“It’s for the best,” she says with a shrug. “A proper Southern arrangement. And if we everwereto get pregnant, bonus—I’d be like the Virgin Mary to my brother. Now that’s a real Christmas miracle for you.”
I stand up, scooping Molly up by the ass so she’s lifted face to face with me. When her legs wrap around my middle and my dick presses against the warmth between her thighs, I nearly lose it. How did I ever put any space between us at all? Any time?
I walk her back to the doorway, hating that we probably need to get inside and finish out her party. I can hear Bennett talking through the door, and some anonymous voice asking if he could pay for an autograph and picture.
“Be careful what you joke about, Molly Moore. I plan on taking you up to your bedroom after this party and getting you good and bred.” I waggle my eyebrows to emphasize the teasing.
She pulls back, her face suddenly stone cold serious. “I’m ovulating right now. Should we slip in a quickie?”
My gut tenses. “Wait, you’re serious? Didn’t I deliver enough Christmas miracles tonight with the saving your inn and bringing the basketball players and moving back…”
Molly’s face cracks into a new grin. “Jeez, Smith, you arewaytoo easy of a mark.”
“Thank Christ.” Relief courses through me. “I was ready to commit to a girlfriend, but I really don’t know how I feel about the whole Little Haven family scene yet.”
“Well, you should know spontaneous twins and triplets run in my family,” Molly says. “Just so you’re always prepared, right? My Aunt Sylvia got pregnant with my cousins even though she had an IUDandUncle Mark pulled out.”
“What?”
She snorts. “Kidding! Come on, you think my aunt tells her niece about her uncle’s pull-out game?”
“Lord, what have I gotten myself into here?”
“Probably too much.” Molly smiles and takes my chin in her hands as we stop at the doorway, my hand paused on the handle. She points above our heads, and I look up.
Mistletoe. It’s blowing in the breeze, and it’s dusted by a fresh layer of that magic snow.
“Merry Christmas, Gray Smith.”
“Merry Christmas, Molly Moore.”
EPILOGUE
All I can do is laugh when I find Gray hiding out in my office. He’s still dutifully wearing his costume, even if he won’t brave the terror of the Coopey boys out in the barn.
“Andrea Coopey just asked me where you were, you know.” I cross my arms and lean against the door frame.
“Shut the door!” He hisses, waving a hand at me. “It doesn’t make any sense. A six-foot-four muscular Santa Claus? No one has ever heard of Keanu Reeves playing Kris Kringle in a holiday movie.”
“Oh myGod, don’t flatter yourself.” I snort and shut the door anyway. “They voted you in this year, fair and square.”
“Not fair and square,” he insists. “Clay Baker campaigned for me to don the suit. There were signs in town square.”
“He was demonstrating a little initiative.” I smile and shrug.
“He was signing me up to get my balls kicked and my ear spit in by all four Coopey kids.”
“Would it help if I said I think Santa is cute?” I wink and settle in on his lap, straddling him so I can drape my arms around his neck.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he grumbles. I give the fleshy part of his ear a tug until he cries out and dissolves into laughter. “Managing Molly Moore is proving to be infinitely more work than managing a basketball team. You’ll have to do better than telling me you have a Santa fetish.”
“Well, I did make a special call to a certain club Breland Reed mentioned last year when he was at the party…”
He springs back to attention, eyes glued on me as I toy with the top button of my flannel. I glance over my shoulder, making sure the door has stayed shut, despite my assurance that the party will still mostly be in the barn singing their way through a karaoke Jingle Bells led by a wasted Bobby Stewart.
… Hopefully with his pecker in his pants.
I work at the second button, then the third. Gray’s eyes widen as I reveal my braless chest, adorned with two delicate, sheer snowflake-shaped pasties.