Page 24 of Naughty or Nice?
In a few hours, it’ll be Christmas, and the snow outside will reach five inches.
Propping my leg up on the ottoman by the bed, I grab my jar of body butter and start rubbing the coconut-scented cream into my skin.
The room’s low-lit, with the twinkling Christmas bulbs and flames from the fireplace as the main sources of light.
I’ve spent the day envisioning what tonight would be like. Fantasies have played out inside my head. Now that it’s the moment I’ve been waiting for, I’m not sure how to feel.
The anticipation’s almost too much.
I’m breathless and jittery even as I moisturize; my hands smoothing the body butter onto my legs and thighs.
Any minute, the night’sofficiallyabout to begin.
It’s surreal that Nate and I have only been broken up for forty-eight hours yet I’m seeing our relationship more clearly than I ever have before. I’m still brokenhearted by the situation—and a part of me still loves him—but I’m also realizing I loved theideaof marriage and kids more than I did Nate as a person.
He was simply the avatar I was using to pursue my happy ending.
Tonight I’m craving something different.
I’ve always been the nice girl. The kind woman. But this Christmas, for once I want to be a little naughty.
It’s time I explore new kinds of relationships and experiences.
Only one man comes to mind when I think about what that would be like.
I’ve moved onto rubbing body butter up and down my arms when there’s a loud thud from downstairs.
My hands still and my head snaps up. I listen carefully for more of the sound, silently wondering if I heard what I think I did. Knotting the ribbon that holds my robe together, I abandon the bedroom to go downstairs and check out the noise.
I reach the bottom stair, realizing the loud noise wasn’t a fluke—someone else is in the house.
Shock strangles the air from my lungs. I can only remain where I am, wide-eyed and stunned as I listen to the rustling coming from the other room. Cotton fills my throat, making it difficult to choke out any words.
“Wh-who’s there?” I ask. Then I take the last step off the stairs and pad toward the arched doorway leading into the living room. “I’ll… I’ll call the cops.”
I stop in front of the doorway and let out a gasping breath.
The flames roar in the fireplace, casting a fire-lit shadow against the wall of the man who’s broken into the house.
None other than Santa Claus himself.
But this is no ordinary Santa Claus.
He’s large, but not in the traditional way St. Nick is—his size comes in the form of muscles and brawn. He’s wearing a rich, red velvet suit that vaguely resembles Santa’s, except his coat is a fur-lined vest that reveals his rippling bare chest. The pants emphasize how massive and defined his legs and thighs are, while his shiny black combat boots only add to the sexy, authoritarian feel of him.
Over his shoulder rests a giant bag of what I’m assuming are presents. He holds onto it with one gloved hand.
His eyes twinkle meeting mine as I stop in the doorway, his thick beard framing his face while a Santa hat sits perched on his white head of hair.
I’d laugh if not for the formidable expression clenched onto his face.
This Santa means business.
St. Nick has arrived, and he’s not here for anyone on his nice list.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, blinking away my shock. “Get out right now or I’ll… stay away from me!”
My screams of protest go ignored.