Santa, Baby

by Lisa Renee Jones

  No more denials of guilt, Baxter noted and replied, “I’ve considered that.” Less than a minute later, the call ended, and Baxter had an agreement in place with Jett—one that sat as easily as heavy bricks on his chest.

  He started walking, pressing buttons on his cell. “It went down as planned.”

  The voice on the other end said, “I’ll advise the necessary contacts and be in touch shortly.”

  IT WAS WELL PAST DINNERTIME, and there was still no sign of Baxter. Caron sat on her navy blue well-worn couch and read the letter from Baxter for at least the tenth time. She’d long ago traded in her skirt for sweat suit and bare feet, determined to go to bed unaffected by Baxter’s absence. Right. Unaffected by Baxter was a joke.

  Curling her legs onto the cushion, she didn’t know if she should be mad or worried. She didn’t want anything to be wrong with him, but she didn’t want him to be an insensitive jerk who didn’t deserve all the angst he’d created in her. She’d never been in a relationship that had twisted her in knots to the magnitude of this one, that made her feel the fear of rejection. It scared her.Yet, when she was with Baxter, she felt happier than she’d ever imagined possible with a man. She’d always recognized the risk-and-reward aspect of dating, just never found anyone worth the risk. She didn’t want today to be the day Baxter proved he had been a mistake. She didn’t want that day to come—ever.

  Determined to stop making herself crazy, Caron put the letter away and grabbed the television remote. She was about to punch the on button when a knock sounded on the door. More eager than she’d like to admit, even to herself, she discarded the remote and rushed toward the door, forgetting caution, and yanked it open.

  There stood Baxter, his arm over his head, leaning on the door frame, his hair rumpled and sexy. His eyes dark, face etched with strain. “God, you look good,” he said, and before she knew what was happening, he was in the foyer, wrapping powerful arms around her and walking her backward.

  “Baxter—”

  He kissed her, kicking the door shut at the same time, and drugging her with sensual strokes of his tongue. Somehow, she managed to drag her lips from his, her hands pressed to the solid wall of his chest. “I was worried.”

  Turbulent eyes met hers. “I couldn’t call,” he said. “I’ll explain everything, I promise.” His hands framed her face. “Right now—right now, I just need you, Caron.”

  The force of the emotion in his voice, etched in his face, in his eyes, set aside any hesitation in Caron. His hunger seeped through her resistance, tore a hole in her willpower. She believed him. Believed he would explain and believed he needed her. “I’m here,” she whispered hoarsely, a moment before his mouth slanted over hers again.

  She clung to him, realizing that the fear she’d felt had been about losing him, about never again feeling this wild burn that only he created in her. Afraid that he affected her more than she did him. But she knew better, knew in every inch of her body, every corner of her soul, that he felt what she felt. Something powerful was happening between them, and she didn’t have the will to fight it.

  He turned her, pressed her against the wall, her hands flat against the wooden surface. A wildness radiated from him, through his actions, that had her gasping for air, aroused to the point of panting. His hands slid over her hips, heavy, possessive. She could feel the warm, wet heat, gathering in the V of her body, arousal thrumming a path through her limbs.

  His breath touched her ear, his hand wrapping around her, covering her breasts and kneading. “Tell me you want me.”

  “You know I do,” she assured him.

  “Say it,” he ordered, his hands sliding under her T-shirt—she was braless, her nipples throbbing even before his fingers tugged them with delicious insistence. “Say it.”

  “I want you,” she gasped.

  He rolled and tweaked her nipples. Pleasure shot through her limbs, darting to her core. She tried to shut her legs, tried to do anything to ease the ache there. Baxter was having no part of that, his knee holding her thighs apart, easing her wide again. His hands slid inside her sweatpants, and he took her off guard when he instantly tried to ease them down her hips.

