Page 25 of Secret Santa

“While I think all of my brothers are absolutely batshit, if I were you, I’d side with the hair theory, because you have the most gorgeous hair of any woman I’ve ever met.”

I wore it in a braid today. It was my standard on days I worked because it stayed out of my face while not looking too terribly sloppy. Presley wrapped the braid in his hand, gently pulling on it until my face tilted up high enough to meet his.

“All I think about, every day, every hour of the day, is this hair and those lips. Oh and getting to taste your—”

I covered his mouth with an embarrassed giggle. Our carriage driver couldn’t have been over eighteen. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind we made him squirmingly uncomfortable with all of our outrageous PDA and flirty talk.

“I was just going to say your pie. Itisthe best in three counties. Surely after all that work kneading that dough and laying it out, getting spread just so…I deserve to get more than just a sample size.”

“Mycakeis the best in three counties.” I tried to force the most serious face I could. “My pie is a secret treasure few know about.”

* * *

“Why are your brother’s standing on my counter with no shirts on, wearing Elvis sideburn sunglasses and scarves?”

The plan had been to walk back to the diner, lock up, and meet back at my place once I got everyone out the door. It looked however, like the Murray brothers had discovered a niche market for giggling sorority girls visiting the greasy spoon before heading out for a night of drinking.

“Just keep walking.” Presley chuckled, leading me down the path toward our apartment complex. “Beckett, while exceedingly charming, actually is the owner of a multi-million dollar organic beverage company. He stepped back from the day-to-day operations—it’s another long story—but I tell you so you know he’d do nothing to put your business in jeopardy. I have implicit trust in him he can securely shut the diner down, lock up, and set the alarm on the back door before they leave.”

I’d entrusted no one to take care of my “baby” before. While it set off a little bubble of panic through my system—I knew Presley wouldn’t make a cavalier promise.

“Alarm code?” he asked, phone at the ready.

“One Eight Thirty-Five.”

I saw him trying to suss out the significance of the number.

“Elvis Presley’s birthday.”

“You have an Elvis themed diner, that is so obviously Elvis in theme that you’d have to be obtuse to miss that…and then you use his birthday as your alarm code? Aren’t you worried someone’s going to figure that out?”

“How many people do you know who know Elvis’s birthday?” I asked.

“It’s called Google sweetheart. I’m not trying to tell you how to run your business, but consider something a little less obvious.”

“You sound exactly like my brother.”

“Please don’t make that face at me.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against his chest, pressing his lips to my temple. “I’ll shut up about it.”

“I should give you my brother’s number.” I joked, trying to find the jovial air we’d existed in seconds prior. “I feel like it’s only fair since you have a little songbird for a brother. Besides, he’ll be over the moon to know someone else feels as hyper protective as he does for me and my diner.”

Rounding the corner to Fitzpatrick Place, I felt like a kid sneaking back into the house after my mom explicitly told me no. Fitzy’s lights were on in her apartment, and god knew what kind of super spy equipment she had given she seems to always know everyone’s comings and goings.

“What if I go around the back of the building?” Presley whispered over my shoulder. “That way, you can walk casually through the front entrance past her place and into your apartment like any regular day and hopefully she’ll be none the wiser. Then I can meet you on your back patio.”

“Sorry Santa, I have no chimney you can come down.”

It was supposed to be a joke. Because it was the holidays, and Santa, and the chimney and the whole nine yards. Yet somehow, the sensual way Presley bit his lip to hold on to a sexy grin, and the way the amber bands of his eyes changed to toffee smoke, I knew what I said did not come out nearly as innocent as intended.

“You know what? We’re adults. So what if you’re coming back to my apartment. Fitzy needs a new hobby.”

I grabbed onto his hand and marched toward my door with a sudden bravado that shrunk and tried to hide as we walked past Fitzy’s front door.

“Don’t mind us,” Presley whispered with a pat to my ass, “Mrs. Claus is off in search of a different chimney for Santa to come down.”

ChapterFifteen

I’d been on simmer for most of the evening. Spending the last hour on a make out tour of the square had me at full boil. Life had gotten in the way, but I refused to let anything, even a nosy landlord, impede in finally doing more than some kissing and heavy petting. The way she blushed every time I made an innuendo laden joke drew my balls up in the most tantalizing way.

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