Ten
Isla
T he living room echoes with hoots of laughter and playful banter, the wild mayhem spurred on by a game of Dirty Santa. The elder Thornes are off sledding with Jovie, leaving the rest of us to our own devices. A risky formula that’s quickly derailed into a decidedly not-so-family-friendly affair.
The loot started out innocently enough—artisanal soaps, a sleek portable speaker, and gourmet truffles from the town chocolatier.
Things took a turn straight into the gutter when Rowan unwrapped a pocket-sized vibrator.
It hit an even raunchier low as one of Willow’s friends unearthed a tub of peppermint-flavored lube substantial enough to keep everyone at the North Pole entertained for the foreseeable future.
That’s when Felix suggested the lucky recipients team up to test out their gifts. The space erupted in catcalls and jeers, and before anyone could recover, Rowan retaliated by launching a throw pillow at his brother’s head with sniper-like precision.
“Okay, that’s enough!” Willow, the self-appointed game master, steps in. “Let’s keep it moving before someone gets hurt!”
Her gaze lands on me, and she quirks an eyebrow, grinning. “Isla, you’re up! Let’s see if you can top that dramatic performance.”
I scan the pile, pretending to weigh my options, but I know exactly which item I want—the one wrapped in glittery pink paper that Willow uses every year.
Leaning toward the table, I pick up the soft package, already daydreaming about the comfortable sleep I’ll get in my newest nightwear addition.
I tear away the wrapping to reveal an oversized grey T-shirt stamped with an image of a shirtless Santa.
He’s flexing like a bodybuilder, flaunting carved pecs and stacked abs.
His toy sack dangles strategically in front of his groin.
Across the front, bold red letters read: This Daddy is Too Big to Fit Down Your Chimney.
Lifting the garment in front of my face, I burst into a fit of giggles, and everyone follows suit, cracking up around me.
“Willow!” I squeal. “This is even better than last year’s! The fabric is unbelievable.” I run my fingers over it and sigh. “I’m convinced it’s made from actual clouds.”
“I know!” Willow nods in agreement, clearly pleased with herself.
“Cotton & Chaos only uses the best organic materials. By the way, I chatted with the owner about you. She’s outsourcing the art now but wants to hire someone local for future designs.
Her goal is to bring in a Sugarpine Springs vibe. Remind me to pass on her info.”
“That sounds amazing,” I say, my voice full of gratitude. The prospect of another connection is invigorating. Plus, having a champion in Willow? Extremely humbling. “Thanks!”
“Hand it over, Sunshine.” Theo’s deep voice—along with a nickname I figured he’d long forgotten—snags my attention.
He’s sitting across from me, reclined casually against the wall, one knee propped up with his legs splayed in a way that radiates effortless confidence.
I’ve been doing my best to avoid looking his way throughout the game, but my traitorous gaze keeps drifting.
It’s not my fault the man commands a presence with a capital P.
“What?” I choke out.
“You heard me.” He waves a card in the air that indicates that he’s next in line to pick or steal a present. “I’m taking the shirt.”
A chorus of oohs breaks out around the room.
“Damn.” Asher laughs. “Teddy woke up and chose violence!”
I tighten my grip on Pornstar Santa. “No way. I’m not giving this baby up.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Theo holds out his hand, palm up, the corner of his lips twitching. “Rules of the game, Sunshine.”
Once again, the nickname sends a jolt through me. He coined it when I was eighteen, living under a perpetual raincloud in an attempt to infuse light into my life. The term has lain dormant for years.
Until now.
We share a look, but I’m too afraid to prolong the eye contact, terrified I’ll read too much into his expression and see what I want to see instead of the truth our reality holds.
My fingers tighten around the shirt. “You’re really going to steal from me? Of all the gifts here, this is what you want? ”
“Yes.” He leans forward, his forearm resting on his knee, and my eyes follow the flex of his muscles beneath his sweater. “It’s the only thing I want.” He wiggles his fingers in a silent, almost teasing invitation.
I frown. “Why? What do you plan on doing with it?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” He shrugs one shoulder. “But your endorsement makes me think I should keep it at my place to pull out when my girlfriend sleeps over.”
