Page 180 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Good.” He smiles down at me, still keeping his hands to himself. Then he leans a little closer, lowering his voice a bit. “I do have another question, though.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Naughty or nice list tonight?”

I squirm, remembering the men’s promise to come to my room later.

One of the caterers drops a tray behind us, making me jump, and Ryder chuckles, pulling me closer to clear the walkway.

“I need an answer, love,” he whispers in my ear. “I need to know if you want us to fuck you like a good girl or a bad girl later.”

A tiny whimper spills from my lips, heat pooling low in my belly.

“Ryder,” I breathe, glancing behind me nervously.

We’re not alone in here. The kitchen is bustling with activity, and even though his voice is quiet, I can’t help feeling like everyone knows what he’s saying.

“Naughty list,” I whisper, so low it’s barely audible. “Fuck me like the bad girl I am.”

“Noted.” He smirks and , steps back to a more socially acceptable distance, his gaze so full of heat that it’s a wonder the kitchen doesn’t catch on fire. “Ready to rejoin the party?”

“You’re horrible,” I hiss, although I’m not mad about it at all. All three of these men are masters at edging… and I love it.

“I see where you get your love of Christmas,” Ryder murmurs as he leads me back out of the kitchen.

At first, I’m not sure what he means. I do love Christmas, but this party, and the way my family celebrates the holiday, has never felt like it includes the things I love about it.

But if I take my focus off the room full of inflated egos and look at it through the lens Ryder just gave me—my own love of the holiday—I’m struck by the warmth and coziness of the atmosphere.

The room is bathed in the soft glow of twinkling lights, garlands draped elegantly over every available surface. The enormous Christmas tree in the corner sparkles with gorgeous ornaments, and the air is rich with the scent of cinnamon and pine.

Christmas music plays softly enough to add to the ambiance without overpowering conversation, and all of it is punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the clink of glasses.

I smile. Despite the constant undercurrent of tension with my parents and their thinly veiled disapproval tonight, I feel my spirits lift as Ryder’s comment reminds me of what’s important.

“Christmas always has been my favorite time of year,” I say, smiling up at him as the festive environment wraps around us like a warm blanket.

But then my mother bustles up again to check with me on the caterers, and Ryder rejoins his friends when she pulls me away to introduce me to a few more people. As we walk, she starts whispering to me, a non-stop stream of instructions of what she wants me to say to whoever it is she’s about to introduce me to.

I get that she wants me to impress her guests so that I reflect well on her, but I’m hoping we can have a moment of actual connection instead.

“Mom, you’ve really outdone yourself this year,” I compliment her, interrupting her mid-sentence.

She stops, glancing at me. “With the party?”

“Yeah.” I smile at her. “It’s really lovely.”

“Of course it is. Didn’t I tell you I used that new designer Beatrice recommended?”

I sigh quietly as she goes off about the coup of scoring this particular up-and-coming designer’s services, letting my attention wander.

Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett are all chatting with Caleb near the fireplace, Oliver still trailing after Beckett like an eager little puppy. My heart thuds at the sight of them, and as soon as I can politely do it, I murmur an excuse and leave Mom talking with a local businessman and his wife so I can join them.

I’ve just grabbed a fresh glass of champagne and started to make my way over to my men when the sound of a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.

It sounds an awful lot like my ex-fiancé, but since Wade is very much myexnow, and also back in L.A., it can’t be.

But when I turn around, it is.

---