“When did we get here?” she pressed as the sleep haze lifted.
Soren paced across the room. “I brought you back last night. You weren’t feeling well.”
She shook her head, hoping the pieces of last night would fall into place. But it didn’t work. She glanced around to assess the situation.
She was in bed, and Soren was with her.
Oh no!
Did she sleep with him again?
She scrambled to pull the covers over her body in a flash of misplaced modesty.
“You’re wearing pajamas, Bridget. You don’t have to do that,” he said, all trademark dark and moody.
She glanced down at her Christmas pajamas, covered in prancing reindeer and smiling Santas. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Welp, Soren got the whole package today: bed head, bad breath, and a ridiculous sleep-set. She glanced at the red-nosed reindeer on her left boob. These pajamas looked like something a toddler would wear.
And hello, holiday pajama fail—so much for being not the average vixen!
“For your information, I bought these pajamas for the trip as a joke,” she said, going for indignant.
Soren cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s your story?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t remember much of anything that happened last night.” She ran her hands through her tangle of dark hair as snippets from the evening flashed in a confusing cluster of events. “We made cookies, and then there were Santas, and fairies, and cake? Is that right? And what happened at the spaghetti dinner?”
Soren started to speak, but she raised her hand and stopped him.
“You said it’s afternoon, right?”
“Yes,” he answered, raising an eyebrow.
Dammit! With all the wedding prep still left to do, she didn’t have a second to lose!
She sprang out of bed, another poor choice, especially with the sheet wrapped around her leg. Wobbling forward, she put out her hands to break her fall when Soren caught her.
“You need to slow down and eat something with a modicum of nutrition.” He helped her stand, then lifted the lid off a plate revealing scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. And next to it, a giant glass of orange juice.
Her stomach growled something ferocious as she snapped up the fork and went at it like a starved animal.
“Sorry, I’m so hungry,” she said between bites of egg and toast.
He waved her off. “That’s nothing compared to what you did to a funnel cake last night.”
She took a bite of bacon. “There was really a funnel cake?”
“Yep.”
The food jumpstarted her brain, and she glanced at her ridiculous pajamas. “I don’t remember changing into these.”
His gaze flicked to the plate. “You didn’t.”
“Lori helped me?” she asked, but the knot in her belly indicated that while her mind was fuzzy, her body was pretty sure that her sister had nothing to do with her outfit change.
A muscle ticked on Soren’s perfect chiseled face. “No.”
“You did this?” she blurted.
“Who else, Bridget?” he threw back.
She gasped and pointed at him with the piece of bacon. “You saw me naked?”
He cocked his head to the side with a smug quirk of his lips.
The creep! He was supposed to be her one-night stand—her one night to frolic in the land of Vixenhood. Instead, he’d become her roommate.
She took an angry bite of bacon. “Never mind. Do not answer that.”
What was going on with this guy anyway? More Jekyll and Hyde hijinks. When they were making cookies, he’d seemed different. He’d danced. He’d held her in his arms and kissed her.
And holy sleigh bells, when their lips met, she’d felt weightless, like a snowflake drifting in the air.
The heat in his gaze had burned through her. The intensity of those green cat-like eyes had left her stunned and drowning in another Birdie and Scooter lip lock free-for-all.
And that was yet another mistake.
She had to get it together when it came to this guy. He wasn’t her friend, even though, in the strangest of ways, they’d connected in a confusing, convoluted alternate universe kind of way.
Is it normal to hate a guy but want to tear off his clothes and ride him until you’re cross-eyed from multiple orgasms?
“Swallow, Bridget.”
Her eyes popped open.
“The bacon, in your mouth. You’ve been chewing it the whole time you’ve been spacing out,” he added.
Bacon?
She swallowed, but not because he told her to do it. “I didn’t space out.”
“You did.”
Maybe she did. But she wasn’t about to admit that she’d daydreamed about screwing his brains out.
Because that wasn’t going to happen…again.
“I have to take a shower. I need to get to that bakery in the village and start making the wedding cake. I’m already behind,” she said, shifting gears.
From this point on, there would be no time spent on silly Soren sexual fantasies. Lori’s wedding was in three days. That was the priority.
“Tom and Lori left this morning to get started on the cakes,” he commented.
She frowned. “They did?”
“Yeah, Lori said she knows your grandmother’s recipe for the red velvet cake, and Tom insisted on helping,” he finished with a scowl.
But she didn’t have time to dwell on his Tom obsession. Shame tore through her chest. All her planning for the perfect wedding and, somehow, she was still getting it wrong. She’d promised Lori that she’d take care of everything, just like her grandma Dasher would have wanted.
Instead, Lori was baking her own cake!
Add another failure to the Birdie life scoreboard.
She chugged down the glass of orange juice, then searched the space for the bathroom. Just as she’d remembered when she’d come here as a girl, the rooms were tidy little suites with rustic furnishings, characteristic of a mountain getaway. She spied the tub and shower combo past an opened door and peeled off her top, then shrieked and covered her breasts.
