Merry Ever After

I froze as I slowly pulled away and looked him in the eyes.

Holy shit.

He knows.

He knew all along?

Then he mouthed, “Don’t tell my mom.”

I nodded, wanting to burst out into laughter. But I held it in.

He ran back to his room, and I looked over at Holly, who seemed to miss that entire exchange. I guess he had his reasons for wanting to milk the Santa thing as long as possible.

Holly then walked me out and shut the door behind her. We both lingered for a bit out in the cold. I wondered if she’d closed the door so that we’d have some privacy. I speculated that maybe that meant she expected me to kiss her. She couldn’t comprehend just how badly I’d wanted to do that all day—or really from the moment I’d met her.

“Thank you for making this Christmas special.”

I was honestly speechless. She was thanking me, when I felt like the lucky one here. I’d experienced so many feelings today, but perhaps the most unexpected was a feeling of gratitude mixed with a side of guilt for the opportunity to spend time with her. With them. Especially when he couldn’t. And it wasn’t fair. I hoped wherever he was, that he approved of this.

I promise I won’t hurt her.

Apparently, Holly didn’t get the memo that I was in the middle of a one-sided conversation with her dead husband. Because the next thing I knew, I felt her lips on mine. She’d gone in for the kill faster than I could blink. And I was so freaking here for this.

No wonder she’d closed the door.

I lifted her up and kissed her harder, falling more for her every second that she breathed into me. I went all in, sweeping my tongue into her mouth and savoring her sweet taste. When she moaned, I was a goner. After, I leaned my forehead against hers. We both had the goofiest smiles, and I couldn’t help but think: Mason wasn’t the only one who’d gotten his Christmas wish.

Santa had come through for me, too.

BY VI KEELAND & PENELOPE WARD

Park Avenue Player

Stuck-Up Suit

Cocky Bastard

Well Played

Not Pretending Anymore

Happily Letter After

My Favorite Souvenir

Dirty Letters

Hate Notes

Rebel Heir

Rebel Heart

Mister Moneybags

British Bedmate

Playboy Pilot

Other Books from Vi Keeland

The Spark

The Invitation

The Rivals

Inappropriate

All Grown Up

We Shouldn’t

The Naked Truth

Sex, Not Love

Beautiful Mistake

Egomaniac

Bossman

The Baller

Left Behind

Beat

Throb

Worth the Fight

Worth the Chance

Worth Forgiving

Belong to You

Made for You

First Thing I See

Other Books from Penelope Ward

The Aristocrat

The Crush

The Anti-Boyfriend

Just One Year

The Day He Came Back

When August Ends

Love Online

Gentleman Nine

Drunk Dial

Mack Daddy

Stepbrother Dearest

Neighbor Dearest

RoomHate

Sins of Sevin

Jake Undone (Jake #1)

Jake Understood (Jake #2)

My Skylar

Gemini

Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria, and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

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Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. With over two-million books sold, she’s a 21-time New York Times bestseller. Her novels are published in over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world. Having grown up in Boston with five older brothers, she spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 16-year-old girl with autism and a 14-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.

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I couldn’t take my eyes off the tattooed Santa gyrating his hips hypnotically behind his bass guitar. With the stage lights and the distraction of the crowd around me, I couldn’t be sure but it felt like the silver fox was looking directly at me with each thrust.

Maybe it was a final “screw you” to me after he’d single-handedly ruined any shot I had at my dream job.

I wanted to hate Vonn Barlowe, but the man was so damn talented and I’d been a fan for so damn long, there I was in the front row grooving to the punk-rock version of “White Christmas” along with the rest of Hershey, Pennsylvania.

“I can see why it’s a farewell tour.”

Apparently my date, Mark, wasn’t as impressed. He smirked in the direction of the stage, and I sighed. The man was wearing a tie to a punk show. What had I expected?

“Not a fan?” I asked over the screaming guitar riff.

Someone bumped me from behind and I caught myself against the waist-high security fence.

Mark didn’t notice. He was too busy pulling out his phone. I had to stop myself from telling him to put it away. He was my boyfriend—sort of—not one of my kids.