Page 29 of Mistletoe Bargain with the Billionaire

“Mmm,” she murmurs sleepily and snuggles a little closer.

I smile and gently caress her cheek. Three rounds last night and I’m exhausted but happier than I’ve been in a long time, maybe ever.

Reaching for my phone to check the time, I see a message Anthony must’ve sent once Maine was slumbering:Got a good lead for you from the PI. Time for you to work your hacker magic.

Look, I couldn’t call myself a true computer nerd andnothave dabbled in some hacking over the years. All in the name of good, I promise.

And, this is in the name of good without a doubt. If I can find evidence that Travis Della-Fontaine ripped off Carol’s song and acknowledged that to someone, we’ve got a good potential case in the making.

I’ve already made plans to meet with the Frosties before Marley’s rehearsal tonight but, even if they might think it’s cool, I won’t involve the kids. I’ll just need to find a little time here on the hotel’s network to do some digging. I’ve got a good idea for a way to keep Carol busy while I do.

My eyes snag on movement closer to the fireplace. Mr. Jinglebell. He’d sulked when Carol had scooped him up and made him sleep in his carrier last night once we’d worn each other out. Time to make peace.

I climb out of bed, sure to slip on some gray sweatpants to cover my most vulnerable areas, and approach with one of those little treats he loves in hand. “You want this?” I ask, opening the carrier door.

Grumpy as usual but there’s no flattened ears or twitching tail foretelling real trouble. He lifts his chin and lets me scratch it. A low purring starts deep in his chest, probably against his will.

“You’re not so bad,” I tell him as he accepts the treat. He climbs out of his carrier, eyes set on a cozy spot by the fire. I lower down on my haunches, feeling bold, and run my hand along the silky softness of his fur. “I got to fuck your mom three times despite the clawing so let’s let bygones be bygones.”

Sly kitty eyes meet mine and his tail twitches. I may have just poked the tiger but musical laughter from across the suite meets my ears, automatically making the corners of my mouth tip upward. “Oh, Nick. I’m so glad you made up with him.”

“Couldn’t stay mad at the purr-baby.”

I turn to find Carol, naked as the day she was born, perched on the edge of the bed with tousled blonde curls and the bedsheet resting just below her lovely tits. Maybe I’ve slept with my share of women over the years but I swear to you I’ve never seen a more erotic sight that’s simultaneously heart melting as Carol right now. She’s simply stunning, too alluring and beautiful for words.

I give Mr. Jinglebell a final pat on the head - he swats at my knee but misses - and rise to rejoin her in bed. We’ve got nowhere in particular to be until later. Plus, I’ve got plans for Carol and that hot tub this morning.

18- Carol

The Partridge and the Pear Spa is the perfect remedy for sore muscles after naughty times on the bathroom counter, in the shower, in a hot tub, up against a wall – it started as a tickle fight, don’t ask - and bent over the sofa in front of a roaring fire.

“Right there,” I groan as my masseuse works my aching lower lumbar.

It was so sweet of Nick to call and arrange this for me. Although, I’ve got to admit, I started to get this weird feeling he wanted rid of me for a bit.

I’m wrapped up in a fluffy bathrobe after my massage to ‘find myself’ in the softly lit ‘transition chamber’ when I’m joined by three more women, fresh from treatments of their own. I immediately recognize Marley and give a wave as three sets of eyes settle on me.

“Carol! I didn’t know you’d be here or we would’ve had you join us,” Marley says.

“Thanks but Nick arranged this for me at the last second so I didn’t know either until a couple of hours ago.”

“Nick arranged it?” one of Marley’s companions says, curiously.

When I glance her way, I wonder how I could’ve missed it was her. I’ll blame the transition chamber’s low lighting. But, there’s no mistaking Lydia, Nick’s ex, having seen the red-headed bombshell with the smarts to match his in her bikini pics a couple of days ago.

“Yes, Nick,” I say with all the assurance I wish I felt in her presence. “Hi, I’m Carol Wilder. Nick’s friend, uh… I mean, I’m his girlfriend.” Figgy pudding! I nearly bungled the intro with my stupid mouth.

Her blood red lips twist into a caricature of a smile rather than a sincere one. “I’m Lydia Fielding. Nick and I used to live together but I’m sure you know about that.”

I didnotknow about that. They lived together? Holy snowballs, how serious were things with them?

“Undergrad housing certainly feels like one big commune at times,” Marley says with some of her grandmother’s Frost frostiness creeping into her tone. Ah, undergrad housing. Was that all it was?

“What do you do, Carol?” Lydia asks after Marley introduces the other lady..

“I’m a singer and a songwriter.”

“Well, that’s… creative.” I don’t think she meant that as a compliment. “Have you written anything I might know?”

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