Santa, Baby

by Lisa Renee Jones

  The timing for her and Baxter was horribly wrong. The world was spinning, and she had to make it stop.

  AS EXPECTED, BAXTER had called her cell phone several more times throughout the day, but Caron didn’t talk to him. She’d stuffed her phone in her purse and forced herself not to check the messages. And now, hours later, with the heavy birthday present pushed into a shopping bag for easy carrying and discretion, Caron headed down the hall toward Baxter’s apartment. It was far too close to his arrival time to suit her comfort level, but the store had been swamped with customers and getting away had been difficult. It seemed every nosy female in the city, and quite a lot of men wanted to know who Baxter’s “good girl” was. Remarkably, all that curiosity had translated into a flood of purchases and praise for the store, and Alice had rushed in after class to help manage the register.

  So finally, near eight, only an hour before Baxter was set to arrive home—having received a nod from security as being on some clearance list—Caron slid the key into his front door.She made it unnoticed along the corridor and shut the door, the sound of holiday music touching her ears. Oh, God. Was Baxter home and she didn’t know it? Why hadn’t she listened to the messages? She turned to the door to exit. Turned back. No. She would not be a coward. Well, that had been the plan, but not now that she was here. Think. Okay. Right. Think.

  Caron set the package on a foyer table of black glass. That seemed a start. Then she drew a breath and took the stairs before she chickened out, rounding the corner to bring the living room into view—and froze. Or her feet did. Her heart charged into a wild patter, adrenaline forced through her blood in a blast of shock at what she saw. Standing next to a Christmas tree that hadn’t been there before, was a blonde female, busily decorating it and humming to the “Winter Wonderland” song that was filling the air. And not just a blonde, but a bombshell in high heels with curves to die for, shown off under a snug red dress. Caron turned, this time in flight, and ran smack into the hard chest of Baxter.

  “Oh, no,” she said, her hands pressed to that impressive wall of muscle.

  “Oh, yes,” he rebutted. “Why haven’t you been taking my calls? I was about to come to the store to get you.”

  Huh? Her gaze rocketed to his. “But you’ve had your hands a little full, I see. Or maybe a lot full! You jerk!”

  “What?” he asked, his dark brows dipping. And damn him, he smelled all masculine and wonderful, and she hated him for it.

  “You heard me,” she blasted. “Jerk!”

  “Is this Caron?”

  The female voice came from behind her; she was stunned that the woman knew her name. “Did she just ask if I’m Caron?”

  Baxter stared down at her, his eyes lighting with sudden understanding of her assumption. “Caron,” he said softly. “Meet Rebecca. My sister.”

  “Your…” She couldn’t seem to form the words. “Your…yo…”

  “Sister.”

  Caron whirled around and took in the blonde bombshell. Baxter’s hands settled possessively, warmly, on her shoulders. The woman was blonde. But Baxter had dark hair! Caron inwardly cringed. Marilyn wasn’t really blonde, either. Damn. “Hi,” Caron said, waving an awkward hand.

  “I am Rebecca, Caron.” She smiled a sly smile that said she knew what was going on. “And you’re right. He can be a jerk every now and then. Make sure you keep calling him on it, too. Too few do.” She rushed forward and offered her hand. “So nice to meet you.”

  Caron slipped her hand into Rebecca’s, noting that same appealing sparkle in Rebecca’s eyes that Baxter possessed. “Nice to meet you.”

  Rebecca waved her forward. “Come chat with me while I decorate.”

  Caron turned and glanced up at Baxter, warmth spreading through her limbs the minute her eyes met his. Her hand itching to reach up and touch the shadowy jaw that told of a long day of travel. His tie was gone, the top button of his dark blue shirt undone. He looked good, and being near him felt good. How could she simply walk away from this man?

  His brow arched, dared her to decline his sister’s invitation. Not that Caron really wanted to. Despite her earlier intention to leave his life, she was intrigued by Rebecca, and wanted a chance to learn more about Baxter.

