Page 4 of Sinning for Santa

And why would the doors in a church confessional be bulletproof? Surely he’s just saying that to make me feel better.

“My pocket,” he snaps as another round of bullets pelt the door, jolting me out of my chaotic thoughts.

With a trembling hand, I peel my grip from his shirt and graze my hand over his side, feeling the strong ripple of muscle underneath that speaks of hours in the gym.

“So Miss Summers, what’s your first name?”

Is he really making small talk right now? Although to be honest, I’m kind of glad for it since the deep gravel of his voice seems to seep into my veins like the heat of a strong drink does, somehow calming me.

“Jaxcen.” The quiver in my tone gives away my fear as my fingers brush over his backside, finding a hard object under the fabric.

“Jaxcen Summers. What a stunning name.”

I scoff at his compliment, before focusing on finding the opening of his pocket.

“You don’t think it’s stunning?” he asks and I give my head a small shake.

“It’s nothing special, but thanks for the compliment,” I rush out, still trying to find the pocket opening.

“You’recopping a good feel there, Miss Summers.” He chuckles, this time his breath brushing over the side of my head as he gives his arse a little shake.

“Stop moving,” I snap, my fear controlling me as I try to get into his back pocket until finally I find the opening and slide my fingers in.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, and as I grip what I assume is his phone, he tilts his hips forward right against my pelvis, making me very aware ofallof him.

The gunfire out in the church has died down, but the explosions of my thundering heart rush past my ears with the heat of my cheeks just the beginning of the burn that ignites my entire body.

This isn’t right Jaxcen. You’re going to die at any moment and you’re getting turned on?

This has to be adrenalin, right? I can’t honestly be more focused on how it feels to have a man,this man, pressed against me, rather than the fact there are men with guns out in the church.

Think about Eddie. Not this man.

“Got it,” I mutter as I start tugging the phone from his back pocket, my voice raspy from fear and something else I refuse to analyse while I’m in the middle of a shoot out.

“Atta girl.” His words do something entirely inappropriate to me, and I nearly drop his damn phone as I try to bring it between us in the tight space.

Taking it from me quickly, he dials a number before pressing his phone to his ear.

“Be a love and get the gun I have tucked in my back waistband,” he orders quietly while he waits for whoever he called to answer.

My eyes widen, my gaze darting up to his as he winks and then turns his attention to whoever just answered his call.

A gun?

No. Surely he said something else.

“Where the fuck are you?” he snaps into his phone, his tone no longer playful but then he gives his hips a little wiggle against me in the playful manner he had only moments ago, reminding me that he asked me to do something.

Glancing up again, I hadn’t realised I’d looked away when I find his dark gaze pinning me.

“Gun, Jaxcen. Now.”

The demand in his tone is unmistakable.

Dark.

Menacing.

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