Page 42 of Merry Me
He wasperforming.
And I was the stage.
I nearly combusted.
We were inches apart now, singing into each other’s space, the crowd forgotten, the music just a vehicle for this ridiculous tension that had been steadily smoldering since I fell into that bush.
Easton’s voice slid against mine like velvet ribbon, and I hated how much I liked the way it sounded. Smooth, sinful, a little smug. He wasn’t just singing…he was seducing me. In front ofeveryone.
His fingers ghosted along my bare arm again, like he was testing how many light touches it would take to unravel me completely.
Spoiler alert: we were close.
“Santa baby…” I sang, trying to keep my tone light and cheeky, as the lyrics demanded, but the truth was I could barely breathe. My body was screamingdanger, my brain was buffering, and my ovaries were sending up flares.
He leaned in, his lips barely brushing the mic. “Beeeen…”
I almost dropped the mic. Not because I forgot the words. But because his voice had dipped into this husky register that made my thighs clench like he was the lead singer for the boy band I’d crushed on all growing up. I risked a glance at him…and immediately regretted it.
Green eyes. Locked on mine. Full of heat and history and the unmistakable spark of a man whoknewexactly what he was doing.
I snapped my gaze forward again.Focus,Natalie.You’re here to sing and survive,not combust onstage.
And then he touched me again—just the small of my back this time, as if to “guide me” into the final chorus like he was some kind of chivalrous holiday menace. I knew that touch. Knew how it had once made me feel safe and on fire all at once. Knew that it would hauntme later.
“Santa cutie…”
My voice cracked. He smiled.
This was public foreplay, and he wasthriving. Meanwhile, I was seconds from jumping off the stage and hiding behind the bar with nothing but a bottle of vodka and a plate of reindeer-shaped cookies to comfort me.
The song slowed, our voices blending on the final verse. He turned to face me fully now, like we were alone in this little holiday hellscape. His voice softened, deepened.
“Hurry…tonight.”
It was criminal. That note. The way he held it. The way he heldme—not with his hands, but with every inch of his stupid, perfect presence.
The roomexplodedin applause, hoots and hollers filling the air, and someone in the back shouted, “GET MARRIED ALREADY!”
Before I could turn and bolt, Eastondropped to his kneeslike a literal Christmas rom-com hero, his eyes shining, his mouth curved into a grin that could melt the North Pole.
Mic still in hand, he lifted it like he was serenading me personally. “Please, baby,” he crooned with a wink. “Hurry down the chimney tonight…”
Laughter burst through the crowd. MeMaw screamed, “I’LL OFFICIATE RIGHT NOW!” which really didn’t help my blood pressure.
My knees wobbled. My chest heaved. And I stared down at him, the world spinning just a little too fast.
“Easton,” I whispered because it was the only word I could summon. I wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a warning or just me being delirious with lust and nostalgia.
He grinned up at me, all dimpled charm and underlying devastation. But something flickered behind it. Something raw. Somethingreal.
“Going to give me what I want,baby?” he asked, low and private and almost unsure.
I swallowed hard, the ache behind my ribs blooming into a full-blown ache in my soul. That touch of vulnerability…of realness. It caught me off guard. It twisted something inside me that had already been stretched too thin.
“Say something,” he murmured, the humor fading from his face, his voice rougher now. “Anything.”
I opened my mouth.
