Page 19 of 3 Stolen Kisses

We’re alone, and Saxon’s carrying me to my bedroom. As we pass a clock in the hallway, I gasp and smack his arm. “Five minutes to midnight! It’s nearly Christmas Day.”

And Saxon huffs again, too worked up to humor my festive fever, but his grip on me softens a tiny bit. Some of the tension leaves the corners of his eyes, and his steps slow down, like he doesn’t want this moment to be over too soon.

Neither do I.

“Thought I might kill him,” Saxon confesses quietly as we approach my bedroom door. “When I saw him grab you like that, when I heard you yelp… I saw red, Ali Cat. If Manuel and Pete hadn’t been there too, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

And he sounds so tortured, confessing to me like this; his gray eyes are so miserable as they flick to me and away. And Iknowhe’s thinking about my stupid, knee-jerk flinch, the way I twitched away when Saxon looked at me back there, but I don’t know how to set that right. Don’t know how to reassure this man that I feel safe with him.

I pet his beard again. Can never touch this man enough.

And Saxon sighs, long and low, as he nudges my bedroom door open and carries me across to the bed. It’s big, bigger than one person could ever need, with an industrial bronze metal headboard.

Everything in this house is my father’s taste. How would I decorate my own room if I had the chance?

I’ll tell you one thing for sure: Holiday. Decorations. Everywhere.

When Saxon lays me down on the mattress, a shadow passes behind his eyes. The moonlight spilling through the window glints against his beard, and I’m expecting a kiss, a comment, anything except the way he straightens and starts to leave. His long strides carry him across the room in a blink.

“Uh.What?”

Saxon pauses with his hand on the doorknob and glances back. I’m bolt upright on my bed, pink-cheeked and furious—hell, even my nipples are two angry beads beneath my bikini top.

Saxon frowns. “You need something, Ali Cat?”

I scoff. “Um,yeahI need something. I needyou, you big jerk.”

Saxon watches me for a long, long moment, the wheels turning in his huge head. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he shuts my bedroom door.

And flips the lock.

I shiver.

“You sure about that?” His question is casual, polite, as he strolls back toward the bed, hands tucked in his pants pockets, but Saxon isn’t fooling me. I see the tense set of his shoulders; the hard clench of his jaw. The way his gray eyes bore into me, like he could pin me to the mattress by gaze alone. “You seemed twitchy back there.”

He stops beside the bed, but he doesn’t sit. Doesn’t beckon me closer. Doesn’t do anything except loom over me in the moonlight, so big and broad andright,waiting for me to make the next move.

“I was.” My throat is dry, and I swallow hard. “I was twitchy, but not because of you. Never because of you.Please, Saxon.”

His eyes slam shut, a shudder rolling through his big body beneath his suit. Think he likes hearing me beg.

And hey, I have zero shame about begging for what I want! Not from this man, anyway. So while his eyes are closed, while he’s straining for the last shreds of his self control, I slip off my bikini top and drop it silently to the rug beside the bed. Warm air washes over my bare skin, and goosebumps break out on my arms.

When Saxon opens his eyes again, he curses under his breath. Sucks in several long, labored breaths, his chest working under his shirt, and drags a shaky hand down his beard.

“Ali,” Saxon rasps. “Baby girl. You’re killing me here.”

“Good.” I wet my lips, heart hammering. “Come down here and teach me a lesson.”

For such a big man, Saxon moves fast when he wants to, exploding forward with power and grace. From one breath to the next, he’s kneeling over me on the mattress, hands on my wrists, shoving me back against the bed with my arms above my head. And he’s not gentle, not wholly in control, but that’s okay.

Unlike those assholes out there at the pool party, I trust Saxon. He would never hurt me.

And besides, Ilikewhen he gets wild like this; I like when he tosses me around like his plaything. Saxon hunkers over me, blocking out the starlight, dwarfing my bare limbs with his huge, warm body, and I swear: there’s nowhere else on the planet that I’d rather be.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” The words are dark and low, and my blood simmers in response. My body arches up against him, and I choke back a breathless laugh.

“You love it. And besides, if I didn’t push all your buttons, you’dneverget around to kissing me.”

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