Page 213 of Screwged for Christmas

Her attention darted sideways. “Oh.” A red so bright she looked like a Christmas ornament climbed the length of her neck until her entire face glowed.

“The way you busted through that back door I thought...you know.”

He gathered her hands in his and stood pulling her with him.

“Well, I do like donuts and I would probably do whatever it took to get some so you’re not too far off base.”

She rolled her eyes and he laughed. “Welcome to Big Paws Bakery. I own the joint.”

Ivy shot him a look of indifference through narrowed eyes and he wound his fingers around hers. “You could have led with that you know.”

He pulled her forward. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She looked around the spotless workspace where cakes, rolls, and his famous triple-layered chocolate pumpkin pies were prepped for the holidays. “Come on I’ll show you around.”

“I can’t wait.”

He led her in front of him and showed her through a swinging door that separated the customer’s area from the baker’s workstations and various areas of prep work.

She stopped in front of him and pressed a hand to his shoulder. Her warm hand in his was a consolation prize for keeping his dick to himself back in the apartment when he could have easily seduced her into his arms. Into his bed. But when she touched him…skin on skin…God save him.

“You growl like that and it makes a girl wonder.”

He peered down at her as she snatched her hand back to play with the zipper of her coat as if she needed to keep her hands busy. “Wonder what?” he husked silkily.

She shot him a look over her shoulder then cautiously stepped through the door. Her eyes darkened and he read her answer before she uttered the last words he expected to hear. “Wonder what you sound like in bed.”

He groaned a tortured sound pulled from deep inside. “How are you not already claimed and spoken for, angel,” he wondered aloud in a low tone, tucking the same stubborn lock behind her ear.

She smiled but said nothing as she eased around the counter to perch on a stool.

He was royally screwed.

“You did it again. Maybe you should see someone about that? Or maybe eat something?”

Not a soul on the planet could cure him of what he had.

“I don’t think a donut is going to help cure me of what I have.” He made quick work of cutting them each a piece of his personal creation and served up a double espresso.

“And what would that be? What ails you? Maybe I can help because youdotend to growl every time I get close to you or touch you. Maybe you have an allergy to raven-haired Texans. Or maybe it’s the strawberry Chapstick?”

“Or maybe it’s one angel with black-rimmed glasses, green eyes, and tacky sweaters.”

“Lucky me! You’re right. There’s not a pill for that?”

Lucky? Not even close. His past taught him that the hard way. Working as an undercover cop for three years to build a case against the drug cartels invading the underworld from across the Bering Strait and the country’s Russian neighbors, painted a big target on his ass, even retired. No, she wasn’t lucky at all that he wanted her.

“And assuming you are talking about me as some angel...you should definitely get that out of your head.” He watched the fork disappear between her lips, and his cock twitched, anticipating the feel of her tongue working the tip of his shaft the way she licked the remnants off the fork.

“Oh. My. God. I think I just came.” Her eyes rolled closed, and she groaned as if she’d just stepped off cloud nine and free-fell into pure bliss.

Damon choked on the sip of coffee as he leaned on the countertop, his pie left untouched. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She laughed and it reached all the way to her eyes, and it warmed him in a way he shouldn’t take comfort in, since it meant he’d just slipped another notch closer to the danger zone.

“You made this?” She pointed the fork at her plate as she scooped up another big bite.

He nodded.

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