Page 36 of Pining for Christmas

Saxon grunts and sweeps me up against his chest, bridal style. And I’m gonna soak through his suit, gonna leave the biggest wet patch ever, but when I point that out to our head of security, he doesn’t seem to care.

He strides through the party inside, jaw set, expression thunderous, carrying me from room to room. And it’s quieter in here than before, with most of the crowds out in the grounds, but there are still guests cringing out of his path, watching usgo. Their whispers follow us all the way to the lobby and up the stairs.

My bedroom is on the third floor, at the back of the house. Saxon carries me there directly, my body clutched tight to his chest, his muscles rock solid with tension. He doesn’t say a single word, not for the whole way there, and after a minute or so, I get worried.

“Saxon?”

He sniffs hard and keeps walking. I pet his beard.

“Saxon? I’m okay, I swear.”

Hegrowls.Those big arms tighten around me.

And even though tonight has sucked so, so much, even though that rock star pulling my hair freaked me the hell out, with each passing second cradled in Saxon’s arms… I feel better. The tension seeps away, and my lips curve into a wobbly smile.

“I can’t believe you dragged him out by his hair.”

Saxon huffs. “Should’ve ripped it clean off.”

Words! That’s progress.

“His hair is probably insured for thousands.”

“Well, so are his hands, but I’d break those too.”

And I shouldn’t be grinning at this, shouldn’t be enjoying Saxon’s protective rage so much, but I can’t help it. This night has taken a wonderful turn.

We’re alone, and Saxon’s carrying me to my bedroom. As we pass a clock in the hallway, I gasp and smack his arm. “Five minutes to midnight! It’s nearly Christmas Day.”

And Saxon huffs again, too worked up to humor my festive fever, but his grip on me softens a tiny bit. Some of the tension leaves the corners of his eyes, and his steps slow down, like he doesn’t want this moment to be over too soon.

Neither do I.

“Thought I might kill him,” Saxon confesses quietly as we approach my bedroom door. “When I saw him grab you like that,when I heard you yelp… I saw red, Ali Cat. If Manuel and Pete hadn’t been there too, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

And he sounds so tortured, confessing to me like this; his gray eyes are so miserable as they flick to me and away. And Iknowhe’s thinking about my stupid, knee-jerk flinch, the way I twitched away when Saxon looked at me back there, but I don’t know how to set that right. Don’t know how to reassure this man that I feel safe with him.

I pet his beard again. Can never touch this man enough.

And Saxon sighs, long and low, as he nudges my bedroom door open and carries me across to the bed. It’s big, bigger than one person could ever need, with an industrial bronze metal headboard.

Everything in this house is my father’s taste. How would I decorate my own room if I had the chance?

I’ll tell you one thing for sure: Holiday. Decorations. Everywhere.

When Saxon lays me down on the mattress, a shadow passes behind his eyes. The moonlight spilling through the window glints against his beard, and I’m expecting a kiss, a comment, anything except the way he straightens and starts to leave. His long strides carry him across the room in a blink.

“Uh.What?”

Saxon pauses with his hand on the doorknob and glances back. I’m bolt upright on my bed, pink-cheeked and furious—hell, even my nipples are two angry beads beneath my bikini top.

Saxon frowns. “You need something, Ali Cat?”

I scoff. “Um,yeahI need something. I needyou, you big jerk.”

Saxon watches me for a long, long moment, the wheels turning in his huge head. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he shuts my bedroom door.

And flips the lock.

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