Page 22 of Naughty Santa

Glancing down, Joe caught sight of Paris’s doggie purse.

Jesus. Is this what his life had come to? Putting a cat in a purse and carrying it to the Feed and Seed for a woman who wanted sex, but not love.

Lydia was either rolling over in her grave or—more likely—laughing her ass off at him right now.

Roscoe’s back went up, and he hissed at Joe as he approached him. He was glad he’d left his coat on. Might protect him from the clawing he was about to take from the ornery cat. Roscoe took two swats at him before Joe managed to get hold of him.

Paris came in behind Joe, cooing something to the pissed-off cat. Roscoe didn’t look a lot happier to see her, but Joe noticed he didn’t try to scratch her as she took him and dropped him into her purse.

Today, like yesterday, the cat shocked the hell out of him by curling up in the bottom of the bag and going to sleep.

“I can’t believe he actually stays in there,” Joe mused.

Paris shrugged as she lifted the bag out to him, and Joe begrudgingly tugged the straps over his arm. They’d determined yesterday that Joe was better suited to carry the cat since—he glanced down at her feet and sighed—she was determined to risk her life for fashion.

She quickly pulled on that ridiculous short jacket, put Louis on his leash, and they were off to the Feed and Seed, a regular traveling zoo.

Paris leaned heavily on his arm, the two of them walking insanely slow on the slick surface. Twice, she slipped and twice, Joe steadied her. Each time, she smiled at him and tucked herself closer. He was starting to figure out she was only about half afraid of falling. The other half of her was using these daily walks as a way to torture him, her breasts rubbing against his arm, her face close enough to his that it would take very little effort on his part to dip his head lower to kiss her.

She was bound and determined to change his mind on the casual sex, and she was close to getting her way, broken heart be damned.

They’d just reached the entrance of the store when Paris’s phone beeped. She glanced at the screen, her eyes widening.

“Oh my God.”

“What is it?” Joe asked.

“Remember I told you I had a lead on potential buyers for the store?”

“Yeah.” She’d dropped that information on him yesterday, and it had bugged him ever since.

“They want to come see the place,” she said. Then her face fell. “Damn. In three days.” Paris looked up in a panic. “The place isn’t ready. You still need to finish the roof, and I’d hoped to sort of,” she waved her hand around, “make the place look better.”

Joe had walked into the Holly Jolly Feed and Seed pretty much every single day of his life and he’d never—until that moment—seen a damn thing wrong with it. As a kid, he thought the place was almost magical. He used to believe he was the luckiest kid alive because he actually got to live in the NorthPole, and the Holly Jolly fed that belief with its reindeer and bright lights and festive music and colorful Christmas displays.

Now, Joe was looking at it through Paris’s eyes, and the magic was fading. The window displays hadn’t been touched in years, so now they were dusty and faded. The whole building could use a paint job, and the sign had seen better days.

He blew out a long sigh, visible in the cold air. “We’ll fix it up,” he said.

Because Joe wanted to show Paris the Holly Jolly the way he’d always seen it. And because—fuck him—he wanted to make her happy. “We’ll divide the jobs. I’ll finish the repairs to the roof, fix the sign, and repaint as much as I can. You can focus on the Christmas side, and my mom will take care of sprucing up the Feed and Seed side.”

“Did you tell her I was sell?—”

Joe shook his head and cut her off. “No. We’ll just tell her we’re making the place nice for the holiday party. She’ll buy that.”

Paris lit up like a Christmas tree, and his heart sped up a few beats as she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss, but he didn’t doubt for a minute he could have turned it to something hot enough to melt the snow around them if he wanted to.

He resisted the urge.

Barely.

Paris broke the kiss but didn’t pull back, her breath warm on his cheek. “I’m still waiting for my big package, Santa,” she whispered before turning and walking into the Feed and Seed.

Fuck it.

The nice list was overrated.

This year, Santa was going to be one naughty bastard.

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