Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Red happens to be in your future,” I reply with a wink trying to erase that frown of his.
From the way he’s still scowling I can tell he doesn’t like this new direction in our conversation. Even though the feminist side of me should push back, I kind of don’t want to. Because let’s be honest, it’s hot when a man that looks like this wants you to be only his.
And his alone.
And doesn’t want to hear about before…
Because maybe…
Just maybe…
He’s all that comes after.
Period.
After spending a few more amazing hours in Santa’s sleigh, we head back to the big man’s house. Luckily, he isn’t home, the kitchen looks like no one’s ever even used it—which is crazy considering that war zone it looked like when we left.
“This is unbelievable,” I look around in awe. “Is your dad a Virgo?”
“Ha,” Stetson finds this vastly amusing. “If by Virgo you mean type A, the answer would be no, he’s lucky he has so many people around him keeping his life intact.”
Huh.
So Santa’s unorganized. I guess it kind of tracks. I mean, jolly old St. Nick has too many other things to worry about in life. He’s giving kids toys around the globe, for heaven’s sake! I still can’t wait to ask Stetson how all that works.
“Hungry?” He asks me this as he takes a bite out of a frosted cupcake.
“It’s really astounding,” I mutter in disbelief.
“What is?” He chomps away.
“How much you eat,” I shake my head. “And all the sugar. Since you told me you’re mortal and all, it’s not that good for you mmm k?” I remind him. “The last thing you want is to have a heart attack on the sleigh.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he gives me a tender smile and my heart drops.
I love everything about that sentence and the way he says it.
“I only really eat this way over the holiday season.” He winks. “Cross my heart.”
“So you don’t touch sweets for eleven months out of the year?” I’ll never believe him if he says yes. If he says yes, he’s a liar and will always be a liar. This is the final test of whatever this is. The answer to this question.
He shrugs sheepishly then admits. “I may have a small, sweet tooth.”
“Define small?”
He says nothing but his eyes move to the pantry. I bolt before he can stop me and throw open the door—it is his house after all. “Holy Mother of God!”
He has me in his arms while I’m trying to kick at him to make my way through the door. It’s not just a normal person’s pantry. It’s the size of a bedroom, at least two thousand square feet and row and rows of candies and treats. “Stetson, baby, you have it alphabetized.”
“I like order!” He releases me with a pout.
“And cookies, you really like cookies, do you need them in every color and flavor? Asking for a friend.” I snatch a pack of Nutter Butters. “Guess you don’t have any nut allergies.”
“Put those back. They have a spot. Everything has a spot.”
I wave them above my head. “So, you have a minor addiction to sugar and what? A mild little issue with OCD?”
He flinches.
I grin and open the bag.
He gasps. “You opened the bag from the back you always open it from the front.”
“I’m a rule breaker. I break rules.” I tease and pop the cookie in my mouth. “You know how much better it tastes when you know you’re doing something wrong? Mmmmm,” I lick my lips. “Delicious.”
“Do that again.” He rasps. “I dare you.”
I lick my lips. He grabs me with one arm and tosses me onto the table in the middle. “I can only assume this is where you label and categorize your cookies, sir?”
“Shut up.” He devours me, not the cookie, in another kiss and tosses the bag to the ground. “Maybe I found another addiction. Another obsession?”
I giggle against his mouth. “I’ll be your sugar high any day.”
He groans. “If I kiss you again, I’ll never leave this pantry and we really do have things to get done, Christmas can’t survive without me you know.”
“You’re not Santa yet.” I point out.
“Hey, still a job, still have a role to play.” He pulls me off the table. “I can’t believe you opened it from the back of the package, it’s the lack of decency you know? The lack of respect for the Nutter Butter.”
I shake my head. “You’re cute when you’re mad. Don’t worry I wont tell anyone about the secret cookie pantry.”
“Good, because then I’d have to kill you. Don’t think Santa doesn’t have a dark side. We have dungeons.”
I feel my eyes light up. “Ooohhh tell me more, do you have chains, rope, Christmas tinsel?”
He groans. “Charlie, really, I can’t just get you naked again, and now I’m thinking about chains when I should be thinking about Christmas and showing you around and the contr—” he stops.