Page 16 of 3 Stolen Kisses

The answer clangs into my brain as soon as I ponder the question: Hell no.

Saxon may work for Dad, but he does not bow and scrape, and he’salwaysput me above his job. It’s laughable to even think it.

In fact, without Saxon around, something tells me the last few years would have been a hundred times worse. He’s always the grown-up in the room; the voice of reason. My safe harbor and my protector.

And now, the source of my squirmiest daydreams. Oh god, when can I touch him again? When will he touchme? I fan myself, suddenly hot under my PJ collar.

“Doing okay there, Ali Cat?”

Saxon’s deep voice drifts from the living room doorway, and my head jerks around. Forget the holiday movie I’ve been watching to kill time on this Christmas Eve morning—there’s something better to entertain me now.

Saxon’s dressed for work in his gray suit and black tie, his dark hair combed back and his beard trimmed. Don’t wanna pat myself on the back too much, but since we first kissed in his apartment, he looks… younger. Energized, and refreshed by life.

Sure, there are still faint lines at the corners of his eyes, and there are those silver strands in his hair and beard. But Saxon looks vibrant and powerful, his muscles bulging beneath his clothes, and when he stares at me like that, his mouth curving up…

I fan myself again, with both hands this time.

“Please,” I call over, “stop messing with me like this, staring like you’re gonna eat me up. Teasing then never delivering. I’ll catch fire under my clothes, Saxon. I’ll burn to a crisp.”

Saxon grins and shakes his head as he strolls into the room. I shift self-consciously on the sofa as he approaches, tugging at the hem of my pajama shirt, but I don’t looktoobad. Just rumpled and sleepy. I’ve brushed my teeth and combed my hair, because I’m not an idiot, okay? There’s always a chance Saxon is near in this house.

The sofa groans as he sits down beside me, propping his elbows on his knees—and he’s not inappropriately close, but still near enough to touch. Near enough to smell his clean, manly smell, and feel his heat near my legs.

Thump, thump, thump,goes my heart.

Saxon squints at the TV, trying to make sense of the green, hairy creature ranting about Christmas. “Pool party tonight,” he says, acting casual.

Yeah. It’s a Christmas Eve tradition at the Wainwright mansion: a big, blowout pool party, with dozens of rented luxury hot tubs dotting the grounds, and a serve-yourself cocktail bar by the terrace pool. Music and celebrities and barely dressed bodies, every direction you look. Writhing together, wet and slippery.

I hate it. Maybe in the summer, if I attended with Saxon, something like that could be almost fun… but on Christmas Eve? All I want to do is curl up and drink hot chocolate, watch movies, and wrap last-minute gifts.

Instead I’m trapped in Hedonism Central.

“Someone’s going to drown,” I mutter, because that’s the fear that haunts me every single year. All those drunk people in the water? I’ve told Dad a million times that it’s dangerous, that something bad will happen sooner or later, but he refuses to do anything about it. Says that people sign waivers to attend, and that’s good enough.

When I was a kid, I used to watch the terrace pool from my bedroom window with binoculars glued to my eyes, my phone by my side in case I needed to call 911. I barely blinked all night, I was so worried—and I saw some stuff that I was definitely too young to see.

But Saxon’s mouth twitches, and he cracks his knuckles idly. “Want to hear a secret?”

Um, yeah. “Obviously.”

“There are undercover lifeguards. I hire them every year, and Charles—your Dad’s always too far gone to notice.”

…Huh. “That’s very sneaky of you.”

Saxon shrugs, unrepentant. “I’d rather risk a leaked photo than an accidental death. Charles may be my employer, but he doesn’t rule my conscience.”

Agreed, and wow, I feel so much lighter already. Like I can breathe properly again, drawing sweet, sweet air into my lungs.

“Dad gave me my swimsuit already.” I try not to sound too bitter, but I can’t help it. Sourness laces my words. Because who wants their own father handing them a bikini and telling them to look nice tonight? Nobody, that’s who.

I tried it on an hour ago. It fits, unfortunately, with red and white stripes like a candy cane. Although at least it’s in that retro style, with high-waisted shorts and a halter top, so every scrap of me won’t be on display.

Saxon says nothing for a long while, his jaw clenched and eyes hard. He doesn’t look at me, keeps staring right at the TV when he finally says, “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, Ali Cat. I’ll take care of it. Just say the word.”

And Imelt.Just like that, I turn into a big, gooey puddle on these sofa cushions, because lord, I love this man so much.

Saxon is the only one who looks out for me like this. The only person who protects me, and who cares whatIwant. He takes care of me. Nurtures me.

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