Page 1 of Naughty Santa Daddy

Part 1

Braxton & Alessandra

Braxton & Alessandra

Chapter 1

M. Merin

M. Merin

Alessandra (Alex)

I slowly and loudly exhale as I tighten my fingers one by one around the steering wheel. Not even the breeze on this unseasonably warm day can calm me down since my lane hasn’t moved in five minutes… or hours. Who knows at this point?

Just then, the car to my right jolts ahead, and I quickly turn my wheel, hoping to wedge into the space.

Thankfully, movement catches my eye, and I slam on the brakes, but not before a man dressed as Santa Claus on a motorcycle lets loose with a string of cuss words as he smacks the side of my SUV with his gloved hand.

“Do you kiss Mrs. Claus with that mouth?” I bellow back at him, my New York accent, that I’ve worked so hard to soften, rearing its head.

He’s already passed me, but his buddy, also suited up in the familiar red gear, hears me, his head whipping around as he laughs at my comment. Our eyes meet for a second, and my jaw drops, just as fast as my panties would if I had a chance with a man like that.

They do not come packaged like him in the world I grew up in.

I sigh again, this time with longing more than frustration. Or maybe just a different type of frustration. My family is the best. I love them so much and am so grateful for all the opportunities I’ve had because of them. But those opportunities come at too heavy a price for me to want to live in that world.

“Christ,” I mutter under my breath, glancing over my shoulder as the parade of motorcycle-riding Santa Clauses continues through the space between the lanes. “Alabama is out Alabama-ing itself today.”

Just then, my lane moves again, and I go with it, staying close enough to the car in front of me so no one will try to cut in once the last of the bikes pass by.

A few blocks later, my GPS squawks at me to turn—landing me in the squat, utilitarian garage of the hospital whereI was volunteeredto be a volunteer today.

I’d like to believe the internship that I landed when I started law school this year was based on my grades, but I know better than that. My mom undoubtedly told Dad where I was interviewing, and he had Uncle Carlo handle the rest.

On my first day there, the woman in charge of the interns dropped the bomb that we were all expected to volunteer once a month at various events that the partners sponsored around town. This month, in the spirit of rolling Christmas out before Thanksgiving, I was told to dress in green and head to the local hospital, where I’ll be a spare pair of hands while children with ongoing medical issues will have the opportunity to visit with Santa.

I’ve heard several snide remarks from the other interns about how competitive the market near the top-ranked law school in the state is, so I’m sure I’ve been Googled quite a few times in the past month.

Something that my dad’s people do regularly also, just in case anyone puts together that Alessandra, or Alex as I prefer, Bianchi was born Alessandra Allegrini.

Parking, I stop at the security desk to ask where the event is being held, and the guard directs me to go back out to the garage and cross to the far side to get to a courtyard. Finding my way through, I stop in my tracks the minute I step back into the sunlight.

There are roughly twenty Santas milling about, and just beyond them in an open-air lot are row upon row of motorcycles. It never occurred to me that the men I saw earlier were heading to something sponsored by a law firm.

“Hey, Alex! Over here,” my direct boss, Marlena, waves her arms at me in case I missed the high-pitched scream that’s still echoing off the windows surrounding the courtyard.

Just as the echoes fade, one of the Santas mimics her call, setting off many of his buddies to do the same until I’m virtually being catcalled by a dozen bikers.

“Bet this isn’t how you imagined today going, is it, babe?” Not until the warm, low voice, full of humor, comes from behind me do I feel the man at my back.

Looking up, I bite off my gasp when I recognize the biker who had locked eyes with me earlier. As his eyes slide up my body, taking in my knee-high leather boots, black leggings, and snug green sweater, my heart responds with a thud he must be able to hear, then seems to pause altogether as his smile slowly spreads across his face—showing off a large dimple on his right cheek.

“Wanna be my elf?” is his next question as he fishes out a green felt hat from the bag at his side, accompanied with a lusty wink.

“Do I…” I gulp, wondering what parallel universe I’ve stumbled upon.

“I need an elf. Figured I’d call dibs on you,” he expands on his question, reaching up to place the hat on my head as he glares at someone over my shoulder.

---