sheets with a white velvet coverlet. Every surface held red and green candles, not yet lit.
“I was supposed to surprise you with this later on,” he told me.
I stepped into the room. “This is so cool, Phil! A pimpin’ Christmas shag pad!”
“Oh God, do you think?” He followed.
“It’s awesome!” I laughed and threw my arms around his shoulders, stretched up, and kissed his chin. “I love it.”
He grinned down at me and wrapped his arms around me. “Good. I thought I’d bang the Christmas Spirit into you if you still weren’t feelin’ it after dinner.”
“No doubt,” I said, laughing.
His eyes sparkled, and he smiled. “Do you need help with anythin’?”
“Nope. Go make sure you aren’t burning the cheese. I’ll be right down.”
“All right.”
Waiting until I heard him descend the stairs, I nearly tripped over myself into my closet. There, I wrenched off my clothes, even my underwear, and pulled on a tight white tank top where just the darker rose of my nipples could be seen through the fabric and my dark green swishy peasant skirt that hung just below my knees. I slipped a ring box into a voluminous pocket.
I’d bought Phil a ring for Christmas from a very special jeweler in town—DiAblo.
DiAblo made some of the most incredible pieces of jewelry I had ever seen, designing everything by hand. He was expensive and rightly so because not only did he use high-quality, ethically mined resources, he was also a brilliant artist. He had a signature piece that people went mad over—a skull mold that he used to make pendants and rings out of gold, platinum, silver, whatever the customer required. A few weeks ago, I had contacted him to design a custom piece.
DiAblo was a patient of mine who had come in with an old motorcycle injury that gave him trouble from time to time. His real name was Neil Sidebottom—which was why he went by DiAblo—was in his late thirties and from the Isle of Man. Built like a tank, he looked like a motorcycle gang member, his body covered in tattoos, and he had a gold incisor tooth that was just plain wicked. Each one of the skull rings he produced came with a yellow gold incisor tooth, a trademark of his.
Having helped Neil relieve some severe back pain, he had offered me his services whenever I came across the need for them, and I had cashed in on that promise for this. Even though he was a very busy man, he pulled off the order in just a couple of weeks and had it ready for me only two days ago.
The platinum ring I’d had him design was DiAblo’s signature skull piece, and every nook and cranny shone with perfection. But this one had some special features that none of the others he had made before had. Across the left eye sat a small square-cut sapphire, ringed with tiny diamonds for an eye patch. The eye patch had actually been one of my rings that no longer fit my finger, a birthday present from my mother when I’d turned thirteen.
I’d had the inside of the band inscribed, too, with My Other Half.
Shifting through the pile of presents I had for everyone, I plucked out four more that had Phil’s name on them and headed downstairs to place them under the tree. Walking back into the kitchen, I could see that Phil had placed a basket of bread and sliced apples on the island. He looked up, a smile on his face that was wiped clean off when his gaze dropped to my chest.
“Phil?”
“Yeah, Sugar Tits,” he replied, making me laugh. “How the fuck am I supposed to eat when I’ll be starin’ at your tits throughout dinner?” he demanded.
“One mouthful at a time?” I suggested with a saucy grin.
I plopped down into my seat—at least he didn’t know I wasn’t wearing underwear. He’d make me sit on his lap and feed me himself.
Hmm…
The cheese course was awesome, followed by a broth fondue with cubes of filet mignon, scallops, and shrimp along with several dipping sauces Phil informed me Lewis had shown him how to make it. Dessert consisted of a plate of strawberries and chunks of brownies and marshmallows dipped in a thick chocolate fudge mixed with Baileys.
“Wow, babe.” I shoved a chocolate-dipped brownie in my face. “This is fucking awesome.”
Phil grunted in response. “Too fuckin’ right.”
Afterward, we both cleaned everything up because Mama Sally had warned Phil that the pots shouldn’t sit dirty, or