Santa’s Mistletoe Playbook

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

T RINITY

I curled into Dylan’s chest, my cheek resting just below his shoulder. His heart beat slow and steady there while I trembled in his arms, my body still recovering from the hard sort of love he promised me and delivered. I’d had a fair few boyfriends through college and one pathetic attempt at a one night stand, but none of them came through like Dylan. The boy gave as good as he promised, and I doubted my legs would work properly any time soon.

Pity it’s a one off thing.

Because the only part I didn’t believe in was his sweet talk about Christmas dinner.

Hell, I was just a girl he picked up at college, even if it wasn’t his campus, and he had every right to be angry with me when I tricked him.

I’ll have Lachie’s head on my kitchen table for this .

I promised I’d never do the aggressive sort of journalism others lunged for, diving into people’s lives in damaging ways. That never appealed to me. Sharing information freely was the goal, not stripping others down and baring their secrets for a big buck. I wanted to understand how people ticked, but I let a pithy promise to my brother cloud the one I made to myself when I enrolled at Blackstone.

Still, Dylan could have spanked me, and if he’d been an asshole, I would have been in real trouble. He played for the enemy for fuck’s sake. But just like before he couldn’t keep his hands off me, or mine off him. I clung to him even now as he held me like he shouldn’t. The snow eased back enough for me to be able to see the buildings across the quad from my office, but he still hadn’t moved. Neither had I, except when he kissed me.

And by all the gods, could that man kiss.

My lips were tender. I didn’t need to touch them to know that. He kissed me nearly as long as we sat tangled together, gentle, reassuring caresses that chipped away at my heart every time he brushed his open mouth over mine, his hold tightening almost possessively.

“You’ve got a filthy little mind in there, haven’t you?” Dylan broke the silence, stroking my hair like he had since we collapsed on the floor together in a bundle of limbs.

He helped fix my clothes but when I pushed away from him, he silently gathered me into his arms, creating a wall of muscle I could hide behind. Which I had for the last hour or maybe two. Many body parts had numbed, but he felt too good wrapped around me to risk moving.

“What do you mean?” I murmured, tipping my head back.

His dark eyes caught mine and held, deep and intense. “You liked it when I talked dirty to you. Hell, girl. You came on my cock so hard I couldn't hold back.”

I swallowed hard as heat flushed my cheeks. “I think you’re the filthy one,” I said firmly.

Or at least I tried to say firmly. It came out more along the lines of a croak.

Dylan cupped the back of my head, holding me close in an undeniably intimate gesture that left my stomach floating as gravity gave way. “We can work on that,” he murmured.

Those words sounded almost like a promise. Alarms went off inside my head, all heralded by a row of flags in the colour red.

“You know that’s not going to happen,” I said softly, breaking his gaze to study his collarbone. Hell, even that had muscle.

“Meaning?” His voice was light, but the knuckles he bumped beneath my chin were relentless.

“I’m just another quick fuck for the playboy. I know that,” I whispered around the lump in my throat.

“Do you.” His soft voice jerked me out of my slice of serenity.

“Yes,” I snapped. “Your weakness isn’t a girl with purple hair and eyes, Dylan. It’s any girl you can fuck for a good time.”

Dyaln met my gaze, unflinching. “Is that what we had, huh? A good time, Trin?”

I faltered. It hadn’t been good. Sex with Dylan Mountforth was of the mindblowing variety. He ruined me for any other man, and I knew it.

Hell, from the way he stared at me, lacking all his joking facade, he knew it too.

“Yes,” I whispered defiantly, unable to draw out any additional volume from my throat.

He nodded slowly, his face and voice impassive. “Okay.”

I blinked, turning in his arms and retreating so I could see him in full. “Okay?”

Dylan sat with his legs splayed out, his arms still slightly curved. Even his shoulders turned in, leaving a Trinity-sized hole in the middle where I curled into him a second ago.

“If it was good, then we’re good, right?” His emotionless voice matched his blank facade.

The missing emotions roiled through me. This is why I don’t do one night stands.

Or one afternoon stands on Christmas Eve.

“I guess so.” I stood, suddenly glad he helped tuck my body back into the clothes that were warm then, but constricted me now. All I wanted was out of this room before the suddenly stale air asphyxiated me.

“Good, then.” Still impassive, Dylan sat there, unmoving.

I clenched my teeth against the indecision of needing to throw myself back into his arms and beg, but I didn’t want to be that girl. The girl who probably hung off him every time he did this, the girl he couldn't get rid of when he tried.

Grabbing a file I didn’t need, I tossed it under my arm, throwing my saturated jacket and coat over my shoulders. “You know your way out, right? I mean, you won’t get lost finding your car, or anything?” I bit my lip, needing him to react, do something .

Dylan gave me nothing at all.

“I’m good,” he said simply.

My stale air ran out. I backed to the door, yanking it open and lost a few pieces of paper, but I didn't bend down to retrieve them. If I stayed, I might beg him to keep me like he pretended he wanted.

Nodding, I darted out of the room, knowing I’d never be simply good ever again. Cold air hot my face, freezing away the ghost of his touches.

I had the odd impression it was the same for Dylan.