  Caron followed Rebecca to the corner near the fireplace, opposite the bar, memories flooding her mind about her and Baxter’s lovemaking right there in that room.

  “Baxter has been telling me all about your store,” Rebecca said, reaching for an ornament as Caron joined her. “I can’t wait to come by.” Caron glanced at Baxter, who now sat on the couch, his arms stretched out across the leather pillows behind him. He’d been telling his sister about her? His eyes met hers, dark, warm with interest.

  “I’d like that,” Caron responded to Rebecca, reaching for an ornament to help her decorate. “I’m very proud of it. It doesn’t compare with Remington Coffee, of course—”

  Rebecca touched her arm. “We started small,” she said and reached for another ornament. “And frankly, I’d never want to deal with something as big as Remington is now. I’m glad Baxter does it. But look at the junk he goes through in the process. No, thank you.” She looked over her shoulder at her brother, before glancing back at Caron. “Which is why my fiancé surprised me with a trip to Russia for my birthday.” She eyed Baxter. “Said Baxter urged him to get me out of town, away from all of this.”

  “Russia!” Caron exclaimed. “Baxter told me you’ve been wanting to go. How exciting.”

  “It’s very exciting,” she agreed. “But we leave Monday morning and won’t be back until after the New Year. That’s why I had to make sure he had a tree before I left. I know how he is. He’d have dismissed it as unimportant.”

  “The tree is an amazing thing for you to do.” And Caron meant it. She’d always had a secret desire to have a sibling who would look out for her.

  Rebecca smiled her appreciation and turned to Baxter. “She’s absolutely charming.” She laughed. “Not at all one of those blonde bimbos like me that the paper referred to.” She made a face. “Good grief, you’d think if a woman is blonde, she can’t have brains. I wanted to go kick that reporter and shove my Master’s degree down his throat.”

  Caron blushed hot, fire touching her cheeks at the newspaper reference. “I didn’t even think of that angle. He was really insulting to a lot of people.”

  “To women in general and certainly to my brother.” Rebecca motioned Caron to the couch. “There’s a certain breed of reporter who looks for anything that sells papers, and when they can’t find it, they manufacture it. I know my brother. That reporter was way off base. You aren’t some token ‘good girl.’ You wouldn’t be standing here, in his home, talking to me right now, if he didn’t think you were special.”

  “She’s right,” Baxter said softly, reaching for Caron’s hand as she neared and pulling her to the spot right next to him. “And I would have said so myself today if you would have taken my calls.”

  Regret about her actions spiraled through Caron. There was a bond between her and Baxter, something she didn’t doubt now that she was by his side, looking into his eyes. “I should have answered. I was upset. Admittedly, I wasn’t feeling overly logical.”

  “Understandable,” Rebecca stated, perching on the arm of the couch. “I was upset when I read the story and not just because of the way it blasted my brother’s character so unfairly. I thought about being in your position and how you must feel.”

  “There was a bright side,” Caron said, trying to shift the conversation away from an uncomfortable topic. “My store was bombarded with people. We sold books and gifts galore.” She held up a finger. “Which reminds me.” She glanced at Baxter and lowered her voice, “Her gift is by the door.”

  “I’ll get it,” he said, his eyes warm as they touched hers, but there was also a promise that they had to talk, to clear the air. And she wanted to. Wanted to badly.

  The minute Baxter slipped away to retrieve the gift, Rebecca lowered her voi
ce and said, “He never talks about women, but he told me about you, Caron, and I have a good feeling about you. Don’t let this junk going on around him scare you away.”

  The truth was, it almost had, and Caron found herself sorry for that. She didn’t believe Baxter was guilty of wrongdoing in his company, nor did she believe he was guilty of what the newspaper had insinuated, not now that she was with him again. Now that she could look into his eyes and feel their connection.

  More and more, it was becoming clear, Baxter stood alone as he faced this thing with Jett. He’d shielded his family, worked to protect his employees. If he needed her, she wanted to be there for him.

