Page 207 of Screwged for Christmas

He was so stupid.

Damon stepped off the back step and relished the bite of the cold on his bare chest.

He gnashed his teeth and worked through the last twenty-four hours in his head. One minute he was preparing to kick ass on the Risky Whiskey, have a little fun beating his brother at his own game and then enjoy some family time. The next, he was mentally fucking the last person on earth he needed to be hard and ready for. His dick, on the other hand, had no qualms about wanting Miss Ivy Kennedy.

Those sweet eyes. Her tender smile. they were all exactly what he didn’t fucking need. A man his age had no business lusting after a damn twenty-something girl barely above the legal drinking age. He wasn’t over the hill like his brothers teased, but at thirty-eight that put him way ahead of a young thing like Ivy.

He welcomed the bite of cold against his skin. Wearing nothing but sweatpants and some lace ups, stepped off his porch

He felt sorry for his sparing student standing opposite of him.

“Mr. Savage,” the boy greeted with a nervous smile that almost made Damon feel sorry for what he was about to do. The boy had a lot to learn to become a cop like his old man, Damon’s partner, and today’s lesson would be hell.

“Samuel. Glad you made it. You know the rules.”

“Yes, sir. Anything goes.”

“That’s right. Criminals don’t follow rules. Only we do. But you need to learn to expect the unexpected.”

“Yes, sir.”

Damon raised his hands. “Alaska is a whole other animal compared to the other forty-nine states. You have to be tougher than all the other SOBs out there,” he lectured. Fists up he landed the first punch, blocking a counter strike. Despite being bulkier than most his age, the teen lost his balance and fell headfirst into a snowbank.

“Careless. Now focus.”

They started over. Both their fists raised.

Snow came down in heavy tufts but he paid no mind. While his older brother, Drake, went into the marines, Damon had devoted six years of his life to the police force. Three of those to uncover work infiltrating the Russian drug organization.

These people used his state to move heroin and cocaine. When a friend was killed on duty, he slipped into the ranks as an undercover operative to break apart the infrastructure of the gang.

He reached his target, took out the group responsible for the drug running. But it had cost him. His wife didn’t care about the good he did. She didn’t want someone who couldn’t focus on her and be there for her one hundred percent. They lasted six months. The hateful words she leveled on him tore at his heart and he swore never to love—or marry—again.

And now this sweet little thing-- virgin no doubt--came to his mountain with pain in her eyes and his inner cop wanted to solve every problem he could see weighing on her shoulders. Unknowingly she stirred up emotions inside him better left buried.

The way her lithe body felt in his arms.

Fuck.

He roared with frustration.

When he looked at Ivy in that tacky sweater and sexy glances she threw his way his dick turned to damn steel and his mind cooked up images of her sprawled out over his sheets, spread wide and bare for his hungry mouth.

Then he’d offered her a place to stay. What the hell had he been thinking? That she would be only a few feet from his own bed with only a couple of paper-thin doors separating them.

He blocked a half-hearted punch from the boy and dealt out one of his own.

He blocked.

“Good,” Damon gruffed. “Faster footwork.”

His brothers could suck it and their judgmental stares as they hugged their wives, all wondering when he would find his. He was happy for them, loved the new members of the family like sisters, but wanting one of his own? Nope.

Been there done that, used the t-shirt as a cleaning rag for the bar.

Angry, he let out a deep thunderous roar and forced his attacker back several paces with a swift slap of his cupped palm.

Didn’t believe in magic?Who didn’t believe in magic?

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