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And in that itty-bitty scrap of a Santa outfit, I’d call her downright gorgeous. Too bad I’m in a funk. Have been for the last year.
If I weren’t still nursing a broken heart, I would’ve pulled her into my house and showed her all the ways I could think of to warm her up. And it would have had very little to do with a glowing fire and snuggly blanket, and everything to do with stripping her bare and increasing her body temperature the old-fashioned way.
Son of a bitch, I must be getting sick. The last thing I need is another woman in my life.
Been there.
Done that.
My heart has spent twelve months on lockdown, and I have no intentions of cutting it loose anytime soon.
I grab my beer off the counter and plop down on the couch. I haven’t looked at a woman with interest since I saw my ex for the first time.
Until tonight.
And I sure as hell didn’t mind looking at Samantha. She’s just as gorgeous as I remember. Loose dark brown waves that tumble over her shoulders, whiskey-colored eyes, and a body made to drive men wild. But all I can do is look.
Don’t touch.
Whatever you do, don’t touch.
Because touching leads to more, and more leads to heartache, and I’ve had enough heartache to last me a lifetime.
There’s another rap on the front door, but this time I decide not to answer it. I moved way out here because I needed peace and quiet, and I know by simple logic that the only person crazy enough to knock on my door for the second time tonight while a storm rages outside is the same sexy Santa who was here a minute ago.
If I remember Samantha correctly, she’s full of spit and fire. She’s probably coming back to put me in place, and I’ll be damned if she doesn’t deserve to do that, what with the way I slammed the door in her face.
But I’m not in the mood, and all I need to do is stand my ground and show her she’s not getting her way tonight.
She knocks again, but this time she doesn’t stop. The little minx keeps knocking. “Lucas, open up!” She bangs again. “I’m not going to shut up until you open this door.”
I could think of a few ways to shut you up, I think while pushing away from the couch. I yank open the front door and Sam, who must’ve been leaning against it, falls into my arms.
Her tiny body is shivering, and a pang of regret for leaving her out there in the first place ripples through me.
“S-s-s-o c-c-c-c-old,” she stutters, burrowing her face against my chest.
“Jesus.” I pull her inside and kick the door shut. With her still huddled against me, I walk toward the couch. Instead of letting go and curling up with the warm blanket already sitting there, she stays attached to me.
Unsure what to do, I sit down on the couch, only to have her yank the blanket over her body while staying curled up on my lap.
Shit.
My don’t-touch rule is going to be damn hard to follow with her lush curves all pressed up against me.
“Please tell me you didn’t walk out here,” I say.
She looks up, her brow dipped low. “Are you crazy?”
“I was sort of thinking you were the crazy one for coming out here in a snowstorm.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have, but the goal was to carol at every house in town, and I’ve let people down enough in my life. I wasn’t about to screw this up too.”
She releases a sigh, and when her fingers circle around my back, I nearly come out of my seat from how freaking cold they are, but I don’t move because even though it’s like ice cubes on my skin, it feels good. She feels good.
“You were the last house. And for the record, I could’ve been in and out if your driveway was plowed.”
“You made it down the lane; I’m sure you could’ve made it back out,” I say, pulling her hands up so I can blow on them. They’re soft and delicate and fit perfectly inside of mine.
