Page 8 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

HOLLY

The storm still rages outside.

Its constant roar of wind and ice rattle the window frames, making the entire place practically shake.

Alright, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but the noise certainly does nothing to settle my racing pulse the longer I’m stuffed inside the quaint little cabin with three of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Jack, Liam, and Reece.

The names hit me in a sequence, solid and familiar in my mind even though my brain’s still trying to catch up with the fact that they’re here, in the flesh, and looking nothing like the half-faded images I’ve been carrying around with me since childhood.

I can’t believe I didn’t recognize them right away.

My dad’s friends—the ones whose photos I used to look at while flipping through old photos my mom always kept stuffed in a shoebox under her bed.

The same ones whose voices I’d heard on my dad’s phone on the rare occasion he actually wanted to spend time with me, beckoning him into ditching me early to go hang out at some bar down the street.

For so long they were stuck at the periphery of my memories, hazy with time.

But now?

Wow. They’re…hot. Like, unfairly hot.

Mega hot , actually.

How the hell did I forget that ?

It’s like every innocent girl-crush I ever had looking through those photos comes rushing back all at once.

Except now they’ve morphed into something far more dangerous and way more tangible.

My gaze betrays me instantly as I track over them one by one, not being able to help myself.

Jack’s silver hair curled to the side and slightly stubbled jaw shouldn’t be doing things to me, highlighting how sharp his jaw is and making his face looked carved from sin.

His eyes, steady and assessing, lock on me with an intensity that makes my chest tighten.

It feels like he can see straight through me, peeling back every flimsy wall I’ve ever built around myself.

Liam is different with his sharp green eyes and broad shoulders.

He looks like he’s spent the years chopping wood with his bare hands, brooding in flannels.

His deep green eyes are thoughtful, watching me every so often when he thinks I’m not looking.

He’s not as direct as Jack, but his attention makes a shiver race up my spine all the same.

And Reece, God, Reece…

He’s barely changed at all from his photos back in the day. Which somehow makes it worse.

He’s still got that easy, lopsided grin that he flashes at everyone.

His arms are still golden and strong, skin sun-kissed despite us barely having any sun in weeks.

He looks like he hasn’t aged a day past thirty.

And then there’s me, sitting here in my dad’s freshly cleaned cabin in my ratty old sweats and hoodie, my hair knotted up in a lopsided bun and stray strands tickling the back of my neck.

All I can do is sit here and pray the storm ends soon.

I feel too small surrounded by them. Too exposed.

Because no matter how many times I tell myself these are my dad’s friends, my pulse doesn’t seem to care.

It drums hard in my chest, faster every time one of them glances my way or offers me a fresh cup of tea.

And I swear, for just a heartbeat, that I see something flicker in their eyes too.

Something that makes the spot between my legs grow warm.

Fuck me.

My eyes dart back to the window for the nth time.

If I leave now, I’ll probably be able to make it down the mountain without sliding off the side of the cliff.

As long as I drive slow and keep my car tucked against the mountain’s side, I should be fine.

Hopefully.

“Hey, listen. I think I’m going to get going. I don’t think it will be that bad if I leave now. It only just started coming down an hour ago.”

Liam shifts, stepping forward slightly with his arms crossed over his chest.

The movement alone stops me dead in my tracks when I stand up from the couch.

“Holly. It’s fine. Just relax here for a bit. The storm should clear up and then you can go. Even if it’s not sticking, which it is, you don’t want to be going out there with zero visibility.”

I swallow hard. I hate how tight my throat feels.

I’m not scared of him, I’m a terrifyingly other thing.

“I’ll be okay. My dad’s probably going to be annoyed if he shows up and I’m still here.”

“He’ll be fine. You’re not causing us any trouble. Just sit and relax. There’s no need to get anxious on our account, least of all your father’s.” Jack replies, but from his tone, it sounds like there’s nothing up for debate.

His steady gaze holds mine for a beat too long, causing me to feel the undercurrent in it.

It’s meant to be reassurance wrapped in comfort, but all I feel is that pulse between my legs getting worse.

It doesn’t help that the wind rattling isn’t helping my case in the slightest.

The storm’s definitely gotten worse since I arrived.

I know he’s right, of course I do.

I’m not an idiot, contrary to how I may seem to them.

But the thought of spending even another moment stuck in this cabin with three practical Adonises makes me want to throw myself out into the snow just to cool off.

“Fine,” I mumble. “I guess I can make you guys dinner, at least. Since we’ve got some time to kill.”

Jack’s lips curve into a small smile, his eyes softening along with it.

More heat curls in my stomach. “Sure. Go ahead. We brought plenty of food, so use up whatever you want.”

I nod, retreating to the kitchen as quickly as I can without looking back over my shoulder at them.

Not that I need to since I can already feel their gazes following after me.

The kitchen is a reprieve, at least.

A little cooler than sitting by the fire, but it’s needed.

I peel off my hoodie and roll up my sleeves, trying to ignore the heat still staining my cheeks.

Around, there are the usual utensils one would find in a kitchen, a jar of spatulas and wood spoons, a knife set, cutting board tucked next to it, and cabinets filled with mugs, plates, and everything else.

I move over to the pantry first, pulling out a fresh box of pasta and set it down next to the stove. In one of the unpacked bags is fresh olive oil, some canned tomatoes that looked nice and ripe.

A few spice jars are lined along the back part of the stove and I grab those to look through them, finding a few still good.

When I turn to the stove to flip it on, voices from the living room, low and muffled, spill into the kitchen.

“…always pulling this shit,” Liam’s voice rumbles, sounding unmistakably heated.

Jack’s answer is quieter, harder to hear as I strain to make it out. “Not sure why he didn’t tell us she was up here. If she left coming down earlier, she could’ve died. We never would’ve known to look out for her.”

My hand stills, mid-reach for the burner.

Someone exhales hard.

I stand there frozen in place, not knowing what I should be doing.

The last thing I want to be doing was imposing like this.

Sure, the storm isn’t doing me any favors, but neither was falling asleep when I could’ve let the cold wake me up and start my journey back home.

By now, I would’ve been curled up on my own couch, nursing a hot cup of cocoa while my favorite Christmas movie played.

Blowing out a breath, I force my hand to turn on the burner and set down a clean pan.

My knife works automatically through the garlic cloves I manage to find in one of the other bags despite my mind continuing to circle back to the same point: I’m obviously cramping their boys’ weekend.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but then again when are feelings ever rational?

Hopefully by the time I get dinner set and served, the storm will have cleared up and I’ll be free to leave, putting all of this behind me.

And hopefully my dad isn’t too pissed when he finds out I’ve crashed his boys’ weekend before he gets here.