by Ellen Mint
Nope.
Nadire hurled her napkin off her lap and rose to her feet. She could handle the inflated, nearly featureless plastic sheeting of Santa Claus. The signs hand-painted on barn wood declaring “Santa’s Rules To Being Naughty & Nice.” Even the groan-worthy wine puns associated with every activity humanity ever invented. But this…
Shuddering, she dashed away as the men began to spin around and twerk while the refrains of that Christmas classic “I Like Big Butts” accompanied them. No one saw the door slam shut in her wake.
CHAPTER TWO
IN SOME OTHER slice of history, smoke would have poured from the door as Nadire eased her way into the bar. Instead of rich tobacco seeping from the tables and floor, only a vague scent of citrus and splashed alcohol filled the air. Red light dripped from sconces encircling naked bulbs. Not the harsh red/pink that charred retinas and represented nearly all aspects of the holiday. This red moonlighted as burgundy. It preferred the welcoming embrace of oranges and yellows while slumbering atop a pile of loosened foliage. It was above consorting with a quintet of twerking Santas.
Shaking off the rotten taste in her mouth that wasn’t stale tobacco, Nadire eased around the half-filled tables of other weary travelers who didn’t want to while away their hours in front of the television. Most seemed to seclude themselves with the screen in their hands instead, though the glass provided backup. As she approached the bar, trying to drum up what could wash away the pain in her soul, a woman flung herself in the way.
Rearing back, the anger from such rudeness evaporated at the tears gushing from the woman’s eyes. “Please,” she pleaded, her hands clasped as if she was begging God himself for salvation instead of a bartender. “It’s…” She sniffled, trying to speak through the mountain of grief. “It’s this big.”
She extended her thumb and forefinger about three inches apart, the pickled skin of her hands wan as sun-stained linen. Nadire winced watching the bartender sigh. “I keep telling you, I haven’t seen it.”
“But it has to be here!” the older woman pleaded, the bags of life under her eyes bulging from her pain. “I…I couldn’t have left it anywhere else. Please!”
Slipping her hand into her pocket, Nadire stepped closer to the distraught woman. “Is this…” tugging her hand out, she twisted around her palm to reveal a ragged business card, “what you were looking for?”
“Oh, God! My God, yes, yes!” The elderly woman snatched up the simple piece of white card stock, her trembling fingers continually flipping it over to the back to inspect its authenticity. “There’s no way…thank you. Thank you so much. How can I…?” She began to reach into her threadbare purse, but Nadire stopped her.
“Don’t worry about it. I spotted it on the floor on my entrance and was about to turn it in. You saved me a trip.” She smiled assuringly at the woman who was nearing hysterics in the opposite direction of pain.
The old woman’s eyes burned into the card as if she both had to memorize what was on the back and she could never forget. Clutching it tight to her heart, she smiled forlornly. “Thank you. You’re…you’re a kind soul.”
Nadire snorted, her cheeks burning at the compliment pouring from a stranger. It wasn’t as if she saved a life, simply answered a want with barely a flick of her wrist. “Think nothing of it, madam.”
With the coveted keepsake in her hands, the old woman bustled towards the exit. Though, she did take the time to call her husband and tell him she found what she was looking for. Nadire watched the woman until she vanished out the door, her own heart throbbing from the pain.
“Thank God for that,” the bartender huffed. “Ol’ bat’s been in here the past week bugging everyone about somethin’ she lost and it’s just a plain old business card?”
A plain old business card to those who didn’t see the message on the back. The last one from her son before he could write no more.
“Here.” The bartender shook away her maudlin thoughts. “As thanks for getting rid of her, how’s about one on the house?”
Family churned through Nadire’s veins, bonds born in blood, sundered in disagreement and pain, only to be restitched together time and time again. The taste of anise tingled on her tongue and in a voice that crackled like soot tumbling down a chimney, she said, “Rakı.”
“Uh.” The bartender blinked in confusion. “I’m afraid we don’t have that.” He didn’t finish with “whatever that is” but Nadire could read it on his lips. Foolish, this was as far from the beginning as she could get.
