Page 108 of Naughty & Nice

He isn’t wrong. This is most definitely a Christmas we’re all going to remember.

27

NOELLE

“Oh fuck, it’s fucking freezing,” Wilder bellows as he and Hendrix finally scale the snow mountain outside the cabin.

Laughter peels out of me as I watch them horse around.

“You fucking asshole,” Rix barks as Wilder hits him square in the face with snowballs.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, unable to do anything but watch them with a wide smile on my face.

I’m supposed to be cleaning up, but they’re too addictive.

Ice-cold air whips around me, but I’m burning up from the number of trips I’ve done to the bathroom to remove this epic snowslide. The vodka also helps.

Wilder grunts as he gets hit square in the junk.

“Prick,” he gasps, clutching at himself.

Both of them have bright red, rosy cheeks, and there are white clouds of breath surrounding them.

We grew up in California; there was no snow. But if there were, I could see this exact scene playing out with a younger set of Kemp twins. Happier Kemp twins, ones that weren’t subject to the kind of shitty childhood we all were.

We had our moments, sure, but there was never that much opportunity for playing and just being carefree kids. There was always something to worry about, always someone to look after, even if it was ourselves.

“It’s okay, Noelle can kiss it better later,” Wilder teases, shooting me a wolfish grin that hits me like a lightning bolt and goes right down to the tips of my toes.

A filthy image appears of me on my knees for them both in my mind, and another wave of heat rushes through me.

“You’re supposed to be getting logs,” I point out, hoping that my voice doesn’t betray me.

They both look at me. Hendrix studies me closely, while Wilder just smirks.

“Oh sure, you’re thinking about logs right now,” Wilder teases.

“She’s thinking about something hard,” Rix agrees. “But I don’t think it’s logs.”

“Will you both stop and just do your job? It’s cold.”

“Us do our jobs? I don’t see much action happening with you either, Miss Bell,” Rix mocks.

“I should lock the door and make you both sleep out there,” I warn.

“She wouldn’t; she loves us too much,” Wilder says confidently.

“She loves one of us. The other just tagged along for the ride,” Rix quips.

Wilder lets the comment flow over him like it’s nothing. I can’t help but wonder if it’s as easy as he makes it look.

Nothing fazes him. He has the thickest skin of everyone I know.

But is that who he really is? Or is it a coping mechanism for everything he’s been through? Is it survival more than anything else?

Shaking the morose thoughts from my head, I force out, “Just get the damn logs,” before turning my back on them in favor of finding the mop to fix the mass of puddles surrounding my feet.

“Slave driver,’” Wilder mocks, making me smile.

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