Filthy Rich Santas

29. Ryder

29

RYDER

The next day, I lean back against the leather seat, my fingers absently combing through Lana’s hair as she sleeps with her head on my lap. The steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic click of Beckett’s knitting needles from the front passenger seat create a soothing backdrop to the peaceful moment.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I gaze down at her. We definitely wore her out last night, but it was worth every second. Still, I’m glad we all insisted she take it easy today. She put up a bit of a fight about skipping her driving shift, but Beckett shut that down pretty quickly.

After all, she made a promise to us to take better care of herself, and to let us take care of her for the remainder of the road trip, so that she doesn’t get another flare up of her lupus.

I frown for a moment, my hand going still. All the research we did the other day on this disease has left me feeling overly protective of her, and I’m not used to it.

Not because I think Lana isn’t capable of taking care of herself now that she’s no longer hiding from her diagnosis, because she’s hands down one of the most capable people I know.

The part that has me feeling a little thrown is just how much I want to take on some of that burden with her.

A small huff of air escapes me, and Tristan’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“Is she okay?”

I grin at him, a little of my unease with my newfound feelings easing when I see that same protective instinct reflected back at me from him.

“Yeah. Just resting.”

“Good,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles and then turns his attention back to the road. “She needs it.”

I chuckle and go back to stroking her hair, a flicker of arousal filling me as I recall how Beckett finally got her to agree to skip her driving shifts today.

He’s a clever bastard who knows exactly which buttons to push, and he did it by pointing out that if she rested up during the day, she’d have plenty of energy to let us fuck her the way she deserves when we finally stop for the night.

She gave in quickly after that, and I’d be lying if I said my cock isn’t already twitching with interest as I look forward to it.

But now isn’t the time, so I shake off those thoughts and try to distract myself with something else.

“What’re you working on there?” I ask Beckett over the quiet clicking of his needles. “Another scarf?”

“Hat,” he grunts, not looking up from his work.

I study the rich, warm colors of the yarn he’s chosen, then grin. “Bet it’ll look great with Lana’s hair.”

Beckett’s hands falter for just a second, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. I can read the big guy like a book after all these years, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks.

Tristan glances over at him while he drives, snorting softly.

Yup. I’m definitely not the only one in this car who’s at risk of catching feelings here.

Not that those feelings can go anywhere, but it’s still nice to know we’re all affected by her.

She sighs softly, shifting in her sleep, and my chest tightens with an unfamiliar warmth as I look down at her.

If she wasn’t Caleb’s little sister, or if we’d come together under different circumstances, I wonder if…

“Ryder, do you need a pit stop?”

I look up, jolted out of my thoughts as Tristan points to a sign listing the amenities in the upcoming town.

“I’m good,” I tell him, reeling a little as I realize how wistfully I was starting to imagine a different kind of future with Lana. One where we didn’t go back to business as usual at the end of this trip.

I don’t even know what it is that I’m wishing for, exactly. I’ve never wanted a serious relationship before. I’ve always kept things casual for a reason. But now, the idea of letting this—letting her —go makes my chest tight.

It’s confusing as hell, and when I spot another sign up ahead, I jump on the chance to focus on something simpler. Something guaranteed to make Lana smile.

“Forget pit stops,” I say, pointing to the sign. “That’s the place we looked up, right?”

Tristan glances at it. “Oh, right. Good catch.”

“Exit coming up in about a mile. Don’t miss it.”

Tristan rolls his eyes at me, already signaling. “Yeah, yeah, I just said I see it. Are you going to wake her up?”

I don’t have to. As he pulls off the highway, Lana stirs in my lap.

She blinks up at me, sleepy-eyed and slightly rumpled, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

“Are we there?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “Did I really sleep that long?”

I chuckle, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Nah, love. It’s still mid-afternoon. We’re just making an unplanned stop.”

That gets her attention. She sits up, curiosity brightening her blue eyes. “Unplanned stop? What for?”

I exchange a quick glance with the guys in the front seat, then smirk at Lana. “You’ll see.”

She looks between the three of us, her lower lip jutting out in an adorable pout. “Oh, come on! You can’t just say that and not tell me.”

Tristan chuckles. “Watch us.”

I lean in close, nipping at her ear because I can’t help teasing her a little. “Just remember, good things come to those who wait.”

She shivers, and I have to bite back a groan. Fuck, the things this girl does to me without even trying.

“Fine,” she huffs. “But it’d better be worth the suspense.”

By the time we finally arrive at our destination, I can practically feel Lana vibrating with curiosity next to me. As Tristan guides the car into a parking spot in front of the enormous warehouse, the curiosity on her face turns to confusion.

It looks a bit like a winter wonderland with ice sculptures all around, festive lights, and tasteful greenery, but there’s nothing to immediately identify why we’re here.

“Is it… a holiday craft fair?” she guesses as we all get out of the vehicle and start walking toward the warehouse.

Before any of us can answer her, we get close enough to catch sight of the posters advertising the exhibition inside, and she gasps, coming to a stop.

“Nope. Not a craft fair,” Beckett says, watching her as realization dawns on her face.

“Holy shit,” Lana breathes. “Emilia Rossetti? Are you guys serious right now?”

I grin. I’d never even heard of the woman Lana identified as her favorite artist before she shared some of her work with us the other day, so it felt like fate when a quick internet search showed that this special installation of her work was directly on our journey.

“Surprise, love,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pressing a kiss to her temple.

She whirls to face me, her expression a mix of shock and pure joy. “You guys remembered?”

“It’s no giant ball of string, but?—”

She flings her arms around me. “Thank you!”

Beckett watches us with a rare smile softening his features, and as soon as Lana releases me, she launches herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Her excitement is contagious, and as she proceeds to hug Tristan and then drag us all inside the warehouse, it hits me just how much I fucking love making her this happy.