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got on tap,” she said, sliding onto the chair across from him. The bartender smiled at that, already fishing out a glass when Nadire’s hand shot across the bar to grab his arm. “As long as it’s not peppermint,” thundered from her chest.
The man winked at that. “Got ya, Miss.” While her glass filled with hopefully not some other Christmas flavored beer, the bartender spoke. “I take it you’re as sick of the Santa crowd as the rest of us.”
They could escape it. Some chose not to, dunking their whole head into the pool of Christmas cheer all year long. But for most everyone else on the planet they had a time to be merry and a time to be normal. Nadire wasn’t so fortunate.
When the glass hit the bar, it drew Nadire from her thoughts. While she took a testing sip, he wiped his hands on a towel upon his hip. Nadire was about to return for another taste when she felt his curious eyes upon her.
“It’s light and floral. Not a damn trace of peppermint. Thank you.” She raised the glass an inch off the bar at him in a toast, then resumed what she came to do—drink.
The friendly bartender hovered around her, or tried to at least. More patrons began showing up demanding his attention, allowing Nadire to drown her sorrows in the milk of human kindness. And what precisely did she have to be sorrowful about? To the world, she was a wealthy woman in her early thirties who could pretend to be late twenties with the right makeup routine. She literally traveled all across the globe with little to no hassle, often had people lavishly thanking her. All she had to do was be happy with what was given her. Happy with the path gifted to them all.
“This is why I don’t drink alone,” Nadire muttered under her breath. She hated sounding maudlin even if the circumstances called for it.
“Excuse me…”
The morose scales tumbled from her eyes and she sat bolt upright on the stool. Swiveling around, those crystal snowflake eyes from the dining hall burned into hers. Even with another barstool between them, the heat of the man’s body called out to hers. He tapped his fingers against the bar in the old shave and a haircut rhythm while staring her up and down.
What a day for her to wear business casual that left everything to the imagination.
“You look like a woman who intends to devour whoever talks to her next,” he said, his striking face stern with certainty.
Nadire couldn’t argue with his assessment even as she tried to dig out the furrow at the top of her brow. “You’re probably right.” She sighed focusing on her beer. Devouring men was easier than talking to them.
“Hm.” The man snorted, no doubt ending the conversation. Nadire’s sight bored into the bubbles climbing up her glass. A blur at the periphery caused her to turn her head. Despite the warnings he made, the stranger leaned his long leg over the top of the stool and sat down beside her.
“But you…” She gasped, the words stolen from her tongue. “You said that…”
He shrugged a single taut shoulder. “What is life without a little risk?” The man bore a germanic accent, though it was light and often bobbing in and out with his o’s. Instead of either the tacky sweaters of the tourists or the important suits of the buyers, he was dressed in a simple button-up with the top two undone. The rich cinnamon color caused his eyes to sparkle brighter than the top of any tree.
Realizing she was once again staring, Nadire threw out, “Devouring is more than a small risk, I’d say.”
“Depends upon who’s doing
it. For the right woman, some men would happily be eaten whole.”
Sweet lord! She pawed at her cheek to try and disguise both the blush and the smile cracking her lipstick. He sat silently in place, only the edge of his eyes cast over the man-devourer while Nadire felt herself slowly melting into the stool. With no recourse, she relied upon her only chaperone and returned to the beer.
“Ah, a pint.” The man tried to catch the bartender’s eye, but his foreign request only caused the drink slinger to frown. The bar was filling fast, one of those bachelorette parties complete with penis themed hats rolling in. All of the cosmo requests were keeping the bartender busy, a vast swathe of cotton candy perfumes practically sizzling off the women.
Nadire focused on her drink, assuming the already tipsy and partying women would catch the ice-blue eye of the stranger and vice versa. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the occasional gentleman caller. Some liked to press their luck when she worked the circuit, their cologne unable to cover over the stench of desperation. But she wasn’t exactly the settling down type either. Relationships required time and devotion. Nadire couldn’t even keep a poinsettia alive.