  Caron panicked, tried to turn. The idea of being naked in her tiny corridor with Baxter standing over her fully dressed was intimidating, despite all they had done together. But there was no turning, no resisting. Baxter held her easily. “You want me,” he said against her ear. “But do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I trust you.”

  His hands slid over her hips, over her backside. Her legs were weak. “Then just let go, Caron. Just be with me and forget everything else.”

  She closed her eyes shut, his words reaching inside her and touching her in places well beyond erotic. Just be with him. She wanted to. Yes. She wanted someone in her life she could simply be with, no need for barriers, no need for nerves or caution.

  “I want that,” she replied honestly. “I want that so much.”

  His lips brushed her ear again, nibbling. Skilled hands explored her body, touched her, caressed her, until he turned her to face him, lifting her and carrying her the few steps to her tiny kitchen before setting her on the counter.

  His hands slid down her legs, spread them. He stepped closer and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he pressed his cock to the V of her body. He was thick with arousal and the wanton woman that she’d become since meeting him wanted to tear open his pants, impatient to have him inside her. Instead, she was drawn into a long, passionate kiss. And another.

  They nipped, they tasted, licked. She wasn’t sure who was wilder. Him or her. Wasn’t sure which one of them decided her T-shirt would end up on the floor. Or which one decided his would follow. The not knowing was the part that felt so liberating. For once, she wasn’t thinking. For once, all she knew was the lift of her hips as her pants came down, the erotic pleasure of him spreading her wide again and staring down at her with pure, white-hot lust.

  He stepped back and reached for his pants, but his eyes were locked on her, hot as they slid over her naked body with so much unbridled passion, her nerve endings sizzled. By the time he toed off his shoes and disposed of his clothing, she was reaching for him, crazy hot with need. And it was with complete, utter spellbound lust, that she watched as he pressed the head of his erection inside her. She could see the strain etched on his face, the desire to push into her, to take her. He was emotionally on edge, looking for a release. He was hard, so hard, and she wondered if she could take him, watching, feeling the thick width of his cock stretching her, the steely length of him inching deeper and deeper inside her. She widened her legs, wrapped them around his hips to pull him closer. He snapped with her response, as if she’d unleashed the wildness within him. The need, the burn.

  He palmed her backside, tilted her hips. Caron pressed her hands into the counter, arching into him, and she knew in the past she would have clung to him, hiding her desire by burying her face in his neck. But she didn’t hide. She lifted her hips, met his thrusts with pushes, her breasts bouncing with the action, his eyes scorching her with hot inspection. The feeling of being completely uninhibited, of animal lust that came from a sense of complete freedom, overcame her, aroused her. Pushed her to take more of him.

  In response to her demands, his thrusts became tighter, faster, his jaw set with the desire etched in his face as he, too, strained for—more. She could see and feel how on edge he was, how close to coming, just as she herself was.

  Biting her lip, Caron whispered, “More.” Never before had she demanded anything during sex, but she found herself saying that word louder. “More, Baxter.”

  His gaze went to her, hot flames of lust blazing in the stare. He leaned over her, his hands by hers, his rock-hard, sweat-glistened body framing hers. “Did I mention, I’m crazy about you?” he whispered, his voice low and seductive.

  A second later, he thrust his tongue past her lips, ravishing her mouth as he buried his cock to the hilt, jolting her wi
th the intensity of the connection. She shivered and shook, exploding into orgasm, her muscles grabbing at him, taking him deeper. Desperate to keep him there until the last spasm ended, her legs shackled him tight as he ground out one last pump of his hips and moaned with his release. He buried his head in her neck and Caron buried her fingers in the dark, silky strands of hair.

  Long moments of pleasure passed as they clung to one another. Eventually, Baxter leaned away, looking at her, as if seeking her permission. “I want to tell you what happened.”

  She touched his jaw. “I want to hear.”