“Girlfriend?” The word slips out before I can stop myself.
A moment of silence ensues, the festive chatter pausing to let my question hang in the air.
Great.
Thanks, everyone.
“You have a girlfriend?” My mouth continues to run ahead of my brain. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
My cheeks flush as Theo’s smirk sharpens, his green eyes glinting with amusement.
Rowan snorts from the couch, breaking the tension. “Knowing him, it’s some girl who’s good at fondling his brand strategy and deep thro—I mean, deep diving into market segmentation.”
Felix laughs. “Oh, yeah. She’s very serious about the job. All about projections before erections. First budget, then booty. Metrics over sex tricks.”
“The woman works hard in the bedroom and the boardroom,” Asher adds, joining in the teasing.
“None of you know shit about my job.” Theo shakes his head and laughs before addressing his brothers with mock authority. “Also, show some respect for my fictional girlfriend.” He swings his focus back to me. “Heard those are all the rage lately. ”
My mind scrambles to decode the meaning of his words, which gives him the perfect window to lunge forward and snatch the shirt from my hands.
“Thanks,” he says, pulling it away with ease.
“Hey!” I exclaim, diving after Naughty Noel.
The next thing I know, I’m on my knees, positioned directly between Theo’s thighs. My body seizes up, every nerve firing as if to signal we’ve crossed into enemy territory.
“Playing dirty, huh?” he teases, lifting the shirt above his head, daring me to make a move.
“You started it!” I press my palm against his chest, steadying myself as I try to stretch higher.
His muscles are solid planes of stone beneath my touch.
A low growl rumbles from his throat—he’s probably regretting the contact now, but he waged this war by stealing my prize. “Theo! Come on . Just give it to me.”
He shifts slightly, his lips curling into a slow, dark smile. “Isla Greene, begging so prettily. This must really be a special piece of clothing.”
“At this point, it’s about principle,” I say through gritted teeth.
He raises a brow in challenge. “What are you willing to trade for it?”
“What do you want?”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and the rest of the room disappears. I attempt a breath, but my lungs fail to cooperate.
A loud whistle cuts through the tension. “I know the game is called Dirty Santa, but I didn’t expect things to get this X-rated,” Willow calls out from behind me. “Popcorn, anyone?”
“I call foul!” Asher heckles. “You already sniped the gift, bro. Don’t steal my girl along with it! ”
“The woman is exactly where she wants to be,” Theo retorts. “Isn’t that right, Isla?”
My name is a demand, and my pulse answers by kicking into overdrive.
“What are you doing?” I glare up at the shirt still dangling from his fingers. His proximity feels suffocating, yet I can’t bring myself to move away.
“Enjoying the game.” His thumb traces the fabric as if to purposefully taunt me.
The air is so charged a single spark is all it would take to ignite… something .
“Fine,” I relent, because I’m out of options. Ones that don’t end with me blowing Asher’s cover, anyway. “But it’ll be wasted on you. I highly doubt you even like the design.”
“You’re right,” he agrees with a nod. “If you end up collaborating with the company, offer to help proofread future messages to ensure accuracy.”
I purse my lips. “What?”
Theo bends his head, his mouth so close his breath brushes against my ear. His voice dips into a sinfully gravelly tone as he murmurs, “There’s no such thing as too big .”
As the words trail a blaze of fire across my skin, my gaze flickers to his lap. The movement is so quick that I think I’m in the clear—until his chest vibrates with a quiet laugh.
“I…” I start, but trip over my tongue.
He arches a brow. “Yes?”
The bastard is indulging in my discomfort, and I hate how much his attention pleases me.
“I’ll find you a worthy gift to trade.” My pulse pounds, but I force the sentence out, clamoring for some control over the situation. “Just give me a few rounds.”
“Sure. Until then…” His fingers close around the shirt .
“Until then…?”
He leans in, his words kissing my lips. “ Mine , Sunshine.”
A shiver dances down my spine.
The worst part?
I can’t tell if it’s provoked by dread, need, or something worse.
Something foolish and deadly like a backstabbing bitch named Hope .