Clouds of steam rose with each breath. Their skin, glazed with sweat or snow, caught every ray of morning light and made the ink on their torsos and arms gleam—dark, sinuous bands across powerful muscle.
Connor was working a heavy axe, broad back and shoulders flexing with each unhurried swing, arms corded and veins prominent beneath pale winter skin.
You could practically see the heat radiating off them, the snow at their feet stamped into dark, melted patches.
Adrian, covered in ink, worked beside him with a theatrical flair—he spun the axe, split the logs in crisp, showy movements, and grinned like a devil.
And finally, Jax. He wasn’t chopping. No, the golden-haired king just lounged against a split log, axe propped up beside him, head cocked back as he watched the other two with bored amusement.
He looked every bit the entitled heir: lean with muscle, jaw cut like glass, ice-blue eyes on full display.
His chest was a landscape of golden skin, pink nipples pebbling with cold, but clearly unaffected as he made no move to dress.
He’d pushed his Santa hat high onto his hair and was flat-out posing—sun gleaming off his skin, smile half-sinister as he waited for me to notice him.
For a beat, all we could do was stare. There was something primal about it—all that heat and masculine energy against so much frozen white and the glitter of icicles, like some dirty corner in a Hallmark Christmas village.
I could feel my face flush despite the cold.
“Oh my god,” Isla whispered. “That’s not even necessary. The firewood is already stacked tothe roof.”
“I think this is for our benefit,” I offered weakly, my voice a little breathless. “Look at Jax. He’s not even pretending to help.”
As if on cue, Jax caught my eye, grinned, and pushed off from the log, axe in hand, but with no intention of using it.
He prowled over, eyes locked on mine.
“Like the view?” he rumbled, voice all honey and arrogance as he closed the distance.
Before I could say a word, he caught me by the waist and lifted me flush to his bare chest. I squealed at the cold and the hard muscle of his skin beneath my hands as he carried me inside.
Adrian didn’t miss a beat; he swept Isla up with a flourish, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “You know you love it, angel,” he crowed, sauntering back toward the house.
Connor, silent and powerful, simply lifted Sierra straight off the snowy ground and held her against his body as if she were weightless, her legs automatically winding around his waist as he followed us in.
The guys, flushed, sweat dripping, skin red from cold, radiated pure ownership, parading their girls to the doorway, hands possessive, gazes dark with satisfaction.
Once inside and deposited in the center of the living room, our boots stripped off, every inch of us flushed from cold and manhandling, we girls exchanged a single glance.
It was the kind of look that said:They think they’re in control? Game on.
Adrian, Jax, and Connor disappeared briefly to get our snow gear, commenting with wicked intent on layers and gloves and how helpless we’d all be on an ice rink.
But as they hovered, the three of us huddled closer, our eyes alight with the promise of mutual chaos to come.
Sierra grinned. “We need to plan something. Something that will make them regret all that flexing out there.”
Isla was already plotting. “Maybe something that gets under their skin in the worst way. We want them restless all night.”
I dropped my voice, savoring the unspoken conspiracy between us. “It’ll be something just for them—all that pent-up energy begging for an outlet.”
The guys thought they ruled this cabin, but we were about to turn the tables in the most delicious way—and drive them wild in the process.
As the snow continued to fall, soft and relentless outside, we shared a final look of wicked promise. The real game of Christmas chaos had just begun.
CHAPTER FOUR
Estelle
