Santa, Honey

by Sandra Hill

  Her time with the famed ballplayer would come to an end Christmas Day. Unless she could persuade the judge to release him sooner. She’d yet to speak to Hathaway on Alex’s behalf; maybe she’d do so today.

  His continued mumblings about Miami and blond twins set her teeth on edge. Apparently, threesomes appealed to him.

  Holly needed only one man to be happy.

  The Rogue was out of her league.

  “Cracks Nuts,” Santa called to her.

  What could he possibly want? There was a break in the line, and she cautiously approached him. “Yes, Santa?” She remained outwardly calm, although her stomach had knotted.

  He motioned her closer. His too-small white gloves barely covered his knuckles. She bent, nearly knocking his temple with her big wooden head. He pulled down the lever on her jaw, spoke face-to-face. “What time do we leave for the elementary school? Velvet makes my ass sweaty, and I’ll need another shower.”

  Holly looked at her watch. “Thirty minutes, and I’ll close off the line. Louie’s teacher wanted you to arrive for show and tell, then take recess with the kids. Mrs. Rome hoped you’d captain a team for kickball. If time allows, there’s lunch in the cafeteria—”

  “Slow down, Nutcracker,” Alex interrupted. “You’ve got my whole damn day planned.”

  “You agreed to show and tell,” she reminded him.

  “You’ve added on kickball and lunch. Maybe I should stay for nap time to make up for the sleep I lost this morning.”

  “Third-graders don’t nap.”

  “Shit.” His expletive hissed between his teeth, fluttered his mustache. Fortunately, there were no kids close by, but the workshop helpers had heard him. They tapped their fingers to their lips.

  “Shushed by elves.” Alex shook his head. “The day’s headed downhill fast.”

  A half hour later, Holly handed Alex a package that had recently arrived from James River Stadium in Richmond, Virginia. It turned out to be his baseball uniform, two dozen baseballs, and a set of his personal photographs.

  Once he’d showered and returned as a Rogue, he was ready for show and tell. She stared, couldn’t take her eyes off him—he was that rugged, that handsome.

  The man was a star athlete, tall, muscled, primed. He looked hot in his uniform. He was a man other men would envy and women would deeply desire.

  He returned her stare, in that tangible way that visually stroked her. She felt his touch, a hot trail of fingertips over her breasts and down her belly, followed by a slow slide beneath the waistband of her green capris.

  She went wet for him.

  His smile curved knowingly.

  She nervously tugged on the hem of her pink flamingo top, ran her sweaty palms down her thighs. She’d never been more embarrassed.

  Air, she needed air. “Let’s go.”

  Once out on the sidewalk, she pointed to her yellow Volkswagen. “It’s not your Saleen S7, but it will get us to school.”

  Alex settled his big body in the passenger seat. Holly was certain he purposely stretched out when he could have hugged the door. His shoulder bumped hers, and his thigh rubbed her own. He rested his hand between the seats, the tips of his fingers a mere inch from her hip.

  She started the engine, shifted into first. Her knuckles accidentally brushed low on his side, and Boxer grinned.

  Distracted, she ran onto the curb as she was pulling into traffic. The bump and jar rocked Alex sideways. He leaned against her a little too long.

  She pushed him back, said, “Don’t crowd me.”

  “Don’t have an accident.” He jabbed a finger at the car ahead of them, which had stopped short for a yellow light. “I’d have run it.”

  Holly hit the brake. “You would have gotten a ticket.”

  “Only in Holiday,” Alex grunted. “Big cities are more lenient.”

  She was certain no Richmond cop would write Alex a ticket, no matter his violation. He was a professional athlete and would slide by on an autograph and the promise of game tickets.

  They soon arrived at the school and youthful memories made her smile. “I attended Holiday Elementary,” she told Alex as she pulled her VW into visitors’ parking. “Classrooms were small and teachers taught until retirement. A few of my favorites still remain.”

  “They must be old,” said Alex.

  “The kids keep them young.”

  “I wouldn’t have the patience to teach.”

  “It takes dedication,” she noted. “My dad used to say ‘if a person loves his job, he’ll never work a day in his life.’ ”

  “That’s why I play baseball.”

  “So the boy never has to become a man?”

  “You’re cracking my nuts again.” He scowled. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’m all grown up. There’s nothing little about this man.”

  Holly had seen him stripped down to boxer briefs. He was definitely full grown.

  Anticipation ran high in Mrs. Rome’s class. The room was decorated with student artwork and an enormous chart that marked good behavior. Gold and silver stars abounded.

  Holly stood back as Alex talked baseball. He was by turns serious and funny, told a dozen stories. He captivated every ten-year-old in the room.