Certain in her future of rummaging through the minibar while scrolling before sleep, Nadire dropped her glass and turned straight into crystal eyes. “How big of a bite would you take if I asked you your name?” he asked, his voice plummeting to the depths of an unassailable baritone. It seemed as if only she could hear him, the pink penis brigade all squealing to themselves. Did they not even glance over at this perfect specimen seated beside them?
Laughing to try and cover her shock, Nadire shrugged a single shoulder. “Only a little nibble.” The man who’d been cold as morning’s frost blushed, his plush bottom lip slipping open as he snorted from her answer. She knew what she’d want to nibble on first.
“Nadire,” she spoke, trying to shake away the thought. This was a business trip. She should be focusing on candy canes and bells of holly, not… God’s nails, it’d been too long since she’d spoken to a man she didn’t work with.
“Nadire?” he repeated, his accent rolling her name around like bodies in satin sheets. “A rather mysterious name.”
Most probably expected her to be named Candy, or Holly, or Angel. Most in imagining the life of Saint Nick never wondered if he’d prefer to keep his own traditions, and not name the rarely mentioned children after aspects of the holiday born centuries past his birth. She winced at the reminder of her mountain of baggage when he slid an arm over the back of her stool.
The tips of his mahogany hair tickled her cheek and he whispered beside her ear, “It fits you perfectly.”
He slipped back to his chair as if nothing happened, but Nadire could still feel the tickle across her skin from his hair. It vibrated out from that simple touch, alighting her nerves as she graced her palm to her cheek.
“You haven’t told me your name,” she gulped. “It seems only fair after all.”
“But I haven’t yet paid the price for yours.” The man lifted his hand out to her, exposing forearm muscles that tightened to marble perfection. “A little nibble, you said?”
“Ah.” Nadire gazed down at the masculine hand, his large fingers hanging helplessly in the air. The image of her teeth grazing over the tender skin flashed through her mind and she blinked in shock at her imagination. “Perhaps later.”
“A fair promise.” The man smiled, letting his hand drop to the bar just as his beer arrived. After thanking the grumbling bartender, he finally told her, “I am Emeric.”
“Not what I would have expected,” Nadire responded, mentally tumbling the name around as if she could search its depths on her own. Sadly, that particular skill didn’t pass to her.
“Oh?”
“Emeric is a rather stuffy name,” she said without thought, then blanched at demeaning the handsome stranger.
But he took it all with a laugh and savored a draught before turning to her. “Pompous?”
“No, more for a man who prefers books and libraries to…” Nadire waved her hand over the man’s strapping chest. It wasn’t at that barrel stage yet, but taut and honed so the shoulders strained against the off the rack shirt. Man like him deserved to have his shirts tailored to caress every muscle on his body.
Emeric glanced down at his chest as if there were a spot of mustard upon the breast pocket. “What? You think me the sport type?”
If rugby and gymnastics had a flexible, muscle-bound baby. Which was not an answer she could ever voice. Emeric’s voice dropped, his ice-blue gaze biting into hers. “Well, I happen to be quite sporting. And I will pick up a book or two when the mood strikes.”
By the Holy Mother, Nadire’d never been this fascinated in her life. Men were muddled creatures who slipped in and out of life like mayflies. Some could occasionally catch her attention when she wasn’t focused on important matters, but this man was like a crystal puzzle box. She ached to run her fingers all over the seams and figure out how it worked. And he was here, at some random Santa Claus convention halfway around the world from where he came from.
“What are you doing here?” slipped past her tongue, her voice dreamy as she tried to conjure up his reasons, but Emeric slid back in thought. His eyes darkened and she must have made a misstep. Damn it.
“At this bar? Trying to excavate the taste of cinnamon and peppermint from my palate.” Emeric did so by drowning the last of his drink.
Nadire snorted at the honesty reflected in her own actions. The laugh drew his now shrouded eyes across her and she tapped her chest. As if attending confession she told him, “Me as well.”
