Page 63 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Well … no.”

“Then I can be civilized.”

I lie on her bed, pulling her into my arms. She wriggles against me, putting her cheek against my chest, clinging onto me. My body responds, my dick going solid, my lust testing my willpower. There’s not much I can do about that—she’s undeniably attractive—except hold her tighter, kiss her with more warmth, more sweetness on her forehead.

“This isn’t us being good,” she whispers.

“I’ll just stay until you fall asleep.”

“We’re in the snow globe.” She wriggles deeper into my embrace. “Just the snow globe, right?”

“Our own secret world. Just for a little while longer.”

I told her I’d only stay once she’d fallen asleep, but when I hear her breathing softly and peacefully, I don’t want to go. I don’t let myself sleep. I have to stay awake in case Dan comes home, and I don’t want to rest.

I want to savor every moment with Holly. This might be the last intimacy we ever share.

CHAPTER 23

HOLLY

The following day, Asher drives us toward work, toward the park, toward Derek.

I’ve done my best to be more distant with Asher since last night. Time and time again, we try to be disciplined, but something, be it fate or desire, keeps shaking us up.

In the kitchen this morning, even though Dan didn’t come home, I treated Asher like I would if my brother was in the room with us. Asher does the same: small talk, no hugs, no kisses, no meaningful looks.

“What time did he say to meet him?”

“Eight,” I say. “What are you going to do?”

“Hang around nearby, wait for him to waltz over, get the phone. Maybe wring his neck.”

“Asher,” I snap.

“I know, I know.” He rolls his eyes, trying to make light of it, but can’t hide his fury. “It just makes me sick, Snow—” He swallowsmy nickname. “He’s a pervert. Losing his job is the least he deserves.”

“He might not even lose his job. Once I get his phone, I’ll have to ditch it and mine. There will be no evidence of him doing anything wrong.”

“Record him on your cell phone,” Asher says. “He’ll incriminate himself for sure.”

“Do you think that’s … ethical?”

Asher glances at me, a smirk making his lip twitch. “You definitely are Miss Goody Two-shoes, aren’t you?” Instead of being good, he’s swapped one nickname for the other. “ Either you record him and get something that ensures his ass is grass, or Iputhim in the fucking grass. Trying to get a naked photo of my woman …”

“I’m not your woman, Asher,” I say weakly.

“A slip of the tongue,” he grunts.

Telling him I’m not his feels wrong, but it’s necessary.

“I’ll let you out here,” he says, pulling up outside the park. “Then I’ll circle around and be nearby. Don’t forget to record.”

I leave the car, my legs feeling like Jell-O. I’ve gone from Christmas elf to reluctant character in a freaking spy thriller. I wait near the tree, my cell phone clutched in my hand.

My blood turns cold when Derek appears with a sick grin on his face. His eyes are red like he’s been up all night. “Where is it, then? Where are the goods?”

“The goods?”

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