unpackaged dildo.

He cleared his throat and shifted in place. “I found it in the, uh, bathroom, sir.”

“I see.” I angled my head around and jerked my chin toward the suitcase on the bed. “Put them in there, close it up and see to it they are all loaded in the back of my SUV within ten minutes.” I handed over my keys and valet ticket. “Make sure to leave it out front in idle, heater on.” That’s how long it would take me to do the next part of my job.

Fucking Colonel Davidson. My old commanding officer is the only person on Earth I’d do this for. Missions were something I left behind when I was discharged from the Corps five years ago. I worked Wall Street now and made more in a month than I did my entire fifteen-year career with the Marines. No regrets, but I moved on.

So did my former commanding officer. Until his daughter skipped out on Christmas and then apparently it was Operation Christmas Retrieval with me stuck in the middle as the gopher.

Normally I wouldn’t mind. I owed the man. The aging Colonel started me out in the stock market after working in the private security sector for a while.

Guns, hand-to-hand combat and training former soldiers to work private security was great, but two years ago I hit burnout and needed a change in a big way. Something other than brute force and bullets.

The Colonel introduced me to a few people and I went solo from there. But because of the Colonel, I held several offshore accounts and a diversified investment portfolio of restaurants, bakeries and boutiques spread out across the country—all making my current life a lot more comfortable than my days in the Corps.

You can see why it would have been tough for me to say no when Davidson told me I was the only man he trusted to go after his runaway daughter and bring her back to him in time for Christmas.

A hefty responsibility for any man, but for me, it weighed exceptionally more given our past.

We dropped out of contact for a long while, but at eight last night I received a call and at five this morning Mystique, a small luxury hideaway a couple of hours outside Christmas, Michigan appeared over the hood of my truck.

So, here I was standing in the middle of a glass atrium on the side of a snow-covered mountain watching a bunch of over-privileged frat boys and self-centered co-eds partying away their parents' money.

I raked my gaze over a scattering of scantily covered bodies lounging in clusters by the multiple heaters. Over half of these girls look like they could use a cold shower, a reality check, and not the nose job they probably have lined up for a Christmas gift from dear old daddy.

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