Page 4 of The Detective's Secret Santa

What the actual hell?

The last time I saw Bash was at Dad’s funeral. I figured any of the attraction I felt for him was really grief. A desperate need for a distraction from the horrific reality. I didn’t think any of it was real. I certainly didn’t act on any of what I was feeling then. Part of me has always wondered if the longing was only on my end. But the way I caught Bash looking at me in the hotel lobby makes me suspect this forbidden attraction isn’t entirely one-sided.

“It doesn’t matter either way. Nothing can ever happen,” I announce to the interior of my Mustang as I pull into my usual spot in front of the double car garage. I need to drop this inappropriate fantasy before I do something really stupid. “You just need to get laid. Or maybe go on a first date that actually leads to a second one.”

A knock at my window causes me to startle scream. I realize I haven’t put my car in park and quickly do so before I do something totally embarrassing. Like run over Bash. I cut the engine and force myself outside.

“Everything okay?” Bash asks, concern in his hazel gaze. God dammit I can hardly look the man in the eyes. The intensity lingering in them is overwhelming, causing sensations to zip throughout my entire body.

“Yep. Just finished a Marco Polo.” I drop my phone into my pocket, hoping he buys the lie despite the spotty cell reception this high up the mountain. But just to be sure he won’t question me talking to myself, I quickly shift the subject. “How long are you staying in town exactly?”

“A few days,” he says, his gaze drifting away. “Maybe through Christmas.”

Christmas is a week away. How am I supposed to stand being around this irresistibly sexy man that long without completely losing my mind?

I struggle to slow my heavy breathing as I unlock the front door. Bash stands a few feet away on the covered front porch, looking out at the breathtaking view. But I can still feel his presence as if he were an inch from me. Electricity pulses through the air that promises to be a serious problem unless I steer clear of him during his visit. Maybe I could pick up some extra shifts at the bakery…

What the ever living hell has come over me?

Dammit Wilma.

Bash is not my forever person.

The Secret Santa event may have produced a few proposals last year. But it’s not as though everyone who participated found love. I refuse to believe this whole thing with Bash is anything more than a complete coincidence. We might have some really explosive sex if I decide to prioritize myself this Christmas and be a little…naughty. But it could never lead to more than that.

And if I slept with Bash, Wilma might very well revoke her free rent offer. I’m sure getting naked with the person you’re supposed to be a Secret Santa for is violating one of the dozens of rules I discovered in my gift bag.

“I’ve missed this view,” Bash says, an air of sorrow in his tone.

It’s enough to snap me back to reality. To remind me that being here must be hard for him. Dad was his best friend. His mentor, from the stories I’ve heard about their military days. The ridiculous fantasy that my overactive imagination has cooked up, the one that has tried to convince me he’s in town for me, dies a swift death.

“Dad really loved it, too.”

Bash turns his head slowly, his steely gaze turning soft as it meets mine. Something stirs inside me that really shouldn’t in this moment. Damn tingling nipples. They ache for his touch. I bet that tongue…“You doing okay, Brook?”

I let out a laugh that gives away the truth of my shitty situation. “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I push open the door and step inside, waiting for him to follow.

The last thing I want to admit to Sebastian Fraser is how much of a failure I’ve become since I last saw him. What would he think of me if he knew that I got fired from my cushy IT job and was forced to move home because I spent the Christmas bonus I never actually got on an impractical car? Never mind that I’m now forced to work at a bakery despite how badly I suck at baking. So much so, in fact, that they only allow me to make deliveries so I don’t screw anything up in the kitchen.

“I always land on my feet.” I’m too chicken to look him in those eyes again, but at least my words aren’t wobbly. “And I’m happy to be around family again.” That part, at least, is not a lie.

I liked my life in Houston. But, if I’m being honest, it was getting lonely. The friends I’ve made at the bakery have already proven to be better friends than any I found in the city. They aren’t the type to invite a girl out to a night club and ditch her in the middle of it. I shudder at the memory of trying to find my way home that night. Assholes.

But moving home was so far off my radar until my hand was forced that it feels like a failure.

“If you need anything,” Bash says from behind me, his words traveling over my shoulder, “anything at all, you let me know.”

I’m so damn thankful I’m not looking at him when he says that last part. Otherwise he’d notice how many shades of red my face has turned. Because that anything part has latched on to my overactive imagination in very inappropriate ways. I clear my throat. Gone is the confidence of a moment ago, quiet words now struggling to escape my too dry lips. “How long did you say you were staying in town again?”

“Probably through Christmas. Maybe a little longer.”

Maybe longer.

“You’re just here to visit?” I ask, motioning over my shoulder for him to follow me downstairs to the basement. My heart beats faster, as though the basement is somehow more secluded and intimate. Never mind that no one is home. If Bash wanted to have his way with me—

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