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My heart starts to drum like Christmas bells are on a reindeers belt, over and over, a whole deafening cacophony of them as I watch Kenny and Terrence shake hands.
Terrence says something and Kenny laughs, but it has a forced quality to it, a tug at my gut tells me fear is writhing through him. I can read the laughter even if it’s almost drowned out by the Christmas music and the chatter of the shoppers. I’ve learned to listen through crowds.
Why the fuck is Natalie’s brother meeting with the leader of the Bloody Sons?
“Excuse me,” the mother is saying, drawing my attention back to Santa’s Wonderland
“Yes?” I reply, in my best Santa voice.
“Do you mind if we get a photo?”
“Please, Santa. Please,” the little girl pleads.
I offer my best smile, which basically amounts to me baring my teeth like the savage I am. But after confessing my true feelings to Natalie, I find myself more willing to put the effort in today.
It’s like I’m rehearsing for the family we’re going to have one day.
But does that family include a brother-in-law who meets with criminals, possibly does deals with them?
I need to speak with Natalie.
“Of course.” I nod at the little girl. “Santa would love to have a photo with you.”
“Yay, thank you, Santa,” she says, voice brimming with happiness.
I look at the mother’s phone, but really I’m looking past her…
At Kenny, his head bowed as he walks away from Terrence and the bikers.
Chapter Eight
Natalie
I walk around the edge of the mall, a light snow falling and melting against my skin. The horizon of the city is like a painting over to the left, silhouetted by the steely gray of the sky, with the bridge reaching across like a metal and stone finger.
It seems so far away, so disconnected to everything that’s happening here, as though we’re cordoned off in our own little corner of Christmas.
Giggling at the thought, I shake my head and wander over to the ice rink, watching a family skate back and forth, their skates making hiss-hiss noises against the reflective frozen playground.
Cordoned off in our little corner of Christmas.
But of course, that’s just plain nonsense, just plain wishful fantasy, because there’s nothing fairytale about living in a storage closet and hunting a biker gang.
Yet when I think about the way my personal Saint Nick crushed his body against mine, wrapped his arms around me, and squeezed me close, I can’t help but feel a little flutter of Christmas magic in my chest.
“Natalie.”
His voice thunders through me, goosebumps rising over every inch of my skin, every part of my insides quivering. I shiver as I turn, unable to repress the mixture of lust, heat, and something stronger that swirls through me, a potent cocktail I can’t control.
His eyes are alight and his lips twist into a smirk as he takes in the sight of me. He looks me up and down, nodding as though satisfied, and I find myself nodding along with him.
I can’t stop studying his body, the way it shines through the Santa costume. He’s removed the fake belly and beard, and he’s not wearing the hat, giving me ample opportunity to study every ripped muscular inch of him.
“Nick,” I murmur.
He chuckles deeply, swaggering over to me and stopping just short. His scent washed over me, musky and manly, a tinge of sweat mixed with cologne, a just-Nick smell that makes me want to sink into it and forget I have ever had any problems.
He nods to the ice rink. “Trying to work up the courage?”
I giggle, shaking my head. “No, no way. I’ve never skated before. I was just thinking…”
“Yeah? About what?”
He moves even closer, lifting his hands and gripping onto my shoulders. Sizzling sensation dances my skin at his touch, swirling over my breasts, pebbling my nipples, and making every part of me hum with need for him, ultra-receptive like I’m getting ready to throw myself at him.
But then the word virgin pommels into my head like a hammer, tearing through any confidence I might’ve summoned.
“About… stuff,” I murmur.
“About us?” He smirks, pulling me close to him, crushing my body against his. “About our future?”
“Yes,” I admit, my breath shivering when I feel his hard pectorals against my cheek, pushing through his Santa suit.
“About how impossible it is?” he asks, a deep growl in his voice.
He leans down and kisses the top of my head, sending tingles sliding down my face like melting snow.
“No, not at all.” I lean back and look up at him. “Why do you think it’s impossible?”
“No,” he snaps forcefully, sliding his hands down to my hips and gripping on like he never wants to let go. “If I was a superstitious man, I’d think someone had cast a Christmas spell on us. Because I can’t explain this. I don’t even want to explain it. I just want – need – to be with you. The feeling is as primal as breathing.”
