Chapter 22 NaughtyNice
Twenty-Two
Naughty or Nice
Logan
To say the hockey tournament was a success is an understatement.
All weekend from midafternoon until well past dusk, the stands were packed with people cheering on every team in the tournament.
The entire town of Mount Holly shut down and came out for a weekend of hockey.
I couldn’t have asked for a better kickoff to the carnival.
To my surprise, Brie was even in the stands.
It was hard to keep my eyes off her as I skated around the rink.
Normally, I’m not the guy who gets distracted while on the ice, but there she was in the winter sun, brown hair loose over her shoulders, laughing at something Willa said, and my chest went warm in a way that felt…
dangerous. We locked eyes for half a second.
It hit me like a clean check. God, I’d missed that feeling.
After we won our first game, I scanned the crowd for her, but she was gone.
When I caught up with Willa, she told me Brie left to talk to the Christmas blogger, and an unfamiliar hollow ache settled in my chest. I was hoping to see her and talk to her.
Hell, I would have even argued with her if it got me near her.
Maybe that’s karma for slipping away after the Holly Jolly tree lighting—Brooke’s favorite tradition at home—but seeing her on stage knocked the air out of me. I had to leave.
We played one more game before the tournament came to an end.
It was a close one, but we squeaked out a win with a top-shelf rip from Carson at the buzzer.
Back at my truck, I’m tossing my hockey equipment into the back when something black shoved under the seat draws my attention.
Reaching under, I pull out a black top hat.
Brie’s snowman. It’s naked without it. And Mount Holly doesn’t need naked snowmen.
I hop in my truck and drive past her house, but all the lights are off.
As I drive past the Crooked Reindeer, her SUV isn’t in the parking lot.
I decide to check one more place. I pull onto the festival grounds, and everything is dark.
Off in the distance, a soft glow illuminates a window in one of the buildings.
As I drive closer, Brie’s SUV comes into view.
Parking next to her vehicle, I grab the top hat from my passenger seat and climb out.
Christmas music plays softly from inside the building marked Santa’s Workshop.
Snowflakes flutter down from the sky, calmer than my erratic pulse.
Lifting my hand, I rap my knuckles against the wood.
I don’t know why I’m here or why I have to give the top hat to Brie now, but I just want to see her.
Even if it’s for a second before she slams the door in my face.
I want to inhale her sweet lavender scent so I can go home and dream about it.
The door opens a few seconds later. Brie’s whiskey-colored eyes light up. “Logan. What are you doing here?”
Relief washes over me. No bitter words spewed my way. But she asked me a question, and I need to answer. “Well, when I went to exchange the stolen goods that you failed to come to, I forgot this.” I hold up the black top hat.
“Oh. Um. Thanks.” She plucks the hat from my grasp.
“So why didn’t you show up that night?”
A gust of wind sends snowflakes swirling around us. Her shoulders scrunch as she fights a shiver. “Come in. It’s a little too cold to heat the outdoors.” She opens the door wider and motions for me to come inside. Once I get through the doorway, the door closes with a soft click.
Inside, a small portable heater sits in the corner of the one-room wooden building.
Along one wall sits a fake fireplace with stockings on the mantel.
A big red high-back chair sits in another corner next to a fully decorated Christmas tree.
Wrapping paper and ribbons cover the floor and table.
She sets the top hat on the table next to a wrapped present and bites her lip.
“Would you believe I was washing my hair?”
I shake my head. “Cut the bullshit. For once, I actually thought we were moving past all this. Whatever our history is, it was years ago. It’s time to get over it.”
She throws her hands up in the air. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Gets Everything He Wants With the Snap of His Fingers.”
“Not everything,” I mumble.
“What was that?”
“Not everything,” I say, steadier. “So… why didn’t you come?”
She turns, then faces me again like she’d changed her mind mid-spin. “Because I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“About your festival and my carnival?”
“No.” Her gaze searches mine, raw and unguarded. “About hating you. I’ve held onto it so long it felt like truth. But lately?” She swallows. “Lately all I want to do is—”
“What?” I stepped closer, heat from the little heater brushing my back. “Say it.”
“Kiss you.”