  AN HOUR AFTER ARRIVING at Caron’s apartment in a whirlwind of turbulent emotion, Baxter sat on the floor of Caron’s living room, leaning on her couch, one of her legs stretched across his lap, a news talk show playing softly in the background. He’d tossed on his jeans and T-shirt, left his shoes somewhere near the front door. Chinese food take-out boxes sat open on the coffee table they’d used as their dining area.

  “My head is spinning with everything you’ve told me,” Caron said. “I still can’t believe Jett called again. And that you’re actually helping the FBI set him up. You were so resistant to the idea of him being guilty.”“I still am,” he said, “but for the wrong reasons. Not because he’s innocent but because I want him to be.” He grimaced. “But he’s not. He’s not innocent.”

  Studying him, she asked, “When did you decide he was guilty, Baxter?”

  “Wednesday night on the phone with you.”

  Surprise flickered across her face. “On the phone with me? How did I convince you Jett was guilty?”

  “That first night talking about the plumber. You told me about that time you walked out of the store with a plunger in your hand and got to the car and realized you hadn’t paid. So you walked back into the store, plunger in hand, and told them you needed to pay. Most people would have left, if for no other reason than embarrassment. But you knew that was wrong so you stayed.”

  She blushed. “Oh, yeah. I so wish I hadn’t told you that story. Clearly, one of my rambling, saying-too-much—”

  He squeezed her leg. “You didn’t say too much. You said just enough. You reminded me that honest people do what’s right, even when it’s embarrassing or painful in some way.”

  “I’d hardly compare a two-dollar plunger to what Jett faces,” she reminded him.

  “I know that,” he said. “But it made me think of little parts of Jett’s personality that I should have noticed before. Ways he would cut corners at other people’s expense. Plain and simple, Jett is not acting like an innocent man. He’s calling me for money, not because he wants help clearing his name, but because something in his plan went wrong.” The truth sat in his gut like acid. “And I did what I think is right. I called my attorney and prepared to take action.”

  “You were that sure Jett would call back?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “There was a desperate quality to his voice that night at the restaurant that seeped through his words. The more I replayed the call in my mind, the more I recognized it.”

  “But he didn’t call until today,” she pointed out. “That doesn’t seem desperate.”

  “He might be desperate, but he didn’t want to Seem desperate. That was why I was surprised when he called when he did. I didn’t think he’d call until tomorrow, the exact day of my deadline.”

  “This whole thing makes me nervous,” she said. “Desperate people do desperate things. You don’t know when or where you are meeting him, just that he will call, and you’re supposed to give him money. What if he sees you as a risk—what if he lashes out at you in some way.”

  Baxter kissed her hand. “I’ll be fine.” But damn it felt good to have her worry, to know he had someone here for him he could actually talk to about this. “The fact that the FBI is nervous means they’ll be careful.” Memories of a long afternoon with them came wearily to mind. “Believe me. After hours of being drilled and rehearsed for any possible outcome of tomorrow’s call, I know how nervous they are and how careful.”

  “But are you nervous?”

  “Real men don’t get nervous,” he said jokingly.

  She shook her head. “I’m serious, Baxter. Are you nervous?”

  “As hell,” he admitted.

  Seconds passed with her studying him, before she softly said, “I’m sorry about Jett.”

  He touched her cheek, brushed her hair behind her ears. “Life happens.”

  She quickly countered his dismissal, unwilling to let him hide from the emotions he’d tried to bury. Understanding what was going on inside him, she said, “Trusting him wasn’t wrong.”

  “Tell my stockholders that.” He snorted. “Tell my father that. He never had this kind of crap happen when he ran the company.”

  “I bet he did,” she scoffed. “But like you, he shouldered it on his own. Let everyone believe he was superhuman when he was simply human. And you’ve never once mentioned him being upset. In fact, you’ve referred to how amazingly supportive of you he’s been.”

  “He has been,” Baxter agreed. “But I can’t get rid of that gut-wrenching feeling, of being the one at the helm of his creation while it’s stumbling.”

