Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Oh, fuck. Uncovering the safe, I kneel down and turn the dial, botch the combination as my palms grow sweaty, then try again. When the lock gives, I swing the door open, then almost collapse onto the floor with relief when I see the hard drive and the USB key sitting inside just as I left them. The sweaters must’ve fallen to the side a little. Thanks, gravity, for scaring the shit out of me.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, then grab the drives and close the safe. Backing into the hall, I smile when I see Ariadne giving Charlie tons of love. He eats it up, the ham.
Grabbing a reusable shopping bag from the kitchen, I gently place the drives inside, then walk over to the petting-fest going on in the living room.
“He’s so sweet. No wonder Mrs. Claws has a thing for him.” She rubs his tummy as he stretches.
“Let’s head out. I’ll get you a snack on the way.” I hold my hand out for her.
She takes it, the bells on her Christmas sweater jingling as she stands. “You had me at snack.”
“We could fill up on parade candy, but I figure you need something more substantial.”
She licks her lips. “Yes.”
A jolt of heat shoots southward, and I have to get her out of this house before I drag her to my bed. The way she reacted earlier, chasing her pleasure as I tongued her, staking my claim. Fuck. She really has no idea what she does to me. I pull her palm to my thick erection.
“Yes, that’s what I have in mind.” She gets on her tiptoes and kisses me.
I return it, taking her mouth, but when I try to pull her closer, the shopping bag gets in the way. The sooner I get rid of this data, the better. “Come on, angel.” I pull her hand away from me, though the way she was stroking me over my jeans was particularly erotic. “We’ve got a parade to get to, but afterward, I intend to make a meal out of you.”
She squeals as I pull her through the kitchen and into the garage.
Opening the door for her, I help her into the truck, then get in and start it up. This is just the first step toward our future, but I have to be smart about it. I don’t want whoever is picking up the goods to see her. It’s not safe.
I pull out of the garage and head toward downtown. She’s unusually quiet, so I reach out and take her hand.
“Worried?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath. “I just got all in my head for a second there.”
“It’s okay. There’s going to be a crowd.” I squeeze her fingers. “But mostly children who are vying to see Santa Claus and doing their best to grab every piece of candy they can.”
“That part doesn’t sound so bad.” She loosens up a little. “Besides, if they want a competition, I’m pretty sure I can collect way more candy than they can.”
“Cutthroat.” I kiss her fingers. “I like it.”
She shrugs. “I mean, it’s not a competition, of course.”
“Of course,” I agree, but I know the little competitor who lives inside her. She loves the thrill of victory.
We roll down the highway, traffic a bit thicker than usual as more people head toward Main Street.
Stopping at Bonnie’s Bakery, I help Ariadne from the truck and lead her inside.
“What’s in the bag?” She peers at the gray tote bag in my hand.
“Just some stuff I need to drop off.” I choose a table near the window and order for us.
“How did you know I love cheese Danish?” She swipes a flyaway strand of blonde hair from her cheek.
“Who doesn’t love a cheese Danish?” I shrug.
“Good point.” She nods. “Hey, did you get all your work done?”
“Yeah.” I can’t seem to stop touching her, my fingers laced in hers. “It’s all done. Did you get anything written today?”
“I wrote a little, then tried to do some crafts.”
“Just tried?” I lean back as the server puts our Danishes on the table, then pours me a coffee and hands Ariadne her hot chocolate.
“Yarn and I have never been close.”
I’m not sure what she means, so I take a sip of my coffee.
“Knitting,” she explains. “I can’t do it. I can sort of get started, but then my mind wanders and I slip a stitch, miss two, forget where I was, lose count—you name a way to screw up knitting, I can guarantee I’ve done it.”
“That sounds like an achievement to me. You’re creative even when you mess up.” I take a bite of my Danish as she smiles and sips her hot chocolate.
“That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me I’m not good at something. Thanks. I guess—”
“Well, hi, you two.” A woman in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms pulls a chair up to our small table.