Page 27 of Santa Baby

Three headshots later, the boys scurried away licking their wounds, and I was sitting on a bench beside Fia, who had snow all over her. “Did you even get any of them, or just me?”

“I have terrible depth perception,” she shot back, wiping melted snow from her cheeks.

“I can tell.”

She nudged me, leaning into my shoulder as she laughed. “That was fun. You have to admit it.”

“I did have fun but I’m sure my lawyer is going to have afield day if their mothers find out who I am and how deep my pockets are.”

“You did hit several of them in the face.” She nodded. “And they are technically children.”

I dragged my tongue along my lower lip as I stretched my arm along the top of the bench with Fia nestled close. I did have fun. A lot of fun, actually. For a moment all of the stress from work, from the holidays, from the crushing weight of my familial expectations lifted and I was just Mason for a moment. Mason, who was walking his date home through Central Park. Mason, whose date was now leaning her head against his shoulder while she shivered.

I roped my arm around her. “It’s your own fault. You spent more time rolling around in the snow than helping me defeat those youths.”

“Youths? God, Mason. You’re an eighty-year-old man trapped in the body of a thirty-five-year-old.”

“I’ve been called an old soul.”

“Oh please.” She chuckled. “When people say that they mean you’re boring.”

I smiled down at her, shaking my head. “Do you think I’m boring, Ms. Webster?”

“No, surprisingly, I don’t.”

“Surprisingly?”

She shrugged. “Colin didn’t exactly sell me on this scheme with his description of you.”

My brows rose, and her mouth lifted into a teasing smile.

“You still said yes,” I said.

“I don’t regret it. This has been fun. You’re fun.”

No one had ever said those words to me before. I’d been described as serious, somewhat intimidating. People tended to give me a wide berth. Fia, however? She stayed close. She said whatever she wanted around me, not caring about my status, my power, or my wealth.

The tip of her nose was bright red when I looked down at her again. My hand slid up and down her arm. “Your teeth are chattering.”

“I’m a little cold.”

“We should go. I need to get you home.”

“I don’t really want the night to end yet,” she said.

Her eyes shone a soft amber in the hazy light of a flickering streetlamp. I found myself leaning closer. “Me neither.”

She wrapped her arm around my waist, her fingers curling into my leather jacket. “What would we be doing right now if we were a real couple?”

“I don’t know. You’d probably be curled up on the couch watching a Christmas movie while I paced in our bedroom trying to come up with a good plan for how I was going to propose to you.”

She bit her lip and the action made a warmth spread through my chest, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt.

So, I continued. “I’d come join you, full of nerves, and watch the movie with you in our apartment that you’d just finished decorating for the holidays.”

“I like that.” Her voice cracked a bit.

“Yeah, so do I.” What was happening right now? I had to be imagining that I was leaning in again, my hand resting against the side of her neck as I angled her face just where I needed it to kiss her.