Page 202 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Watch out!” I blurt, warning Tristan just in time for him to turn and take the snowball right in the chest.

“Oh, it’s fuckingon,” Tristan declares, dropping to his knees and packing a snowball of his own.

Before he can get it ready, another snowball smacks him in the shoulder. He turns and narrows his eyes at Beckett.

“Seriously?”

Beckett shrugs. “What? You weren’t paying attention.”

Tristan makes a grab for Beckett, but the massive man just laughs, ducking out of the way and sending a snowball whizzing through the air, aimed right at me.

I let out a squeak. “Hey! I thought you loved me!”

Ryder laughs, tackling me into a snowbank. “You know what they say, all is fair in love and war.”

And with that, he grabs a handful of snow and almost manages to cram it down the front of my coat.

“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” I growl as I roll away, leaping to my feet and grabbing my own handful of snow.

The three men look at each other.

Then they run.

I give chase, laughing my head off and pelting them with snowballs, then shrieking as they turn on me, catching me and tossing me up into the air before catching me.

“Uncle! Uncle!” I cry.

They’re laughing too, their arms around me, their breath steaming, and their faces flushed with exertion. They’re the sexiest men I’ve ever seen, and they’re all mine.

“Damn,” Ryder murmurs. “Maybe we should head back to the guest house.”

I smack his chest, wiggling free. “No. I was promised bacon and presents and Christmas.”

He groans. “So fucking greedy.”

My cheeks flush, the heat in his eyes telling me that—just like I am—he’s remembering all the other times they’ve accused me of being their greedy, dirty girl.

He pushes my hair back from my face and kisses me, our breath fogging the air, then the four of us all head into the main house.

The minute we walk in, the sounds and smells of Grandma Meg cooking breakfast waft over us. Baldwin races toward us, yapping excitedly as if to point out that yes, there is in fact the scent of bacon in the air.

I scoop him up. “Merry Christmas, you little fashionista.”

Meg has him dressed in yet another ugly Christmas sweater today, one that makes him look like the world’s cutest ugly little elf, complete with tiny bells around his ankles.

Grandma Meg walks out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a Christmas-themed dish towel.

She grins, taking in our snow-covered state. “I see you kids started the festivities early. Come on in before you catch your death. I’ll see about getting something to warm you back up.”

True to her word, as soon as we’ve shed our wet outer layers, Meg joins us in the living room, bringing with her a tray that smells like Christmas. She hands each of us a steaming mug of what turns out to be spiked eggnog.

“This should take the chill off.”

I breathe in the festive scent, then take a sip. “Yum. Thank you. And Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, dear. And I do hope you all managed to get some sleep last night.” She winks, making me blush. “Though I can’t say I’d blame you if you didn’t. It’s not every day you have three strapping young men to keep you warm.”

“Grandma!” Tristan groans, but there’s no real embarrassment in his voice. If anything, he sounds fond.

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