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Gingerly I get back up from the sofa and waddle over to the tree to pick it up. It’s light and tied with a silky blue ribbon. Underneath it someone’s folded up a piece of cheap, blue-lined paper just like the notepad I have on my bookshelf.
Carefully, I unfold it.
My dearest Eve,
I didn’t expect to find what I did with you. I thought I just needed to get you out of my system, but that’s not going to happen, is it, my sweet?
I brought you this token of my gratitude for the relief I was so certain I’d find between your thighs before I understood what you truly are to me. Now I know it’s all wrong. Could I do it over, I would bring you a string of pink pearls as lustrous and full as your sucked clit, and woo you until you agreed to let me take you on that date you so richly deserve.
Nevertheless, the next time we meet, I will make my desires known far more honorably than I did this time.
I stare at the letter, mouth agape. It’s a… I don’t knowwhatit is. My mind tries for love letter, but that’s not it. It’s more a declaration of intent. He’s coming back for me.
I do my very best to ignore my aforementioned clit’s heavy throbbing at the thought—and the subsequent twang of agony from my vagina—and shift my focus to the present.
Barring my middle school boyfriend—who gave me a sucker on a string the week before he broke up with me—no one’s ever bought me jewelry before. Which I assume this is, given the size of the present.
I should probably be outraged that he thought he could break into my home, force me to have sex for hours and hours, and then buy me off with a pretty trinket, but honestly, I was thrilled with just the cookies.
“Highest of standards, Eve,” I mutter as I tug on the ribbon.
Inside is a blue box. I bite my lip and open the lid—and nearly drop the damn thing on the floor.
It’s a fuckinghugediamond.
“Thatcannotbe real.” I lift it out of the box with shaking hands and realize it’s attached to a thin gold chain. Andyup,underneath it is a certificate of authenticity—the damn thing is real.Real-real. As in, I don’t know the first thing about gemstones, but I’m pretty sure this littlethanks-for-pussypresent could easily pay for a luxury vacation to the Caribbean.
I stare at it for several minutes. Then I unclasp the chain, slip it around my neck, and sit back down on the sofa.
The diamond lies like a solid promise between my breasts as I dig into my well-earned Christmas dinner and flick on the first movie.
* * *
I’mthroughMiracle on 34thStreetand halfway intoHome Alone 2when there’s another knock on my door.
Frowning, I pause the movie and get up. Hopefully it’s not another food delivery, because I can barely move, as stuffed as I am from my surprise Christmas dinner.
But it’s not Noelle from Hall Events & Catering on the other side of the door.
It’s Adam McCain.
My boss.
SIXTEEN
SEASON OF ROMANCE
“I, uh. I’m so sorry,” I blurt, because my brain immediately goes back to the last time I saw him—crammed in the executives’ elevator and clinging to him for dear life—and all my panicked brain can think in that moment is that I’m going to get fired on Christmas.
“You’resorry?”he rumbles, eyebrows bunching into a confused frown as he shifts the bouquet of flowers in his arms—dark pink hellebores and deep red roses.
Wait…flowers?And… that voice!
I blink.No.That’s… that’s not…
But it is. And in hindsight, I should have known. How many alphas have I run into that have the money to pay a quarter of a million dollars for a one-night stand?
Or who smells so good my brain shuts down at his mere proximity?
