Santa's Dirty Obsession
And he never does anything without some cruel hidden intention behind it.
I tossed the stocking into the closet and slammed the door, and stood there for a moment breathing hard, forcing myself to calm down.
I would not let this ruin my Christmas.
I would not let him ruin my Christmas.
Not even Grayson Holt and whatever twisted game he was playing now could take this day away from me.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and headed to the bathroom to shower.
When I came downstairs forty minutes later—showered, dressed in jeans and a soft cream sweater from the suspiciously well-stocked closet—the smell of bacon and fresh coffee hit me immediately.