Chapter Two

Sinclair

"Fuck," I growl, gripping my cock through my sweats as Lyric's yellow BMW Z4 bounces down the gravel lane toward my cabin, kicking up small pebbles and mud from the tires. She's driving too fast again.

I've told her a thousand times that she needs to slow down before she rips the bottom of her car all to hell, but she never listens. I think the curvy little brat was put on this earth just to defy me. She does it at every turn as if it's a biological imperative.

I know exactly what she needs to settle her down and make her behave. Me between those thick thighs, fucking my kid into her while she screams for daddy. I've thought of nothing else since I met her a year ago.

I'm almost ready to claim her. Almost. I just need to keep it together for a few more days.

But Christ, every second I spend without her is torture. I'm hanging on by a thread.

I toss my axe and throw the split log onto the pile. There's nothing I can do to hide my erection in my sweats, so I don't try. Maybe it'll teach her little ass to call before she shows up out here unannounced.

She pulls up in front of the cabin, Christmas music blaring from her speakers as I stride around the side of the house.

"Hey!" She pops out of the car, beaming at me. Of course she's in another tiny sweater dress. The damn thing barely covers her cunt. Her jade eyes run down my naked torso, growing comically wide. "You're naked."

"I'm wearing more than you are, Lyric," I growl. "Where the fuck is the rest of your dress? It's forty degrees out here."

She tears her gaze away from me, looking down at herself. "The rest of my dress? It's all here, Sinclair. And look." She thrusts her arms out. "I'm even wearing a coat this time."

I curse up at the sky. This girl is going to be the death of me.

"You have tattoos."

I lower my gaze to find hers crawling all over me again, taking in every single one of my tattoos. My cock throbs when her tongue peeps out. Naturally, her curious gaze goes right to it.

If I were a gentleman, I'd hide the hard bastard behind my hands or angle my hips away or something. But I'm not a gentleman, not when it comes to her. So I don't do any of those things. I let her stare.

Look at him, little girl. Imagine how he'll feel inside your little princess cunt. You'll know soon enough.

"Is it safe to chop wood like that?" she asks after a moment, her round cheeks pink. The breathless hue to her tone is sexy as hell. Fuck, everything about her—from her silky blonde hair to her golden skin to her sinful curves and sweet voice—is sexy to me.

I'm obsessed with this girl. Follow-her-to-school, sit-outside-her-classroom obsessed. I stalk her like it's my goddamn job. Not even her brother knows how often I follow her around town. If he did, he wouldn't let me anywhere near her.

"I wasn't chopping wood like this, baby girl," I murmur.

"You weren't?" Her gaze flies to mine, full of avid curiosity. "Then why…?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Lyric."

She swallows hard, her delicate throat working. "M-maybe I do want the answer," she whispers.

"Jesus Christ," I groan under my breath, glancing up at the sky again in the hopes God is up there, willing to grant me a Christmas miracle. I'm going to need one to keep my hands off this girl until she's wearing my ring.

If he is listening, he doesn't answer. Not that I expected him to or anything. He's probably up there laughing his ass off right now, saddling an innocent girl like her with a motherfucker like me. I don't just want to fuck her. In my mind and in my heart, she's my little princess, my baby girl. I want to spoil her, feed her from my hand. She's the center of my world. And when her little pussy aches, soon, it'll be my fingers, my tongue, and my cock getting her off.

I tip my head back down, looking at her. "Why are you even here, Lyric?"

She flinches like I hit her, something filtering through her expression too quickly for me to read. "I came to bring you this," she mutters, ducking back inside the car. The back of her little dress comes dangerously close to flashing her panties at me.

My fucking mouth waters.

I take two steps toward her, a split second from plastering her against the side of her car to get my first taste of her. She pops back out with a stack of papers in her hands, thrusting them in my direction.

"From Lachlan," she mumbles. "And he said to tell you that he'll see you on Christmas."

I barely have time to grab the paperwork before she releases it, almost as if she doesn't want to risk her skin meeting mine.

Fuck. She's pissed.

"Lyric."

"I'll see you later." She dives back into her car, but not before I see the tears shimmering in her eyes.

Fucking hell. She isn't mad. She's hurt.

I hurt her.

My heart threatens to cleave itself in two.

"Baby girl, I'm sor–"

She slams her door, cutting me off.

I mutter a curse, yanking open the car door before she can throw the car in reverse and pull off.

"Out of the car, princess," I growl. "Now."

"I need to get home. I have things to do," she lies, her little fists locked around the steering wheel. She stubbornly refuses to look in my direction, using her hair as a shield between us.

"Too bad. I have to sign these and send them back to your brother."

She huffs a loud, dramatic sigh but reluctantly kills the engine and climbs from the car again. I crowd her the whole time, not letting her put space between us.

"Your little attitude is pissing me off, baby girl," I growl in her ear.

"Good, because your bossy attitude is making me mad too," she snaps right back at me, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. She ducks under my arm, stomping toward my house. "Can I use your bathroom, or will your girlfriend mind?"

Girlfriend? What the fuck?

Ah, dammit all to hell. Is that what she thinks I meant by not asking questions she didn't want to know the answers to? That I've got a fucking woman here? As if they even exist to me. They didn't long before I met her. They certainly haven't since she came into my life.

If I can't have her, I won't settle for anyone else. Fuck that. I'm loyal to her and her alone. Always.

"I don't have a fucking girlfriend, Lyric."

She misses a step but doesn't acknowledge me. My back teeth grind together. One day soon, I'm going to give her the spanking she's itching for.

She stomps up the steps to my cabin and lets herself in. I damn near run into her when she comes to a dead stop in the doorway.

"You didn't decorate for Christmas."

"It's just me out here," I remind her.

"You don't even have a tree," she whispers.

Jesus. She's sad because I don't have a tree. And I can't stand seeing her sad, so I'll put up a damn tree just to make her happy. Even if it is a waste of time. Because there's nothing I won't do for her. I live and breathe for her. Everything I do is for her.

The business. The house I've been building for the last year. All of it is for her.

"Lyric, go to the bathroom."

She scowls over her shoulder at me and then scurries through the kitchen and down the hallway.

I throw the paperwork on the kitchen counter to find a pen, only to frown when an envelope slides out.

It's addressed to Santa in Lyric's neat handwriting. She even wrote it in a glittery pink color. I snatch it up from the counter, curious about what she wants badly enough to write a letter to Santa. She may believe in Christmas magic, but I doubt she's believed in Santa in years.

The envelope is sealed, with a stamp on the front. I don't think she meant to give this to me.

But she gave it to you anyway, the little devil on my shoulder whispers.

I hesitate for a full five-count before tearing into the envelope.

Dear Santa...