  “Good people do bad things, Baxter,” she said, turning to lean against the coffee table to face him. “You have no idea what drove Jett to do this and may never know, but you didn’t do this. He did. The stock will recover as soon as it’s clear this is under control. And you’re getting it under control.”

  Baxter felt everything inside him go utterly, completely still in the midst of one resounding thought. He trusted Caron. But he had trusted Jett, too, trusted him the way he trusted family. If she ever burned him, he didn’t know what he would do.

  Caron reached for a fortune cookie and handed it to him. “Open it. See what great things await tomorrow.”

  He laughed and cracked open the cookie, reading the tiny paper while Caron popped a piece of a cookie into her mouth. “‘It takes more than good memory to have good memories.’” He shook his head. “What the heck does that mean?”

  Her expression lit with mischief. “There is only one way to interpret fortune cookies properly,” she said, grinning, taking the paper and tossing it on the table with the broken cookie. “It’s the simplest method any high-school-age student can tell you.”

  He quirked a brow. “And what would that be?”

  “You add the words in bed behind the statement. So—‘It takes more than good memory to have good memories…’” Her eyes twinkled as she went on to say, “in bed.”

  “Leave it to you, Caron Avery,” he said, reaching for her and tugging her snug against his side, “to find a way to make me smile. Shall we go try and make good memories?”

  “My bed or yours?” she playfully asked. “Yours is bigger. Mine is closer. But all your clothes for an early day’s work are at your place.”

  “I vote for both,” he said. “That gives us an excuse to maybe double the memories.” Caron was exactly what he needed the night before the storm that tomorrow was sure to hold.

  15

  A RINGING SOUND BROKE through the warm, deep slumber in Baxter’s bedroom where Caron slept. Snuggled next to him, she awoke abruptly, the jarring ring of his cell phone nearby. Caron lifted her head. Baxter didn’t move. He was completely knocked out, exhausted after a night of sleepless worry that she’d done her best to eliminate. But he’d known the hammer was waiting to strike the next day, that he would wake and be forced to face the official loss of a man he’d thought was a friend.

  Caron glanced at Baxter’s alarm clock next to the phone. His cell stopped ringing as she blinked at the time. “Oh, my God!” Caron touched his chest, trying to wake him. “Baxter. We overslept. It’s almost nine. The alarm didn’t go off.”Groggily, he lifted his head. Turned to the clock and then scrambled to a sitting position, his hair mussed, eyes wild. “Sonofabitch! I’m supposed to be at my attorney’s office in thirty minutes.”

  His cell started ringing again. B
axter grabbed it, looked at the ID. Answered. “Hello.” The call lasted all of ten seconds before he ended it, reached for the remote control and scooted up against the headboard. He flipped on the television. The screen filled with a news report, a man being walked into a building, officials around him, cameras flashing.

  Jett Alexander, vice president of worldwide operations for Remington Coffee, who fled amidst charges of insider trading, and under the threat of federal prosecution, has turned himself in. This news comes with the unconfirmed reports that Alexander has a plea bargain to turn state’s evidence against the president and CEO of Remington, Baxter Remington.

  “Oh, my God,” Caron whispered.

  “Fuck!” Baxter hit the off button on the remote and flung the device to the end of the bed. His hands were in his hair as he tilted his head downward in a moment of frustration. “Fuck!”

  Caron reached for him, but he threw the covers aside and got up before she could. In bare feet, pajama bottoms and no shirt, he began pacing. He turned to her. “How the hell can this be happening? Do you know what this will do to our stock?”

  “I do,” she said, trying to sound calm when she felt anything but.

  He motioned to the television, the set of his jaw hard, strain etched in his face. “Investors will react before they know the facts.” The cordless house phone by his bed starting ringing again and he ignored it. “Like the fact that I am completely innocent. I cannot believe I would be accused of such a thing. That sorry, low-life bastard.” The cordless stopped ringing and almost immediately started again. “My parents always call the home line. That has to be them. I don’t even know what to say to my father.”