Page 45 of Santa Baby

He spun me in circles on the dance floor. He helped me stuff two pieces of tiramisu in my bag for later. We drank fruity, sweet champagne and watched the city lights reflect on the water until late in the night. I hadn’t had to play a part. The erratic beating of my heart whenever he touched me was real. His smile, one that radiated joy, was real. The way he leaned in to whisper in my ear, telling me stupid little jokes about the grumpy old men and their plastic wives he had to introduce me to, was real.

Maybe I’d been thinking too far into this when I went shopping with Liv. Maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way I did.

But as the night wore on, it became more and more obvious that we would have to retire to our stateroom. Together. Sleeping together. In the same room, at least.

“Do you need a Dramamine?” Mason asked as he slipped a keycard into a door at the very end of a hallway below deck.

“I don’t get seasick. It would have happened by now if I did.”

“Lucky,” he murmured, throwing me a smirk. “I can barely stand up straight on my own yacht.” He pushed open the door, revealing darkness and a twinge of city lights reflecting through several windows on a far wall.

I stepped in behind him, blinking into the darkness. “Of course you have a yacht. Is it bigger than this one?”

“Of course.” He chuckled, mimicking my sarcasm. “It’s in a port in Greece right now. I normally take a trip every February and sail around for a week or so just to get out of the city.”

I imagined Mason wearing one of those loose, white shirts pirates wore while he stood on the bow of his fancy-pants yacht, a warm breeze in his hair and a stern look on his face, of course. Otherwise it wouldn’t be Mason.

He flipped on a light switch. I covered my eyes with my arm. “Rather bright,” he grumbled absently. I stood totally still as he moved throughout the room, turning on lamps. I didn’t move until he turned off the overhead light and the room flushed into comfortable dimness. “Better, I think.”

“Thanks—” My breath caught in my throat as I lowered my arm and caught my first glimpse of our lodgings for the night. I wasn’t sure what I expected. I wasn’t sure why, in my mind, I saw two beds, or maybe a couch and a separate bedroom where there would be a level of separation between us.

Mason’s jaw flexed as he scanned the room to meet my eyes. “Shit.”

“Shit,” I echoed, sighing as our reality smacked us right in the face.

There was a king-sized bed. That was it. The only chair was barely big enough for me and butted up against a silly little desk that was probably only there to make the room look more professional. Everything was a soft, warm white. Fresh flowers in the traditional Christmas colors—red with greenery. A few bundles of Baby Breath. The room smelled like cashmere and fresh linen. It was clean, soft, and romantic.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” Mason huffed a sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“We’re adults.” I swallowed hard. “We can share a bed.”

We stared at each other. I held my breath, and I was sure he was holding his. He was the first to breathe. He turned to the side, motioning to the two suitcases at the foot of the bed. His suitcase, strong sturdy material that could take a beating in cargo during overseas flights, and mine, bright pink plastic with stickers I’d been collecting since high school coating almost the entire surface.

“We, uh, there’s going to be pajamas for us in the en suite,” he said quietly. A hint of nerves ran through his words, highlighted by the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

I found this odd. I knew Mason well now. He was never nervous around me. At least, I hadn’t thought so.

“Matching pajamas?” I took a step toward him.

“Probably. Don’t look at me like that.” His mouth ticked into a wry smile.

I arched a brow. “We’re going to look so cute.”

“You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t sleep in anything but boxers, then.”

I shrugged but a tingling sensation started to spread through my lower back as I replied, “I never sleep in anything at all.”

He held my gaze—suddenly hot and heavy. Something shifted in his expression, his normally aloof, uninterested look hardening, the planes of his face falling into shadow.

I could feel the tension snapping between us as we stood only a few feet from each other. I desperately wanted to cross that distance. I wanted to touch him. To feel him beneath my hands. To press on his chest until he was beneath me on the bed.

I hadn’t realized my lips had parted until a soft, breathy sound escaped my mouth and Mason’s gaze went dark as night.

His jaw sharpened as he ground his teeth, his gaze sweeping from my face to the hem of my dress, slow and deliberate. “Do you need help getting out of the dress?”

I swallowed hard. “No.”

“Are you sure? You told me Liv had to help you into it.”