Page 130 of Filthy Rich Santas

We find the dress and call over a salesperson.

“Tell her your size,” Beckett says, letting some of his inner Dominant through.

It works, because even though Lana’s cheeks pink up a little, she turns to whisper quietly to the salesperson, then takes the dress into the fitting room without any further protest.

When she emerges a few minutes later, looking unsure and vulnerable, I swear my heart stops for a second.

“Holy shit,” Tristan breathes beside me.

Beckett just nods, his eyes dark with appreciation.

“You look fucking incredible,” I finally manage to tell her, my voice rougher than I intended.

She blushes, already shaking her head. “It’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“But—”

“It suits you,” I say before she can come up with some other excuse.

“Really?”

She looks up at all three of us, searching our faces like she’s trying to suss out whether we’re just showering her with empty compliments or actually mean it.

“Really,” Tristan says, holding her gaze.

“It was fucking made for you,” Beckett agrees.

I grin at her. “There’s no way you’re walking out of here without that dress, love.” I hold up a hand when she starts to protest again. “I’m buying it for you.”

She bites her lip as she runs her hands over the material. “I can’t really wear something like this, can I?”

I grin, stepping closer to her. “Well, since it’s coming with us, if you don’t, I guess I’ll have to.”

That startles a laugh out of her, and she looks up at me with a bright smile that hits me right in the chest. After a lifetime spent avoiding attachments—at least, other than to my three best friends—it feels strange to think that making someone else happy can feel so fucking fulfilling.

It’s not long before Tristan and Beckett get in on the action, insisting on buying her clothes too. I don’t know if they’re feeling things for her as strongly as I am right now, but they clearly love the shy way she glows with each compliment just as much as I do.

It makes spoiling her all too easy. None of us can resist her joyfully authentic responses when she actually tries on clothes—clothes thatwesuggest—that highlight her true beauty so well.

“You guys are spoiling me,” Lana protests weakly as we pile more clothes into her arms, helping her pick out clothes we can tell she really likes instead of just things she feels like sheshouldwear.

“You deserve it,” Tristan insists.

She ducks her head, but not before I see that dimple in her cheek as her grin breaks free. “I’m just not used to this.”

“Then I guess you’d better get used to it,” Beckett rumbles, a hint of a smile on his face as he tips her face back up, his eyes caressing her in a way that seems more intimate than a kiss. “Think you can do that?”

She laughs instead of answering, but hearing him tease her like that really does make me think we might all be feeling things we weren’t prepared for.

It should freak me the fuck out, but for some reason, it doesn’t. And when Lana leans into me once we’re finally checking out, a teasing glint in her eye as she says, “I bet you do this for all the girls, huh? Whisk them away on road trips, buy them pretty things…”

For once in my life, I don’t even consider joking back. I just look down at her, brushing the backs of my finger down her satiny cheek as I smile at her, and tell her the truth.

“Nope. Just you.”

Three words that should spell trouble and send me running as fast as I can in the other direction, but I’ve never meant anything more in my life.

---