  That didn’t change the fact that she was scared about opening herself up to him, about getting hurt. But being scared hadn’t stopped her from opening her store, nor had it stopped her from walking down that runway. Baxter didn’t fit into her carefully laid out plans, nor did the craziness that had ensued upon his appearance in her life. But she knew now that he was worth some risk, even if it wasn’t calculated.

  BAXTER KISSED HIS SISTER goodbye at the door not more than an hour after Caron arrived at his apartment. Though he regretted Rebecca’s holiday departure, he knew she was happily on her way to her dream trip, and he couldn’t help but be eager to have Caron alone.

  The instant the door shut, he sought her out. He found her in the kitchen, where she’d just retrieved two wineglasses from the rack above the counter. Baxter closed the distance between them, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a punishing kiss, a kiss born of hours and hours of frustration when Caron had shut him out, refused his calls.“You were going to leave that gift and walk away,” he accused when finally he pulled away from her. He was hot and hard, ready to take her to bed and make love to her, but not like this, not with so much still unspoken. “And don’t tell me you weren’t.”

  Her lashes lowered, dark semicircles on pale ivory perfection. “Yes,” she admitted, meeting his gaze. “But I was suffering from temporary stress. I freak out when everything feels out of control.”

  The answer, the confirmation that he was right, punched him in the gut. She’d been ready to walk away when he couldn’t possibly imagine doing so. What if she still was?

  Shaken, Baxter released her, stepped back and leaned his hands on the counter. “So you were going to walk away.”

  “No, I—”

  “You just said you were,” he countered, noting the dismay on her lovely face, his gaze drawn to the long, silky brunette strands of her hair, thinking of what it would be like to have them brush his face, his chest. Damn it. He ground his teeth, refocused. “I don’t know what to say or do, Caron. You were going to walk away, yet when you saw my sister here, you were jealous.”

  “I was not jealous!” she objected indignantly, her hands balling by her sides. “I was angry. I was—okay, I was jealous.” She made a tiny growling sound of frustration. “If I was really going to walk away, do you think I would have brought your sister’s gift to you in person? I was rattled, Baxter. Really, really rattled. I’ve never dealt with press and investigations and stuff like that. I like structure, planning. I like to know what to expect and when to expect it. Since meeting you, that hasn’t happened pretty much ever.”

  He didn’t move, though he wanted to. But this was another one of those moments, he knew in his gut, when he had to give her space. “I can’t control much of what is going on around me right now. I want to, Caron, but I can’t. So you’re right. My life won’t allow structure and planning. Not until this is over. Can you deal with that?”

  She waved her hands a bit helplessly before saying, “Obviously, I can, or I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  “That’s not true,” he reminded her. “You planned to come and go before I arrived home. You didn’t expect me to be here.”

  “I explained that.”

  “Explain again.”

  She inhaled. Let it out. “Baxter, I like you.”

  “I like you, too, Caron.”

  “No,” she said. “I like you in that scary, I-think-about-you-way-too-often, I-can’t-believe-I’m-admitting-this kind of way. I—”

  For a second time, Baxter reached for her and held her in his arms. “I like you in the…you-make-me-crazy-for-too-many-reasons-to-name…kind of way,” he said. “And I don’t know what to do about it, but I do have a suggestion.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Let’s make love all night and try to work each other out of our systems.”

  “Didn’t we try that already?” she asked, a bit breathlessly.

  “Yes.”

  “And it didn’t work.”

  “No,” he said. “But we really enjoyed ourselves. I believe it merits one more dedicated effort.”

  She smiled. “I do like how you think.”

  14

  IT WAS AFTER LUNCH on Sunday and rather than working in his office as usual, Baxter sat behind Caron’s desk in her office, a slow Sunday afternoon weeding through the unimpressive financial reports for the prior week on his laptop. Normally, he’d be at his office, but having Caron nearby, attending her ever-flowing rush of customers, eased the pain of having to work. Actually, it made work enjoyable. There was a first. But then, there were a lot of unique things about his relationship with Caron.

