Page 6 of One Twisted Christmas

He tries to stop me once more, but I insist on going. I grab my coat from the rack and drape it over my shoulders, not bothering to take off the flour-stained apron. I slide into my boots and walk out onto the porch, shutting the door closed behind me. Christ, it's so freaking cold and the news said it was only going to get worse after this.

“Miss Jerkins–”

“Please call me, Helena,” I whisper, sliding my hands into my pocket and stepping up closer to the man. “I prefer it.”

“Helena it is,” he drawls. “Your father owes us a lot of money. I am not leaving here without the house deed or the money.”

“Look, I didn’t know about the money or I would never have let him take it. Now that I think about it, I remember him having money a few months after his accident. We were struggling to pay his medical bills and then out of nowhere, he pointed out that he had money saved and we could use it. I promise you; we used the money for good.”

He seems as moved as I expected him to be. “That changes nothing. I still want the money today. I have already wasted enough time here!”

Right! I knew my sob story wouldn’t change much, but I had to try at least.

"Is there something else you can take instead?" I whisper, shivering when a cold wind blows my way. I notice Fabian stepping directly in front of me, blocking most of the chilly wind with his massive frame. The move sends goosebumps riding up my body and warmth spreading in my chest, and I wonder if he's even realized what he's just done. The feeling lasts for about a second before he ruins it with his next words.

“The money or your home.”

“A couple of weeks,” I hurry to say. “I just need a little time to sell my car. I’m sure there are other things in the house I can sell to come up with at least fifty grand.”

He raises a single brow at me, his patience clearly waning. "Helena."

It's simple, the way he says my name. People always get it wrong, but he doesn't even skip a beat when it slips out of his mouth. It doesn't mean anything. So this man got my name right, and now he's about to ruin my life and take the one thing I have left of my mother: this house and the warmth it carries. The warmth I have tried so hard to preserve.

I would do anything to protect it, to protect my father.

“You see numbers, right? You’ve already estimated my property, but I have something else for you to estimate its value.”

“Is it family jewelry because sentimental value doesn’t count–”

“No,” I shake my head, stepping closer to the man and I catch a whiff of his expensive aftershave with a strong musk and woody scent. He smells so freaking good that it takes me a second to grasp my thoughts and stay on track. “It’s not family jewelry.”

“Then what is it?”

“Me,” I say firmly. “How much do you think I am worth?”

Chapter Three

Fabian

Priceless.

Helena Jerkins is priceless. All the wealth in my family couldn’t afford to buy something as rare and precious as this gem. There is a warmth about her that cannot be manufactured, and it’s been a fucking test on my control pretending she doesn’t affect me. Because she does.

With her beautiful wide blue eyes and her sweet, sultry voice, she does things to me that I haven’t allowed myself to feel before. I have to fight myself from reaching out and touching her if only to make sure that she’s real and not merely an illusion.

I’m hard. Have been from the second she walked into my line of view. Christ, every inch of this girl is perfect, and the need to touch her claws at my chest.

"Fabian?" And fuck, even the way she says my name is perfect. There is no malice in her words. She doesn't spit it out like most people do when they are around me. She doesn't look at me with disdain as my family does for being strict with them or with the undiluted fear that most residents of Moth Hill do when they get personal visits from me. Helena watches me with curiosity like she thinks there is someone behind the cool exterior everyone sees.There’s not. “So, what do you say?”

The house or the moneyis what I need to say but, "Have dinner with me," is what comes out instead. Her eyes widen in surprise, a clear reflection of what I am feeling but I don't backtrack. I realize that it is indeed what I want from this girl.

Well, that’s not true. I want a whole lot of things from this girl. I want to know how her lips feel pressed against mine or the sound she makes when I slide my hands up her body. Those beautiful eyes, I want to see them glaze over when I prep her pussy with my tongue and fingers before thrusting my cock into her. What kinds of sounds would come from that beautiful pouty mouth as I rut her hard against every surface of my penthouse? Fuck, I want to fill her with my seed, bury it so deep in her warmth that and get her swollen with my child. A part of me wants to keep all this – all of her – to myself.

But I’ll settle for dinner.

“Just dinner?” she whispers, her eyes narrowing suspiciously on mine. “What about after?”

“I’ll bring you home,” I tell her.

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