Filthy Scrooge

m I really supposed to believe a man who has that kind of Santa suit in his closet hates Christmas?”

He crossed to me. “There’s only one reason I’m wearing this suit.”

“To make your employees happy?”

“No. To make sure you’re naked for the next forty-eight hours.”

My brain shorted out for a second. I swallowed and lifted my chin. “You keep changing the parameters of this deal.”

“When you have a bargaining chip, then we can discuss the deal again.”

“Hard to see you as a Scrooge when you’re wearing rouge on your cheeks.”

He slid his hand around my waist and dragged me into him. The hard planes of his body were still obvious even with layers of foam between us. “You have braids and striped stockings on. I am thinking less than innocent thoughts about the woman under the costume.” He pulled a red hat out of his pocket and tugged it over his white hair. “And if I have to put my acting cap on for an hour to get those long legs wrapped around my neck, then my hips, I’ll do it.”

I frowned. “Can you really hate it that much?”

“I can.”

Confusion pushed some of the lust-fog out of my brain. There had to be a story. “Then why make the deal?”

His eyes glittered. Anger and pain flared so bright and hard, I took a step back. “I want you that much. I will fuck you out of my system and maybe one Christmas will have a good memory.” He moved me aside and strode out of the room.

I stumbled to the desk and held onto the cool surface for a moment. Christmas had been my favorite season before I started my company. The season of hope and happiness had been the center of my life. My mother and father had been so enamored with the season they’d named me after one of the staples for gifts and Christmas trees.

There was nothing about Christmas that I didn’t love.

Perhaps I was just what he needed. Beyond the sex, there was a little hope in my heart. Maybe I could show him that Christmas could be the season of giving.

And not just orgasms. Though I couldn’t deny I was okay with the thought of a few orgasms in my future.

I straightened my clothes and rushed out to find him standing in front of the elevator.

The doors slid open and Parker Murdock stood there. Relief washed over his features. “You found him—” He squinted, then his eyes grew wide. “Linc? I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Shut up.”

“You know Mom is downstairs, right?”

“I do,” he said between clenched teeth. Very un-Santa-like.

I tugged on his sleeve.

Linc let out a growly sigh. “Yes, Hot Elf?”

My eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? Hot Elf isn’t appropriate.”

“I’m thinking you don’t want me to use Miss Kane downstairs. Or would you prefer I use your first name? Which would be?”

“My name is Kandy.”

“You can’t be serious.” His eyebrow winged up.

“So says the man with the professional Santa suit in his closet.”

“Touché.”

“Mr. Murdock—the other one—where’s my assistant?”