Page 91 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“That you sleep with?” I want to hurl in a relationship with at him, but somehow I don’t.

My stupid heart might not like it if he points out the fact we’re not in one, not officially. Of course, my brain points out to my heart we’re not thirteen and since we’re having sex, and hang out a lot, it’s a relationship we’re having. Then again, what kind of relationship? And does it even matter now?

Those last two come from all of me. No answers seem to be around.

I don’t have anything for that.

Also, it doesn’t change what just went down and that sense of betrayal in me.

“Do you want the answer to that?” He looks at me, adds more whiskey. “Some I’ve been in relationships with do, some don’t. Sin knows. We were together a fucking long time. And you should’ve known too. I’m sorry, Belle.”

I nod tightly. I can’t even bring myself to call him anything but Saint. I can’t look at him and not think he might be the devil.

Because he’s working for Lance, he’s here, undercover. “The worst thing is I know what he’s like, his jealousy.” I swallow. “Lance doesn’t like losing and he thinks he’ll get me back.”

“He warned me off you tonight before we went to see the tree. I think he’s got your ring on him at all times.”

I shudder. The ring was nice, gorgeous. Not me at all. It’s a ring made for a pretty thing that sits on a shelf and is taken out to be shown off.

“Thing is, I know this is the kind of move he’d make, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it. But the fact you went and . . . not did it . . . but didn’t tell me, that hurts.”

Saint sets down the drink and comes up to me, easing mine from my hands and setting it down too, then he slides a finger beneath my chin. “I took it because it was a roof, cheap and it let me have a place for a little while. Then I met you.”

It hits me. “You saw Lance? Tonight.”

“So did you.”

But I snatch my head from his hand and scurry away, Nomad lets out a low meow that borders on a growl. Because I want to go and touch Saint, find a reason to forgive him, or tumble into another kiss, more sex. I pick up a cookie right as the oven bell dings, and I take a bite.

I go for the gloves, but he’s there before me, putting them on and pulling the tray from the oven.

The sight of this big, tattooed biker with an oven mitt and a tray of homemade cookies is so wholesome, so absurd that I nearly melt. But I can’t.

This isn’t about hearts and fleeting feelings for a man who doesn’t have a home of his own, one who travels the roads of America, bouncing from place to place. No, this is about a building’s worth of people. It’s about their homes, Christmas, having somewhere to live.

It’s okay for him not to worry about any of that, but none of us are him. There are old people, young people, and families in here.

This place is convenient and cheap. To move elsewhere for the same price? Some will be fine, like me, but most? It’ll mean way more travel, changing schools, some might have to move away.

“I meant,” I say, “before we went to the tree.”

I’m giving him a chance, the desperation claws at me. I need him to tell me he went to quit, that Lance got mad and claimed he still worked for him.

“I did.”

“Why?”

A muscle moves in his jaw and my heart breaks. “Belle. I signed a contract. But you know you’re better off with me here, so is everyone.”

“No, because you’re going to make sure everyone leaves.”

“I don’t want to do this for him. Have you looked at your lease? And all the things he’s adding on?”

“No, because he can do that.”

He just looks at me. “And you take that but get mad at me?”

“Screw you, Nicholas,” I snap, using his name. “You told me you never do things you don’t want to, so I guess you want to do this.”

---