All the air is sucked from my lungs. I can’t say anything. I can’t breathe. The only telltale sign I’m alive is the thumping in my chest.
“Please say something,” she whispers.
I step closer so we’re chest to chest. Reaching out, I clasp my hands around her cheeks and crash my lips to hers.
My chest swells with something that feels like the sun’s first rays bursting over the horizon.
No shocks of electricity or dramatic crescendos, but something softer, more intimate—like finding your favorite song again after years of forgetting it.
Her hands slide up my chest. I’m convinced she’s going to push me away, call me an asshole.
Instead, she fists the fabric, holding on like a lifeline.
At least it’s true for one of us. I pull back a breath, resting my forehead against hers.
“I wish I had kissed you the night after the bar.”
“Me too.” This time she tugs me to her and presses her lips to mine.
It’s soft, then hungry. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget your own name.
Fuck, I need her. More than ever right now.
She tears apart the buttons of my fleece jacket and slides her hands over my shoulders until it hits the floor with a thud.
With desperate fingers, my hands roam across her back, playing with the hem of her sweater.
Walking backward, we knock into a table.
Glancing over her shoulder I spot wrapping paper, ribbon, tape, and scissors on the surface.
With a swoop of my arm, I shove everything off, and it scatters all over the floor like confetti. I hoist her onto the empty table.
“Hey, that’s my—”
I silence her with a kiss, my hands sliding to her waist as I nestle between her thighs. “Worth it,” I mutter against her lips.
Her legs hook around my hips, pulling me flush against her. I groan at the contact, burying my face against her neck as she grinds against me.
“You think you’re going on Santa’s nice or naughty list?” I mutter against her heated skin.
“Definitely naughty.” My gaze lifts to hers and she pushes her lips to mine in a ravenous kiss. She’s as desperate as I am, and it’s never made me feel more alive.
We’re nothing but frantic hands and limbs, tearing at each other’s clothes.
Our lips fuse together, only breaking apart so I can lift her shirt over her head.
Her fingers curl around the hem of my hoodie and pull it up, taking my shirt with it.
Since her arms aren’t long enough, I help her the rest of the way.
I cup her breast over her red lace bra, and she moans into my mouth.
I want this. God, I want her. I’ve been craving Brie for weeks, and yet—I need to be sure. Pulling back just enough, I whisper against her lips, “If this is too much, tell me and I’ll stop.”
Her answer is immediate. Fingers sliding into my hair, tugging me closer. “Don’t you dare stop.”
That’s all the permission I need. Heat pounds through me as my mouth trails down her neck, across her collarbone, tasting her skin. She grinds against me like she can’t get close enough.
“Logan,” she breathes, her voice half warning, half plea.
My control snaps like a brittle candy cane.
I curl my fingers around the cup of her bra and tug down, exposing her hard nipple to the cool air.
She inches closer to me, rocking her denim-covered pussy over my straining cock.
Now it’s my turn to moan. I’ve dreamed of touching her like this, and hands down, the reality is much better.
I brush my thumb over her stiff peak, and she arches into my touch.
My dick twitches at how responsive she is.
Breaking away, I drop my head to her chest, placing kisses over her soft, smooth skin.
I swirl my tongue over her stiff nipple, and she sucks in a sharp breath.
She leans back on her hands as I continue to nip and suck on one tit while my hand plays with the other.
She moans. “It feels so good. You’re supposed to be my enemy.”
I grin against her skin. “Then I’m the worst kind of enemy.
Because I want to worship you with my mouth.
One place in particular.” When I look up, her gaze is locked on mine, wide and expectant.
Slowly, I drag my hands down her stomach, every inch leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
When I reach the button of her jeans, I pause, silently asking.
Her mouth parts, her breath catches, and then she nods.
That’s all I need.
I pop the button and tug the denim down her hips. She lifts herself off the table, helping me shove them the rest of the way until they hit the floor. My cock jumps when I see her panties—red, the same ones from Sip and Sleigh. Like she planned this, though I know she didn’t.
“Fucking gorgeous,” I rasp, my gaze roaming over her. She bites her lip, fighting a smile, but I see the flush creeping up her throat.