Page 64 of Santa Baby

“Oh, you poor girl. How about this? To teach this fool a lesson, you come to my party, alone, and I’ll introduce you to my grandsons. They’re rich and handsome.”

“I’ll come to your party, Abigail,” I muttered and realized that she wasn’t actually hard of hearing but used the rumor to her advantage. With a swing of her cane to my ankles, she smirked and walked away.

“I love her!” Fia drawled, laughing brightly.

I chuckled, lacing my fingers between Fia’s. “Let’s go home.”

27

FIA

Ilaughed my way into Mason’s apartment, his suit jacket slung over my shoulders to fight the chill. It was snowing harder than I’d ever seen it snow in Manhattan and I was sure my mascara was running down my cheeks. He stumbled inside behind me, slipping in his wet, frozen dress shoes.

“Have you never taken the subway before?” I asked breathlessly, trying not to laugh at poor Mason, who was struggling out of his shoes, his fingers red from the cold.

“It’s been years, honestly. I avoid it if I can. Confined spaces and all.”

I shivered, teeth chattering, as he stood up, smoothing his snow-damp hair away from his face. Outside, the wind howled, blowing snow across the massive windows overlooking the city. It made his giant apartment seem cozy, however. I slipped out of my heels and padded into the living room where my Christmas decorations remained, glistening in the dim overhead lighting. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised to see the decorations still up, but I was. It was like a little of piece of me lived here, with him. My mark on his territory. A place in his home. His heart.

“Fia,” he said somewhere behind me. “Come upstairs. I have some clothes you can change into.”

I looked at him over my shoulder and nodded, following a few steps behind him as he led me up the stairs. I’d gotten ready here in his first-floor guest room to save time after our shopping adventure, but I’d yet to see this part of the apartment. Still sleek and modern, the upstairs was cozier and less open than the first floor. The walls weren’t a stark a white, more an eggshell, warmer on the eye.

I followed him down a snug, carpeted hallway into his room.

“Whoa.” The word rushed out of me on a breath.

Mason was wet and slightly pink from our cold trek from the subway to his building after deciding not to call on Rex for a ride home from the event tonight. Despite that, he smiled a bit sheepishly as he walked to his dresser—slick, black, well made. It matched the frame of his king-sized bed, the bedside tables, and the bookshelf along the wall opposite the massive windows overlooking Manhattan. “It’s not much.”

My brows rose to my hairline as I looked around. He continued to pull clothing from his dresser while I gently pushed open the door to the ensuite bathroom. A huge black marble soaking tub. A steam shower that was probably the size of my entire apartment. Fine, sharp finishes, but nothing flashy. It was, by all accounts, a very masculine room. Clean but a bit unorganized, just like his bedroom.

And it smelled like Mason in here. His woodsy, spicy cologne grew even sharper as I reentered his bedroom and hugged myself, feeling that tension I’d felt at the event again. We’d mentioned our feelings. How we wanted more than this arrangement originally allowed. But we hadn’t really spoken about how to do this, how to move forward, and what would come next.

I supposed some relationships just progressed naturally without any planning or conversation on the matter, but Mason was different. Mason and I were alike in the way that we needed things fleshed out, readable, predictable. My own closeted type-A personality that only came to life during work was trying to take over my mind as I shivered in my gown and his suit jacket.

“This is going to be big on you,” he murmured, handing me a pair of sweatpants and an old Columbia crewneck sweatshirt. “Do you want a shower? Bath? Just to warm up?”

“Are you going to join me?” I asked without meaning to say the words out loud. I dropped my eyes to the floor, embarrassed. That had been so forward, unlike me at all. He just brought out the wild side of me.

“I don’t want you to think I asked you to come back here just so I could sleep with you.” His fingers touched my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his eyes. “I like this. Just being with you.”

“I like that too,” I rushed out, watching his eyes fade from that clear, sharp blue to something darker, calmer, something only I got to see, I realized.

“You’re cold to the touch,” he whispered, peeling the half-frozen suit jacket from my shoulders.

“I’m going to need help out of the dress.”

“I know.” His fingers grazed my back as I turned around, moving my hair out of the way of the zipper. “I had to help you into it.”

I closed my eyes as he slowly, deftly, unzipped the dress down to my lower back. I felt each notch give way deep in my heart, sending a warmth spreading through my lower belly that was impossible to ignore.

I was conflicted about what could happen next. I wanted to sleep with him. I really wanted to, but how much would change? This feeling, right now, was easy and comfortable. We were comfortable with each other. Would that shift into something more complicated if I landed in bed with him tonight?

Could I even fight this desire anymore?

Did I want to even try?

“I’ll be right back,” he said.