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I turn in his arms to see his expression. My thief demon’s eyes are soft, and his expression is vulnerable. His lashes brush his cheeks as he looks down shyly underneath my scrutiny. His snow sculpture is atrocious…but the fact that he went to all this trouble for me…
My heart warms and sweetens like tea drizzled with honey. I lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips.
“You made me a snowman?” My voice hitches at the sudden surge of emotion that cascades through me.
“Well, since you’re not allowed to play with my real balls yet…” He smiles softly, though a red flush has descended on his cheeks. “I decided to play with these snow ones for you.”
“Weirdo.” I curl my arms around his waist, until my breasts brush the fabric of his white shirt. The air around us thickens with anticipation and something else. Something deeper.
“Only for you,” he breathes, his eyes flickering to my lips and turning molten with wanton need.
“Joy!” Dad’s voice interrupts our sweet moment. “I need to go over some flight patterns with you.”
I glance around Dem’s dark wings, looking like obsidian stones in the sun, and towards the end of the driveway. Dad’s standing on the road, clutching his cane. If he wasn’t an angel, I think those eyes of his would spit fire.
Dem sighs and slowly untangles himself from my arms. Apparently, even my mischievous demon has a problem showing me physical affection in front of my father. But he leans in to whisper, “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I reply, giving him a long, soulful look. And I’m not talking about the snowman.
Dad’s foot taps with increasing speed as he waits for me to leave Dem and join him.
Of course, Dad supplies a critique of the snowman as soon as we get into his office. I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. He’s trying. They all are.”
Dad’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t argue. Maybe he decides it will just make me dig my heels in, which it will. I sigh and work with him on flight paths until my eyes are crossing from staring at numbers for so long.
“I need a break,” I tell him. “I’m going to make a batch of cookies. We can look at these again later.” Dad nods and just pulls the sheaf of parchment closer to himself. I wish he’d ask Nico or one of my guys for help. Ha! Fat chance of that.
I reach the kitchen and sigh as I tie on my apron. I wish Dad would give my demons more of a chance.
“Oh, I ken frustration when I hear it, lass. I love that emotion rolling off of you. You’re growly and hot,” Nico drawls. “But I suppose it’s not a feeling you really want, now is it?”
My Scottish demon has wandered in from outside, stomping the snow off his boots. He looks a bit wild today, his red hair disheveled, his black wings dusted with snow. He’s wearing a red kilt and a black sweater, but quickly yanks the sweater off over his head to my delight, revealing only a thin, nearly transparent white T-shirt beneath. The material clings to his pecs in delicious and tantalizing ways.
He pulls a stool up to the countertop and rests his upper body on his elbows, leaning over the granite surface. “What’s wrong lass?”
I bite my lip and fidget with a set of measuring spoons on a ring, pulling my attention away from my handsome mate and focusing on the problems at hand. “It’s Dad. I don’t know how to get through to him.”
Nico nods. “Yeah. He’s got a thrawn sense of self.”
“What?” Sometimes, his Scottish words throw me for a loop.
Nico gives me an easy grin. “He’s a bit of an obstinate bastard.”
I laugh harshly. “That’s true.” As soon as my laughter ends, my throat tightens. I wish it wasn’t. I wish that Dad would accept that these men are amazing and that they’re my soulmates.
Suddenly, Nico is right next to me. “Ah, dinnae cry. I canna handle it.” His big hands cup my shoulders and gently rub them before he pulls back. “I have an idea. Wait there!” He flies out my door a second later, not even bothering to put his sweater back on.
Just a moment later he’s back, shaking snow off himself and slamming the door shut. A“It’s fooking cold outside!”
“Well, it is the Christmas realm,” I reply drily.
“Smart alec.” Nico stomps over to me, and I can fully appreciate up close that the snow has made his white T-shirt damp.
Yes, those frigid nipples of his are clearly visible, and suddenly, my personal oven is on pre-heat.
“Do ya have a lighter?” Nico holds up a twig he must have just snapped off of a tree. A juniper berry still clings to it.
“Of course.” I shuffle through my drawers, not bothering to ask what he’s doing, just hoping to prolong the moment with a hot demon competing in my own personal wet T-shirt fantasy. I take a little longer than necessary to find the lighter, possibly because my eyes hardly hit the drawer.
