Page 14 of Erotic Temptations 1
I definitely needed to get out more.
He squatted in front of me, pretty close, until his face was level with mine. Those green eyes didn’t blink. If anything, they looked softer than before. I braced for gloating, but he didn’t gloat. He just reached up, both hands gentle at my chin.
“On three?” he asked.
“You want to announce when you’re gonna deliver pain?” I stared wide-eyed at him. “Do it when I least expect it like those kids did.”
He grinned, the first real smile I’d seen all day. “And you handled it like a pro.”
“I’ve got battle wounds. How many adults can say they were defeated by an army of toddler drool, sippy cups, and Cheez-Its? I’ve got cheese dust in places that broke me, man. Then they just sit there and stare into your soul like they’re about to reap it. And they have a secret weapon that’s capable of wiping out entire cities. It’s called a tantrum. Trust me. You do not want to be anywhere near when it starts. I’ve seen things, man.”
Amusement sparkled in his eyes. An actual dimple appeared when he grinned. “You done?”
“I’m just telling you what it’s like out there.” My lips quirked. They weren’t all bad. Some were adorable. Not that I ever wanted to see a kid again after this.
With a slow, unfurling motion, he peeled the beard away from my jaw, working in careful movements, glancing at me for any reaction. I tried very hard not to give him one. Three pieces of tape came off without drawing blood. The fourth stuck. I winced before I could stop myself.
“Sorry,” he murmured, breath inching over my skin. His fingers shifted, broad and steady, tracing the line between Santa and human. The tape gave way. I stifled a groan.
He pressed a gauze pad with some kind of ointment to my face, careful as anything. The burn faded. All the while, Mason didn’t break eye contact. Was I hallucinating, or was he really...gentle? This was not the towering elf who tried to break my spirit for ninety minutes straight.
Once the last of the tape was gone, he stepped back, watching me like he was seeing something for the first time.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said.
“Define ‘expected,’” I shot back, hoping humor would mask how off-balance I felt. “Less beard, more dignity?”
He shook his head, pressing his lips together. “No. Just not what I expected. If I’m being honest, I like seeing your face. The real one. Not the dollar-store Santa version.” The way he said it made my stomach flip, and I blamed low blood sugar.
Before I could come up with a response, he popped a new tube of ointment.
“This is for the redness. Hold still,” he murmured, almost under his breath.
Warm fingers skimmed my jawline, patting a cold gel into the tape burn. Standing this close, his cologne hit, a clean, mild scent. He moved slowly, gently like he was afraid of breaking me. A few heartbeats passed before either of us spoke.
“Why Pineflame?” I asked, because silence had begun to feel too intimate.
He cocked his head, expression amused. “Fun for the kids. Holiday spirit or maybe liability protection. You look like you could weaponize a candy cane.”
“Let me guess. Antlers incident?”
He just smiled. “Something like that. Pineflame sounded more...fun.”
“It sounds like a scented candle. Or a gay nightclub.”
“Both are accurate.” He chirped the next bit. “Management’s idea of inclusivity.” Those green eyes flicked up and down my face, checking his handiwork. “You’re good as new. Mostly.”
“You sure?” I asked, running a finger along my jaw. It stung a little, but I realized my face was open to the air for the first time in hours. Weirdly, I missed the scratchy synthetic hair, as if losing it made me too…visible.
He leaned in, just a fraction too close, and inspected a red streak by my lip. “You really did handle those kids like a pro. I’ve seen grown men fold in less time,” he murmured.
I wanted to preen. “I’ve never interacted with kids before. I always avoided them because they’d seemed so…oozy. They are, but kind of cute too.” Then I thought of my brother. “Bryce’s shift got changed. He called me and guilted me into filling in for him.”
Mason’s mouth quirked at the corners. “You’re loyal. That’s rare.”
“I’m not loyal. I just hate surprises involving public humiliation.” The words came out with more edge than I intended. But to his credit, Mason didn’t press. He just twisted the little cap back on the ointment and tossed it into the kit.
He pivoted, rummaged on a lower shelf, and pulled out a sealed bag—a real, bona fide Santa belly, complete with Velcro. It looked ridiculous. And a little like a floatation device.