Page 11 of The Detective's Secret Santa

Because I’m no longer hesitating when it comes to Brooklyn. The past couple of days without her have been the worst kind of torture. I’ve replayed the other night over and over in my head. Each time I came to the same conclusion: I handled it how I needed to. But now that’s she back in my orbit, now that we’ve given in with clear heads… I make a vow. One way or another, I’m going to make her mine this Christmas.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” Brook asks from the opposite side of the couch. She’s been laying out ornaments with hooks for a tree I’ve yet to retrieve from the basement.

Now that I’m done with all the garland and lights, I need to grab it. But her question gives me an excuse to stall a few minutes more. So I plug in a string of lights I already know works before answering, “Die Hard.”

Her eyes light up. “Really?”

“I know some people don’t think it’s a Christmas movie—”

“Only the crazy ones,” Brooklyn says, eyes sparkling. “Of course it’s a Christmas movie. The best Christmas movie.”

“Was Greg’s favorite, too,” Molly chimes in from the kitchen, reminding me that she can see and hear us through the pass-through opening. It’s why I’ve stayed on my side of the sectional. I don’t trust my hands to stay to themselves. “Those two would watch it at least a dozen times a year.”

The mention of my late best friend should fill me with guilt. Not an hour ago, I had my hand on Brook’s tit. Had Molly been any later, I’d likely have had my cock buried in her pussy. Maybe Greg would cut me some slack, though. Because though I have plenty of dirty things I want to do to this sexy, curvy beauty on the opposite side of the couch, I have every intention of keeping her.

Forever.

I can no longer deny that I’ve been in love with Brooklyn since the funeral. Since the first time I truly saw her as a grown woman. The same woman Greg asked me to protect at all costs.

Brook might hate me if she found out how many dates I’d threatened to ensure there wouldn’t be any second dates. She’d definitely be pissed if she learned I had a hand in getting her fired. But it was that or I was going to end up in prison for murdering her sleazy boss.

“I guess we’re ready for the tree,” I announce, out of lights that I can test a second time.

“It’s downstairs in the storeroom all the way in the back,” Molly explains. “I just put it away whole last year. Well, I may have bribed a couple of the high school kids that work at the hotel to do it. Brooklyn, why don’t you go help him? It’ll be easier to wrestle up the stairs with two of you.”

“I’m sure I can handle it.” I only argue because I know Molly is expecting it. But I catch Brook’s gaze, silently inviting her to join me. She lifts one corner of her mouth in a seductive half-smile.

“It’s a pretty big tree,” Brooklyn says, setting down the ornament she cradles in her hands.

“It’s also buried way in the back,” Molly adds.

Brooklyn leads the way to the basement, and it takes all my restraint not to reach for her. Not to yank her back against my chest and slip my hand down the front of her leggings. But the gentle hum of Christmas music floats with us down the stairs, reminding me we aren’t really alone.

I watch her hips sway as she leads me through the unused family room. For a moment, I think she’s heading to my room. Ballsy. I catch her peering at my bed, wondering what she’s thinking. It’s neatly made. Blankets tucked so tight she might think I haven’t been sleeping here. Or maybe she’s thinking about messing them up… At the last minute, she reaches for the doorknob of the door right next to my room.

She flips a switch, casting the surprisingly deep closet in a glow.

I step up behind her, craving her warmth. I drop a hand to her hip, gently digging my fingers into the cotton fabric. “Looks like we have our work cut out for us,” I say in a low tone near her ear, enjoying the soft, almost inaudible moan that escapes her lips. She leans back against my chest. “That tree is buried.”

“Oh, right,” she says, clearing her throat and pulling away. She turns, shimmying into the closet in a sideways shuffle. “The tree.”

Though the best plan of attack would be to pull out the stacks of boxes blocking the tree, I tug the door almost all the way closed and follow her deeper into the closet until we reach the undecorated seven plus foot tree in the back corner. Brooklyn looks at me, lips parted as if she has something to say. But her gaze drops to my lips, urging me to reach for her. To draw her into my arms and capture that pretty mouth.

She melts into me.

Our bodies press together in the tight space, our lips a magnet, my fully hard cock pressing against her stomach. The minx slips a hand between us, cupping my length over the outside of my jeans and giving it a good squeeze. I fight to swallow a groan.

“Damn,” she gasps. “You’re hiding the Hammer of Thor in there.”

“There’s somewhere else I’d like to hide it,” I say, my voice a low growl.

“Show me.”

“Not here,” I say, spinning her around and drawing that perfect ass against my cock. She shimmies against me as I slide a hand around her waist. “When I claim you, sweetheart, I plan to take my time.” She braces a hand on a stack of boxes, arching against me in invitation. “But I’d sure like to find out how wet you are.”

She places her hand over mine, guiding me between her legs. I press my fingers against the cotton, discovering the dampness there.

“Fuck, Brook. Are you even wearing panties?”

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