  After a weekend spent with her by his side, day and night, he only wanted her more. There was passion between them and not simply blazing hot sex—though there was plenty of that, but passion for shared interests, passion for conversation and healthy debate. More and more, it became clear—Caron was special. He wasn’t willing to call it “love,” not yet, but he wasn’t willing to rule out the possibility that it might be headed there. In the most turbulent time of his life, she’d managed to be the calm in the storm, when he would have doubted anyone could be.“I can’t believe how busy it is.” Caron had appeared in the office, little ringlets of dark hair fluttering around her face, the rest tucked neatly at the nape of her neck. “I guess the saying about how ‘there is no such thing as bad advertising’ is true.”

  “I don’t know if I agree with that, considering my current circumstances,” he commented, but despite the slightly embittered tone of his remark, he felt his mood lighten as she walked around the desk and leaned on the wooden surface beside him.

  He shoved the chair back and rotated to frame her body. “In your case, the charity event promotion was hefty and then followed up by the article, you were well-exposed. And not just to me,” he teased, “though that was the best part in my book.” His hand settled on her leg, her slim black skirt covering her knee beneath his palm. She had a classy, sleek way of dressing that he admired, though he was damn thankful today for his Sunday-casual jeans and shirt. “Seriously though. I’m happy your sales are up. You deserve to get something out of all of this. And even when the rush dies down, you’ll maintain growth.”

  Her hand slid to his as she shyly said, “I am very happily exposed, thank you very much. To you, Baxter.” There was no mischief, no sensual meaning, just the spontaneous honesty he’d come to expect from her. Too often she took him off guard as no other woman had managed to do, and the fact that she could, drove him further into the realm of no return. He wanted Caron in his life, shaking things up, making him crazy wondering when she would surprise him again.

  He took her hand. “Caron—”

  “Baxter,” Kasey interrupted from the door. “There’s a call on two for you. The guy refused to say who he was. Want me to get rid of him?”

  His eyes met Caron’s, the silent message that both were aware anyone calling him on the store phone wouldn’t be good news. “Reporters,” Caron ground out. “I wish they’d leave us alone.”

  She was probably right, but Baxter’s instincts clamored with the promise of something more. “I’ll take care of it, Kasey.”

  “Okay,” Kasey said. “And Caron. I have a woman asking for ten of the romance bags, and we don’t have them. Can you work some kind of mag
ic and produce them or do I tell her no?”

  Caron hesitated, obviously torn between finding out what the call was about and helping Kasey. He kissed her hand. “Go. Make the sale. I’ve got this.”

  Reluctantly, she nodded. “Let me know if there is trouble. I’ll call the police.”

  “You just focus on your store,” he said. “I’ll deal with the trouble, if there is any.”

  Baxter grabbed the line as she exited the office and gave his standard greeting. “Baxter Remington.”

  Jett’s muffled voice came through the line. “Pay phone at 5th and Levine in ten minutes.” The phone went dead.

  Baxter had expected him to call again, but not until the eleventh hour, sometime Monday. And he’d prepared for it. Things were simply moving a little faster than expected.

  He quickly pushed to his feet, shut his computer and slid it into his briefcase. Baxter had a pretty good idea where this call was leading, and action would be required. Unwilling to expose Caron to any further nastiness until it was done and over, and knowing she wouldn’t allow him to shelter her, he tore off a piece of paper from a nearby pad and grabbed a pen.

  Taking care of a problem before it becomes bigger. I’ll be away a few hours. Don’t worry. Meet you at your place at eight. I’ll bring dinner.

  He set the note in the center of the desk, hating that he had to leave her like this, but knowing it was the right thing. He shoved his arms into the leather jacket he’d hung over the chair and gave the note another glance, unhappy with how abruptly it read. He grabbed the pen and added,

  I’m crazy about you every second I’m with you, Caron.

  And then, before he ended up having to explain things to her face-to-face, he made a fast exit out the back door and straight to the pay phone.Baxter paced as he waited for the line to ring. He picked it up the minute it did, not bothering with hello, and heard, “Your VP ending up in prison isn’t going to help the reputation of the company.”