I can’t say it’s better than the sex, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t just as good.

We make our way inside the warehouse, and I have to admit, the setup is pretty impressive. The cavernous space is filled with a mix of paintings in what I’m already starting to recognize as the artist’s signature style, as well as sculptures, mixed-media pieces, and other decorative touches that all seem to have the sole purpose of highlighting her work. And interspersed among them all are the same towering ice sculptures on display outside the warehouse, catching and refracting the light in mesmerizing ways.

Lana’s eyes go wide with wonder. “This is… it’s incredible.”

As we start to make our way through the exhibition, Lana eagerly explains the significance of each piece we come across.

I try to pay attention, I really do.

But I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but her.

The way her eyes light up as she talks about the symbolism in a particular painting. The graceful sweep of her hand as she gestures toward an intricate ice sculpture and points out the way it complements the artist’s work. The soft curve of her lips as she smiles up at me when she catches me staring.

“You’re not even looking at the art, are you?” she teases.

I grin, unabashed. “Can’t help it if the view right in front of me is better than anything on these walls.”

“I second that,” Tristan says, adjusting his glasses with a grin as Beckett grunts in agreement.

Lana blushes at our words, and I have to fight the urge to haul her into my arms and kiss her.

“Come on!” She laughs, tugging us toward the next piece before I give in to the impulse.

We end up spending most of the afternoon at the exhibition, and Lana’s enthusiasm never wavers. By the time we leave, the sun is already starting to dip low on the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks.

None of us are particularly tired despite the hours spent wandering through the installation, so we could probably make it a good distance farther before stopping for the night. But instead of getting back on the road, we decide to explore the quaint little town we’ve stumbled upon.

Snow crunches under our boots as we make our way down a picturesque street lined with shops, their windows glowing warmly in the fading light.

Suddenly, Lana stops short, her eyes fixed on something in one of the shop windows. I watch as her face lights up for a moment, then dims just as quickly.

“What’s up, love?” I ask, following her gaze.

She shakes her head, a wistful smile on her face. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just… I liked that dress, but it’s not really my style.”

I study the dress in question—a slinky, form-fitting number that would hug every curve of her body. Then I look back at Lana, seeing the conflict in her eyes.

I get it. I know all about the expectations of wealthy parents, the constant pressure to fit in and be “appropriate.” Which, for someone as naturally curvy as Lana, definitely doesn’t include flaunting her assets the way I’m pretty sure that dress would.

But fuck that. The dress is gorgeous, and so is she.

I grab her hand and pull her into the shop. Tristan and Beckett follow, exchanging knowing looks. We’re clearly all on the same page about this, just like we so often are when it comes to running our business together.

We find the dress and call over a salesperson.

“Tell her your size,” Beckett says, letting some of his inner Dominant through.

It works, because even though Lana’s cheeks pink up a little, she turns to whisper quietly to the salesperson, then takes the dress into the fitting room without any further protest.

When she emerges a few minutes later, looking unsure and vulnerable, I swear my heart stops for a second.

“Holy shit,” Tristan breathes beside me.

Beckett just nods, his eyes dark with appreciation.

“You look fucking incredible,” I finally manage to tell her, my voice rougher than I intended.

She blushes, already shaking her head. “It’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“But—”

“It suits you,” I say before she can come up with some other excuse.

“Really?”

She looks up at all three of us, searching our faces like she’s trying to suss out whether we’re just showering her with empty compliments or actually mean it.

“Really,” Tristan says, holding her gaze.

“It was fucking made for you,” Beckett agrees.

I grin at her. “There’s no way you’re walking out of here without that dress, love.” I hold up a hand when she starts to protest again. “I’m buying it for you.”

She bites her lip as she runs her hands over the material. “I can’t really wear something like this, can I?”

I grin, stepping closer to her. “Well, since it’s coming with us, if you don’t, I guess I’ll have to.”

That startles a laugh out of her, and she looks up at me with a bright smile that hits me right in the chest. After a lifetime spent avoiding attachments—at least, other than to my three best friends—it feels strange to think that making someone else happy can feel so fucking fulfilling.

It’s not long before Tristan and Beckett get in on the action, insisting on buying her clothes too. I don’t know if they’re feeling things for her as strongly as I am right now, but they clearly love the shy way she glows with each compliment just as much as I do.

It makes spoiling her all too easy. None of us can resist her joyfully authentic responses when she actually tries on clothes—clothes that we suggest—that highlight her true beauty so well.

“You guys are spoiling me,” Lana protests weakly as we pile more clothes into her arms, helping her pick out clothes we can tell she really likes instead of just things she feels like she should wear.

“You deserve it,” Tristan insists.

She ducks her head, but not before I see that dimple in her cheek as her grin breaks free. “I’m just not used to this.”

“Then I guess you’d better get used to it,” Beckett rumbles, a hint of a smile on his face as he tips her face back up, his eyes caressing her in a way that seems more intimate than a kiss. “Think you can do that?”

She laughs instead of answering, but hearing him tease her like that really does make me think we might all be feeling things we weren’t prepared for.

It should freak me the fuck out, but for some reason, it doesn’t. And when Lana leans into me once we’re finally checking out, a teasing glint in her eye as she says, “I bet you do this for all the girls, huh? Whisk them away on road trips, buy them pretty things…”

For once in my life, I don’t even consider joking back. I just look down at her, brushing the backs of my finger down her satiny cheek as I smile at her, and tell her the truth.

“Nope. Just you.”

Three words that should spell trouble and send me running as fast as I can in the other direction, but I’ve never meant anything more in my life.

And I don’t want to run anywhere at all.