Page 8 of The Detective's Secret Santa

It’s wrong—so fucking wrong—to unzip my jeans and slip a hand down them as I watch Brook happy and laughing with her friends. But the fucker in my pants won’t be sated another way. I stroke my cock as I watch her, certain this makes me a stalker. But this might be the only thing that keeps me from seducing her the second I have an opportunity.

I opt for the easier of the two rides straight to hell and grip my cock, pretending that pretty mouth of hers is eagerly taking me in.

I’m damn near coming when I spot trouble. My hard cock goes limp in seconds as I spot the asshole drunkenly hovering over Brook and her friends. I fix my pants, put my cock away for another time, stash the case file in the glove box, and grip the door handle. Ready to intervene.

In Houston, I made certain to keep any interceptions hidden from Brooklyn. She’d be shocked to find out I only lived a block away from her. That I threatened countless assholes who only wanted to sleep with her or worse. But I did it out of sight, ensuring she never knew about my interference.

In Alpine Valley, I’m not certain staying in the shadows will be so easy.

The overprotectiveness I feel about Brook strengthens with each second I watch this fucker swaying on his feet, beer sloshing from his mug. It’s when the dipshit puts a hand on Brooklyn’s shoulder that I shove my door open.

I’m at their table in seconds. I vaguely register Brook’s surprise, but my attention is on the drunk. “There a problem here?” I ask, getting right up in his face, peering down at him because I have three inches on him.

“I was just inviting my new friends to a Christmas party,” he says, slurring every other word.

“We’re not your friends,” Piper says, eyes narrowed.

“Sure you are!” Before the beer slosher can successfully put another hand on Brook, I catch his forearm in a tight clench.

“Sounds like they’re declining your invitation.”

“Who the hell are you?” he asks in drunken slurs, as if seeing me for the first time.

I lean in closer, lowering my voice. “I’ll be your worst nightmare if you don’t turn around and leave right now. Touch her again and you’ll find out you’re not the first body I’ve buried.”

Finally, he gets the hint and stumbles off.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Meg says, exhaling a sigh of relief. “I don’t know who he is, but I thought he’d never leave.”

“Everyone okay?” I ask, directing my attention to Brooklyn. She’s staring wide-eyed at me, suggesting she might’ve overheard my comment. “Anyone need a ride home tonight?”

“We walked. We just live a couple blocks away,” Piper explains.

“It’s gotten colder out,” I say, noting the mostly empty margarita glasses. I know from observation that almost everyone is on their third round, aside from Addison who’ll be working later tonight. “I have a warm truck.”

“A ride doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Piper muses.

“Brook?”

She glances over her shoulder, watching the drunk stumble back to the bar. The bartender denies him another drink, but I’m saved from having to intervene as the bouncer steps in. “Yeah, a ride sounds nice.”

I drop off Addison at the bakery first. The other three are in the backseat of my truck, giggling away. I keep catching Brook’s gaze in the rearview mirror. My cock twitches, desperately wanting to finish what was started earlier. Preferably inside Brook’s pussy. But even if she wasn’t so tipsy, tonight is not the night for seducing my late best friend’s daughter. I’m feeling too overprotective of her to trust myself.

I pull up along the curb of their four-plex and cut the ignition. I offer my hand to each of the women as they pile out of my truck. Brook remains latched onto my arm as we see both Meg and Piper to their doors first.

“I’m the one around back,” Brook says, that seductive gleam in her eyes. I resist the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her until I’ve stolen the breath from us both. It wouldn’t be right tonight. If I’m going to cross a line, it’ll be when we’re both clear-headed enough to make that decision together.

Brook unlocks her front door, pushing it open slightly. She turns, gaze locked on mine, lips parted as if she wants to say something.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, hating that I’m not going inside with her. Frustrated with how wrong it feels to go back to Molly’s alone. But the more time I spend around Brooklyn, the harder it is to deny how strong my feelings have become. “To decorate the—”

Brook leaps at me, throwing her arms around my neck and crashing her lips to mine. For two whole seconds, I don’t think. I taste the tequila and sugar rim before I come to my senses and pull us apart.

“Brook, we can’t—”

Her eyes widen in mortification. “Oh god, I just did that.”

“Brook—”

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