Filthy Scrooge

Kay

I wasn’t sure when I’d been this angry. Shaking and about thirty seconds from crying ugly tears angry.

The worst part? I was as angry at myself as I was at the man transforming into Santa before my very eyes.

There was a reason why I didn’t date. An even bigger reason why I had a distinct lack of skills with the opposite sex. And it wasn’t normal, I knew that. I got myself so worked up and inside my head that I froze up.

It had happened here, with him.

The terror and the nerves had metastasized until I’d seen nothing but black dots from lack of oxygen. Then he’d dragged me back. He’d actually put me on the path to a mind-blowing orgasm. None of my self-inflicted ones had been as powerful as the one that had just been building inside of me.

Then nothing.

Why couldn’t I be normal?

Why couldn’t I just enjoy sex like any other red-blooded woman? Especially the ones in New York City who breathed sex as easily as the smog and carbon monoxide overriding our streets. Nope. I had to be the freak who had a near anxiety attack.

Oh, and then when I’d finally had a breakthrough…denied.

I had to be attracted to the Orgasm Snatcher.

Fuck me.

Oh, and to make everything better, the Orgasm Snatcher had the most amazing back I’d ever seen up close. Fluid muscles broad at the shoulder tapered down to a lean waistline with a butt that put most men to shame. Mel usually teased me that a guy that had junk in his trunk wasn’t necessarily packing.

Fallacy.

Sweet mercy, there was no denying that Lincoln Murdock had reason to be cocky. And perhaps a man built like that wasn’t exactly the best option to be my first. Then again, if his mouth was any indication, he knew what the hell he was doing.

And that could only be huge, bold checks in the plus column.

All of the checks.

Did I mention the bold part?

I swallowed as he slowly went from rugged guy with a body that didn’t belong sitting at a desk to a professional Santa who put my best guys to shame. His beard didn’t move in the least. Hell, it looked even more authentic than Charlie—my older Santa with a real beard. When he pulled on a vest outfitted with a foam belly, I was dumbfounded.

How could this grumpy Gus possibly have a Santa suit like this in his closet?

He grabbed a thin cotton shirt and pulled it over the…well, I guess it was a fat suit. No other description fit. I was about to ask him about it when he dropped his jeans.

Not even a damn warning. Was he trying to kill a girl?

Navy boxer briefs left very little to the imagination. At least from the back.

“Holy crap.”

He looked over his shoulder at me, a sly grin pulling at his beard. The twinkle in his gaze had nothing to do with Santa. He kicked off his motorcycle boots and jeans and stepped into crushed red velvet pants. They were made for him at the waist while the rest gave the appearance of a stockier leg. When he shrugged on the jacket, Santa was complete.

Less than ten minutes ago I’d been ready to let Lincoln pretty much do what he wanted to me. Now he’d transformed into the sweet and jovial St. Nick.

Well, almost.

There was still far too much heat banked in his crazy bright blue eyes, but at least I could think again. And I couldn’t stop smiling at him.

Who needed Jason when I had alpha Santa in my midst?

“That’s an impressive transformation, Mr. Murdock. A