“I forgot you were here!” she blurted.
Soren resurrected his scowl. “How? We’re having a damn conversation.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” she replied, adjusting her arms to hide her bare breasts.
That muscle in his jaw ticked again as his gaze slid down the length of her body. “Do you want some privacy?”
She shook her head, ignoring the crackle of sexual tension between them. She cleared her throat as his wandering eyes migrated to meet her gaze.
Bridget Dasher, forget the tingles and figure out what happened last night!
“I need answers, and I need them now. You’re coming with me,” she commanded as best as one commands half-naked.
His jaw dropped. “Into the shower?”
Shirtless, she shimmied past him. “Of course not! Just stand outside the door with your back turned.”
“You’re kidding! You know I’ve seen everything—and tasted most everything,” he replied with a hint of that wolfish grin that had made her toes curl the night she’d met him.
Truth time. Did she want him to leave?
Yes?
No?
Definitely, yes! But she needed answers. He had to stay, not because she liked the way his eyes devoured her body. No, he needed to remain in the room only because she required basic information.
Nothing more. That tingling sensation was not a sexual reaction. It was chills. There must be a draft in the room.
She cleared her throat, going all business. “I need to know exactly what happened last night, and you’re going to tell me. Now, turn around and let me get in the shower.”
“Fine,” he grumbled.
She kicked out of her pajama bottoms, then leaped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed.
“Okay, I’m in. Shut your eyes.”
“My back i
s to you. Why do I need to close my eyes?”
“Because you do!” she huffed as she turned on the water, then screamed as a frigid spray peppered her body.
The shower curtain flew back, and Soren peered in. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She grabbed the curtain. “Get out! It’s only cold water.”
“Then don’t scream!” he griped, all Grinch meets Scrooge.
He was especially cantankerous today.
And where did she come up with cantankerous? Who used that word?
She fiddled with the temperature control, and the water went from icy cold to toasty warm. “I need you to start from the beginning. I can’t remember anything about the spaghetti dinner.”
“That makes sense. You weren’t there.”
She pulled back the curtain. “Why was I not there?”
“Can I turn around?” he asked, irritation pricking each word.
“Yes, tell me what’s going on!”
The twitch on his cheek made him look like he wanted to laugh, but he’d gone all broody sex god.
No, not sex god! Broody creep who wanted to derail Lori’s wedding.
No. More. Sex. Thoughts.
“Well, Birdie. I won’t mince words,” he began with a nice helping of jackass.
“Just tell me what happened, Scooter!”
“Fine. Here’s the short version. You were stoned out of your mind last night.”
She dropped the curtain, then recovered, and tugged it back into place. “I was not!”
“You were. Remember those gummy bears?”
“Yeah.”
“They weren’t just sugar and whatever the hell you use to make gummy candy. They were Tanner’s special recipe made with, in my opinion, way too much THC. You know what that is, don’t you? It’s what produces the high in cannabis.”
THC? Cannabis?
“Like, pot?” she questioned.
“That’s right. Think of it this way. Now, you can change your nickname from Birdie to Maryjane.”
She closed the curtain, then opened a travel-sized shampoo and started in on washing her hair.
Stoned?
She could barely believe it. Those gummy bears did have an interesting flavor to them. Still, never in a million years would she have thought they were laced with psychoactive compounds.
She stood under the spray as the bubbles from the shampoo pooled at her feet. “Why was there THC in the gummy bears?”
“I don’t know. It’s legal here in Colorado,” he huffed.
“But why didn’t Tanner tell us?” she asked, popping open the conditioner with a bit more force than necessary. She was damned angry.
“I’m guessing that even though it’s legal, he keeps it on the down-low.”
She shook her head. “Dabbles in agriculture, my ass.”
“And you had a lot. You ate almost the entire bag. The kid was a little freaked out when we got to Kringle Acres,” Soren added.
She tore back the curtain. “So, we did make it there?”
“Oh yeah.”
She closed the curtain, then shut her eyes, thinking.
“I remember seeing my sister, Tom, and his entire family…and a whole bunch of Santas. Is that right?”
“That is correct. And you sniffed a rolling pin, talked to an egg, and stole a funnel cake,” Soren continued.
She stared at the mini water tornado spiraling down the drain, pathetically apropos of her life, as the fuzzy pieces of the night came back to her.
A camera.
Dots of sparkling lights dancing in the darkness.
Fairies.
And…oh crap!
A spasm of anxiety rippled through her chest like a bomb hitting a pool of water. “The Abbotts must hate me! Lori must be livid!” she said, lowering herself to sit in the tub under the spray.
Footsteps caught her attention as Soren entered the bathroom, his outline visible through the shower curtain.
“Nobody knows you were baked. At least, I don’t think they do. Tanner told them you were suffering from altitude sickness, and then I got you out of there,” he said, his voice taking on a gentler note.
She rested her head on her knees. “Do people with altitude sickness talk to eggs and steal cake?”
