Page 99 of Jingle Belle's Biker

The gardens are beautiful in the snow.

I don’t look again.

I’m not hungry, but I feed Nomad, then grab a couple of leftover cookies and the whiskey dregs. I settle down on the sofa with Nomad and my cookie-booze lunch. I click through the channels and settle on some silly old Christmas movies on the TV.

The first one ends, and I’m nice and cat-toasty and soft from the whiskey, so when the next movie starts, I leave it.

“It’s a Wonderful Life,” I say to Nomad. “How apropos. Sort of.”

Without the dark thoughts of George and lack of angels, of course.

Nomad meows and returns to purring.

As I watch the movie, my eyes drift shut.

The knock on the door wakes me with a start. Groggy, I rub my face and sit up. Nomad jumps off the sofa and stalks off to eat, apparently annoyed I moved and wrecked his warm human water bottle.

Downstairs from the back, carols play and laughter drifts up. With a sigh, I stand. It’s probably Pepper on the other side, sent to drag the idiot loner downstairs. What I should do is change out of my elf PJs. But I can’t be bothered.

Besides, she’ll get a kick out of the pajamas.

Pulling open the door, I look down at strong, long legs wrapped in denim. My breath stutters as I drag my gaze up. It’s not Pepper.

My knees go weak, and I have to grab the wall to steady myself.

“Belle,” Saint says in the dark voice that turns me all shivery. “Nice jammies.”

I don’t move. I’m frozen.

The last word I ever expected from that gorgeous, masculine man isjammies.

It makes my emotions bloom.

I’m not sure why I’m so warm inside, so light and filled with love. Maybe it’s because he likes my pajamas. Maybe because he’s always unexpected and faceted, or maybe it’s just because it’s him, here.

Now.

Wait.

Pajamas?

A small shriek breaks free, and I slam the door shut in Saint’s face. “Go away.”

“Fuck no. You kidnapped my cat.”

“You’re a maniac,” I say, heart going full traitor mode and fluttery. “You don’t want that cat.”

“The overgrown rodent’s grown on me. I built him a cool cat biker capsule.”

“You modified a backpack carrier.”

“Semantics, Belle. Open the fucking door.” His voice drops. “Please.”

My voice drops too. “No. You saw me in my elf pajamas.”

“I’ve seen your duckie pajamas too. Open up.” He pauses. “Belle, I got to the outskirts before turning back. I want the cat. You too. I want you both. Belle, I—don’t make me say this out here.”

“Saint?”

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