Page 4 of Dirty Little Christmas

Could she be any more fucking adorable?

No. No, she couldn't.

"Do I look like I'm equipped to play this role, princess?" I arch a brow.

Her gaze roves down my body, her eyes squinted as if she's putting considerable thought into this question. When you make as much as I do, you're expected to look a certain way. But when you run a company as big as this, finding time to hit the gym is all but impossible. I work twelve-hour days, every day. I'm not out of shape, but I'm not ripped or lean. I'm thick everywhere. And this is Los Angeles. As far as they're concerned, I'm the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

Do I give a fuck? Hell no. They still try to kiss my ass like it's their job.

Georgia is different. I want her to find me attractive. Hell, I want her to find me irresistible. And nothing makes me feel like king of the world more than the pretty pink flush currently climbing up her porcelain cheeks.

My princess likes what she sees. Thank God. Also, problematic because I now feel like stealing a sleigh, commandeering a herd of reindeer, and saving Christmas like some jolly hero of yore.

Her shoulders go back as she draws herself up to her full height—which is still a good five inches shorter than my own six-two. My gaze immediately drops to her breasts. I want to knowwhat it feels like to slide between them more than I want my next breath.

She tips her chin up, a brave little soldier unwilling to retreat.

"I think every woman at the party will be thinking about sitting on your lap if you wear that suit," she says.

"Will you?" I growl, unable to stop myself. It might be my imagination, but I think I detected a hint of jealousy glittering in her eyes. As if anyone could ever compete with her. Even though there are ten other people in the room right now, all I see is her. All I ever see is her.

"Everyone will," she says. The pulse in her throat jumps, belying her nerves. She's not nearly as composed as she wants me to think. But the thing about Georgia…she never backs down. Ever.

"I didn't ask about everyone else, little one. I asked about you."

"I'malwaysthinking about it," she whispers for my ears alone. The quiet longing in her voice is unmistakable. The same reflects in her expression. She isn't just fucking with me. She means it. "I think about a lot of things I probably shouldn't."

Her guilty gaze slides from mine, but not before I see what she's been trying to hide. She tucked it away, carefully keeping it behind layers of attitude and mischief. But I know what it looks like. I see the same damn thing every time I look in the mirror.

My little princess has been up to no good.

"Fine," I growl, caving exactly like Alaric said I would. One week. I have one week to make this girl mine. I don't plan on needing it. By the end of the night, she will be mine. "I'll do it on one condition."

"What condition?" The suspicion in her voice would be cute if it didn't have my dick hard enough to snap in half.

"You're playing my elf."

Chapter Two

Georgia

"Blaze Parrish is the devil," I mutter, staring at myself in the mirror. I know he is because I feel the flames of hell licking at my heels every time his cocoa gaze settles on me. Those dark eyes see straight through me, setting me on fire in places I didn't even know could burn. Like my chest. My nipples. Deep in my womb. A little bit lower.

He turns me into someone I didn't even know existed until I met him two months ago. When I'm around him, I'm braver, bolder…a total brat. I love it way more than I should. He looks at me and I want to crawl into his lap and stay there. I also want to rattle him. I want to shake him to his foundation like he does me.

Whoever said love at first sight isn't real clearly never met Blaze.

I've known him for two months, and he already consumes every thought in my head.

He's the sexiest man I've ever met. Everything about him is dark, from his hair to his eyes to the expensive suits he wears. He's only in his late thirties, but his dark scowl has already carved a permanent furrow between his brows. Hints of silver glint in his dark hair. He's an imposing wall of a man who speaks in a deep growl and suffers no fools.

The first time I met him, my stomach quivered with nerves. I was convinced he'd hate me on sight. I'm the exact opposite of dark and intimidating. I'm loud and bubbly and a little bit messy. The world excites me, and I want to see every corner of it like my Uncle Sage, a world-famous photographer. But I'm far better in front of the camera than behind it. So on my twentieth birthday six months ago, I signed on to model for Trinity Larsen, who runs the biggest plus-size modeling agency in the state.

Blaze's new plus-size lingerie line is my first big job. And he isnothinglike I expected.

He's the most interesting billionaire I've ever met. People hoping to make a name for themselves in the fashion industry line up at the doors to his family's company, desperate to stand in the presence of greatness. His mom was a legend. Since he and Alaric took over, they've become legends in their own right. But Blaze doesn't have an ego. He's stern and bossy and will tell you exactly what he thinks, sure. But he isn't cruel, and he doesn't give a crap what anyone thinks about him.

He also cares deeply about his employees, even though he's a bit of a grump. What they want, they tend to get. Everyone I've met here is happy. Not Hollywood happy, where they're all smiles in front of an audience and living in fear behind closed doors. But genuinely happy. Blaze goes out of his way to make sure his people enjoy what they do here. He's a caretaker, a protector.

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