Page 33 of Ho Ho Oh No

A minute ago, he was decimating my lips, and now he’s gently making love to them.

Ten minutes later, we load up and head to HQ. I’ve got the lorazepam in my purse in case Charlotte gets severely agitated, and Cal brought an activity bag big enough to transport a small child across the border. It’s filled with puzzles, fidget-type toys, and other things to keep her distracted. Aaron’s car is loaded up with approximately seven hundred thousand calories and three million grams of sugar, compliments of my sexy pastry chef. He even baked a cake for me, despite doing it under protest.

That’s true love.

We’re ready for whatever this night throws at us. Let’s hope my hunch is wrong and the party is a success in the jolliest of ways.

Chapter 9

Rudolph, the bubble butt baker

KLEIN

Jitters dust over me like sifted powdered sugar as we drive across the bridge, heading into Clearwater proper.The closer we get to Redleg HQ, the antsier I become.

Aaron scanned both cars for trackers and IEDs before we left our house. It isn’t fear of a Lenkov ambush causing my left hand to tap relentlessly on the top of my thigh.

And I don’t have a bridge phobia.

In truth, it’s not even the trip with my mother that worries me. I’m confident she’ll be fine. Our Redleg family will have our backs. Mia and I have gotten managing Ma’s moods under control. Kate’s done a terrific job teaching us how to soothe and prevent most episodes. Besides, Ma always loved the holidays, Christmas in particular. I don’t expect the festivities at the party will upset her. And if I’m wrong, I’ve got two backup plans in place.

So, no. It isn’t any of that making me jumpy.

It’s the dessert buffet filling the backseat of the car behind us.

Tonight, I’m coming out to my Redleg family about my love for baking, thus subjecting myself to a future ripe for ridicule. And I’m doing it willingly.

Like a Harvey.

What started as a desire to learn a few of my mother’s pie recipes before her disease progressed turned into a full-fledged baking bug.

Wait. That sounds weird. I’m not baking bugs. Gross.

I meant my new hobby. One that I’m enjoying more with each lick of the spoon.

Before you get grossed out, I never reuse a testing spoon. I’m not a heathen.

Anyhow, having Mia by my side has made me feel more secure about all the facets of my personality. The Dom and the gentle lover. The compassionate friend and sometimes jealous boyfriend. The tech gear geek. Hacker in training, happily playing third fiddle to the rest of the intel team. The protective military operative. The aficionado of exemplary music. The old soul and the jokester. The stone-cold fox. The big booty boy.

And yes, even the baker.

With my forced exhale, my lips flap audibly.Mia slips her hand over the console, wrapping her fingertips around my bicep. The bright red polish of her seductively painted nails catches my attention, bringing a sneaky grin to my face. She claims she picked that color for Christmas. But I call bullshit on that.

She did it because she knows it drives me wild.

Damn. The mere memory of those harlot red nails encircling my cock makes my balls heavy.

Adjusting in my seat, I shift my focus to the road. Can’t get hard with my mother in the back seat. Talk about inappropriately disgusting. Yikes.

Mia leans close, whispering, “I can feel your pulse in your elbow, Cal.Sheesh. Calm down. We have our SIGs, and Aaron has our six. We’re good.”

“It’s not that. I’m just . . .”

While I search for the words, she connects the dots.Not surprising since she knows me so well. “Worried about the baking thing?”

“So far, only Tomer knows, and he?—”

“Ahem.”

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