Page 15 of The Santa of the Mountain

She laughs. “It’s a little hard to believe that, coming from a man in a Santa suit.”

I grab my favorite sweater, toss it on the bed, and then grab another.

“And coming from a girl in a sweater like that, I’m wondering why she’s not feeling the Christmas spirit anymore.”

Her eyes flare as I pull off my overcoat. I feel the heat of her gaze on my arms. She opens her mouth, closing it when I pull my sweater over my undershirt. “About time I change into something else. You might want to turn around. The Santa pants are coming off next.”

Her face flushes and damn near matches the color of my suit, but she’s not turning around.

“Fair warning,” I say, unbuckling the thick leather belt, bells jingling as I free it from the belt loops. It rips her from her trance and she immediately turns around.

“It’s a long story,” she says, crossing her arms. Uncrossing. Leaning against the door frame. “The sweater. All of it really.”

My pants hit the floor and she jumps.

“Well, we’ve got all the time in the world. That blizzard won’t be ending any time soon,” I say, grabbing a pair of jeans. “And it might take a few days before we can make it back to town.”

She spins around. “Do you think it—” Her eyes bug out and her jaw drops as she stares at my legs, including the third one that’s been hard from the moment I laid eyes on her. Look all you want. It’s yours.

“Sorry,” she squeals, slapping her hand over her eyes and spinning back around.

I laugh softly. “Not a problem. I’m decent,” I rasp a few seconds later, and I head toward her.

She turns around right as I make it to her, and she lets out a soft gasp before swallowing and taking a step back.

“Never met a Santa Claus with ink before.”

“Good thing I’m not Santa Claus. Name’s Cole. Cole Kringle.”

“You’re joking.”

I resist the urge to pin a stray tendril behind her ear. Resist the even more prescient urge to cup her cheek and claim those cherry-red lips. The urges she’s stirring in me are fierce, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to fend them off.

“Never joked in my life,” I say, raising two fingers in the air. “Mountain man’s honor.”

She smiles again. And again it lights a fire in my chest.

“Cole… Kringle,” she says as though feeling it out with her tongue.

Feels good hearing it cross those lips. Bet it would be even better if she screamed it. I swallow hard.Urges.They just won’t quit.

“Kate,” she says. “Kate Sherman.”

It would sound better if that last name was Kringle.The voice rises from deep inside of me. It’s unsettling but I don’t disagree.

“Well, Kate Sherman. I’d love to hear what happened to you today.”

“Okay,” she says.

“I’ll grab us something warm to eat. Do you like stew?”

She nods. “I could eat about anything.”

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Anything but eggnog.”

I laugh. “A woman after my own heart.”

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