“So you’re not one of those Kris Kringle worshipping arschkriechers.” He jerked his chin toward the door where no doubt a troop of dancing Christmas trees was on its way to entertain the masses. Had it always been this bad? She couldn’t remember so much tacky pomp in previous years, but after a time they all blended together.
Shaking her head, Nadire rummaged a hand through her hair to try and comb out the knots. “No. This is a job.” Family job, but a job. Okay, so she couldn’t exactly turn it off, but it wasn’t a full lie.
“Excuse my French, but thank the fuck for that,” Emeric said with a chuckle, his eyes practically shredding the clothes from her body. Anyone else, Nadire would have excused herself, walked away, and left him to consume someone else’s attention.
She wasn’t a one-night stand, pick someone up in a bar person. She couldn’t afford to be. But God, he was a true gift, packaged in crimson and ready for opening. To run her fingers through that glorious mane, scrape her nails across his sculpted back, give that nibble she promised and more on his thighs.
What was she thinking? No. It was one man out of billions. So many on the planet were why her work never ceased. Why she had to be on for the company at all times. Why someone had to piece all of this slap-dash mess together.
Her heart set, Nadire turned to focus on the wall ahead of her instead of the ensorcelling man beside her. No doubt he’d find someone else to play with. Hard to imagine any woman turning him down.
She was about to slide her empty glass back and head to her room when her purse trembled on the bar. Emeric’s gaze glanced to it as if he feared she might have hidden a small animal inside. When Nadire fished out her phone he laughed and returned to drinking.
The Tahiti beach image faded to reveal a text from her father. Once again he was asking where she was, even though she gave him her schedule. Reprimanding her for not being there to assist, and asking where the damn lists were which only he had access to.
Nadire must have been glaring murder at her screen as Emeric whispered, “Problems?”
His hand cupped against hers, barely even brushing the skin, but every nerve in her body leapt to attention. Heat dashed up her arm, the flush fast to follow as she stared from her duty into those sinful eyes.
“Nope, not a one.” Nadire smiled while hiding away her phone. She noticed that Emeric didn’t drop his hand. As her eyes wandered
lower to watch the thrum of his fingers, he blanched and looked about to remove it, when she entwined her fingers with his.
“Are you married?” Nadire asked fast.
The man flexed the top of his nose in confusion. “No.”
“Engaged? Living with someone? Dating? Seeing a few? Exclusive in any way?” she threw out fast, trying to cover all her bases. He could lie, but there was no chance she wouldn’t ask first.
Emeric laughed at the thorough line of questioning. “No to all of those.”
“Then…” Nadire leaned closer, the edge of her tongue wetting her lips. Emeric’s diamond gaze darted down to them, his own mouth responding in kind. “Do you want to get out of here?” she whispered.
The stranger in the bar smirked, a ten already fished from his wallet for the bar. “I believe you promised me a nibble.”
“And I never go back on a promise,” Nadire said, sliding to her feet beside the man she was going to follow to his room. When he rose to his feet, allowing her a lingering look of his ass, the haze of regret lingering in her stomach evaporated to dust.
“Truly?” Emeric whispered, his hand sliding along the small of her back as he guided her out of the bar. “I’ll have to remember that.”
CHAPTER THREE
HE WAS ENOUGH of a gentleman to open the door but allow Nadire to enter first. As she had a room on the opposite wing of the hotel it took her but a moment to flip on the light switch and marvel at the pristine state. A solitary suitcase atop the low dresser provided the only proof that anyone was staying in this room. There wasn’t even a sock dangling out of the zipper.
Nadire paused before the entrance to the bathroom she knew held a jacuzzi tub. The thought of bubbles massaging away every knot in her muscles brought a flush of serenity to her face. A clank of the room door closing caused her to stare at the man to whom this belonged. In an instant, her fantasy shifted to his naked body barely obscured by the jets as he worked his fingers against her shoulders and lower.