“That would be funnel cake, which you wolfed down like a champ. And no, people stoned out of their minds talk to food and engage in petty theft.”
She glanced at his form on the curtain. “Why did you help me?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “What do you mean?”
She sighed as rivulets of water trailed down her body. “Isn’t this what you wanted—for the Abbotts to hate the Dasher sisters, and cast us off, so you can run off with your best friend and a gaggle of bimbos?”
Soren didn’t reply right away, and she glanced up to see the man’s outline had slumped a fraction.
“I want Tom to know that he doesn’t have to make any rash decisions,” he answered with a somber edge.
“By ruining his wedding?” she shot back.
He straightened. “By whatever means possible.”
She stood and wiped the water out of her eyes as another piece of last night’s puzzle came to her. “You kissed me yesterday.”
“Yes, but only because you were molesting a Hershey kiss, and I had to make you stop,” he grumbled but not as grumbly as usual.
She shook her head, her gaze locked on his form. “No, I remember that kiss. There was another one.”
She closed her eyes as a flash and a pop echoed through her mind.
“We also kissed in a photo booth,” he conceded.
“That’s where we were,” she said as the evening came into focus.
“It was a lapse in judgment,” he answered, still without the usual bite.
She stared down at the swirling water. “We seem to have a lot of those lapses.”
He touched the shower curtain. “We do.”
There he was—the man who’d made love to her with such tenderness, who’d held her in his arms and twisted her hair between his fingers before she’d fallen asleep.
She slid her fingertip up the shower curtain but stopped just below where his index finger rested. Beads of water ran down the slick surface as they stood inches apart. She should detest the man on the other side of the curtain. And she did hate his intentions when it came to Tom and Lori’s wedding, but there had to be more.
Or not.
The knot in her belly twisted.
Was there more to Garrett or even Gaston? Hadn’t she hoped that her connection to them was real, or at least, based on mutual respect, only to learn, that in both cases, she was just some nice girl who didn’t make the cut?
Why did she always assume there was more to others and never more to herself?
You’re the most stifled, stuck person I know. I feel sorry for you, Bridget.
Jagged and rough, Garrett’s words cut through her.
But now was not the time to dwell on her failings, on all the missed opportunities and forgotten dreams—all the should haves and could haves.
This was who she was and perhaps all she’d ever be.
But one thing was certain. She needed to stick to the plan and make Lori’s wedding a success. Grandma Dasher had entrusted her with her little sister’s welfare, and she couldn’t fail the woman who had taken them in when there was no one else.
She drew back her hand, then turned off the water. With newfound resolve coursing through her veins, she was ready to do whatever it took to get the job done when a ping rang out in the bedroom.
“Is that my phone?” she called.
“No, it’s mine. And it’s a text from Tom.”
She wiped the water from her eyes.
Game on.
10
Bridget
“What does the text say?” she asked, doing her best to keep her tone light and breezy.
She could not let on that anytime these two communicated, it set her pulse racing.
> “Tom says to tell you that the cakes are in the freezer. Do you know what that means? Are you making ice cream cakes or funnel cakes that require refrigeration? Why the hell would you need a freezer for a cake?” Soren grumbled.
A cake question? That’s it?
Score a point for Team Dasher!
She released a relieved breath, ignored his Scroogyness, and reached for a towel. “It’s easier to frost a cake when it’s cool. Lori knows almost as much as I do when it comes to baking.”
“Is that what you’re doing today? Frosting cakes?” he called from the bedroom.
She towel-dried her hair, then twisted it into a damp bun. “It’s what we’re doing today,” she answered, making sure to add a touch of vixen to her tone.
“We?” he bit out.
“Yes, Mr. Best Man, my sister and the Abbotts are spending the day in the village. There’s ice skating and all sorts of activities to do there while we work on the wedding cake.”
He groaned. “The wedding isn’t until Christmas Eve. That’s three days away!”
“Right, and I need to make sure the cake is ready. Plus, I’m preparing a croquembouche for the rehearsal dinner, and that’s no small feat. So, we have to get the wedding cake done a couple of days early,” she answered, wrapping a towel around her body.
“Croak-um-what?” he exclaimed.
“It’s a French dessert, and it’s on the schedule. Now, open my bag and hand me my bra, a pair of panties, my black leggings, and the red flannel shirt dress.”
“You want me to get into your bag?” he griped.
Touchy, touchy!
“What else are you doing?” she threw back.
“Fine!” he huffed.
She tightened the towel and peeked out the half-opened door and found him holding up two of her G-strings, one black and one red.
“What are you doing with my underwear?”
“I’m deciding which ones match the bra,” he answered.
“Just pick a pair!” she snapped.
“I don’t spend a lot of time picking out women’s undergarments. I’m more of a rip-them-off kind of guy.”
She knew that.
“Go with the black,” she said, waving for him to hurry the hell up.
“No, red,” he countered, gathering the items she’d requested.
She pinned him with her gaze. “Are we going to fight about everything?”
Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance Page 15