  He drew Louie Kessler to the front of the class, had the boy try on his big league glove. The glove with which he’d caught the final out in the World Series.

  Afterward, Alex autographed baseballs and pictures and stood for a class photo. Mrs. Rome next suggested that Louie give Holly and Alex a tour of the classroom. Louie introduced them to the class guinea pig, Cute as a Button or Button for short.

  “Clown fish aren’t funny,” Louie whispered to Holly when they stopped before a large aquarium near the teacher’s desk. “They just have pretty colors.”

  Holly admired the fish with the orange and white stripes. She was also quite taken by three small turtles in a separate tank.

  “Huey, Dewey, and Louie.” The boy smiled. “Louie always sits on the center island under the sun lamp. He’s the warmest.”

  Mrs. Rome clapped her hands and gained everyone’s attention. “We have time for a quick game of kickball before lunch,” she announced. “Team captains will be Alex Boxer and Sarah Hanover. The boys will play the girls.”

  The girls’ team proved one player short and Holly was nominated to play. Growing streaks had left the girls several inches taller than most of the boys. Louie was the shortest kid in the class.

  “We’ll take the outfield first.” Alex positioned his players, then looked indecisive about Louie.

  “He’d make a great pitcher,” Holly called to Alex.

  She could see by the pull of his mouth, Alex didn’t quite agree. Louie, however, thought her idea brilliant. The kid grabbed the rubber ball and trotted out to pitch.

  Alex’s jaw shifted as he took over as catcher.

  The girls cheered Holly, who was up first to kick. She was glad she’d worn a pair of navy Keds. Louie’s first roll of the ball stopped well before it crossed the plate. His second and third tries also fell short.

  Alex jogged to Louie, gave the boy a quick lesson in pitching. Alex demonstrated by rolling a ball to Holly.

  “We’re not bowling,” she reminded Alex as he aimed the ball hard and fast at her ankles, attempting to knock down pins. “It’s third-grade kickball.”

  “Nothing wrong with friendly competition,” he returned.

  Alex was far from friendly. He played to win.

  Holly had once been good at kickball. When Louie finally got the ball over the plate, she skimmed it with the side of her foot, a kick that sent the ball straight back to the pitcher.

  Louie fell all over himself, but finally scooped up the ball. He then ran after Holly in an attempt to throw and tag her out.

  Today was Louie’s day, and Holly wanted the kid to perform well. She gave him a chance to put her out. Louie’s toss at her hip was a foot ahead of her stride. She had to pick up speed to get hit. She feigned frustration at not reaching
first.

  The boys all jumped, pumped their arms, praised Louie. Holly walked back to the girls’ bench. A few of them patted her arm, consoled her.

  Alex Boxer’s eyes narrowed on her. He had the look of a man who wanted to win, but he didn’t want success handed to him.

  Two additional outs and the boys went on to kick. Holly watched as Alex set himself up to kick third. If the first two boys could get on base, Alex would then boot the ball across the street. His team would be ahead by three runs.

  Very unsportsmanlike in Holly’s eyes.

  The girls insisted she pitch, and Holly picked up the ball. The first boy kicked hard, and the ball shot between second and third base. The boys now had a runner on first.

  Louie was up next and missed the first two pitches by a mile. Alex pulled the boy aside and gave him a pep talk. Louie promised to do better.

  With the third pitch, he connected, a soft roller back to Holly. She scooped up the ball, threw to second, got the lead runner out. Louie held at first.

  Alex sauntered to home plate. He stood before Holly in his Rogues uniform, looking big and badass and ready to kick the ball down her throat.

  She didn’t like him much at that moment.

  Alex knew Holly expected him to run up the score. He planned to do the opposite. He wanted to confuse this woman who’d rejected his kisses on the carousel. She’d shut him down when he’d felt lucky.

  No one stole his luck.

  He had every intention of kissing her again. Most women found him irresistible. Next time, she’d kiss him back.

  Holly rolled the ball, and Alex let it pass.

  “Strike one,” from Mrs. Rome.

  Alex swore the teacher was blind.

  Alex caught the second roller with his toe. He popped the ball up, a double-bouncer to the girl at third. He’d provided just enough time to get Louie to second, if the kid ran all out.

  Louie made it, but just barely. The girl at third had a wicked arm. She threw like a boy.

  Runners were now on first and second. The next kicker punted a fly ball to Holly. She caught it easily. Two down.

  From the corner of his eye, Alex caught Louie take off for third. The kid was trying to steal a base, looking to be a hero. Alex understood the boy’s need to succeed.

  A diversion, Alex thought, and he started for second. He needed to pull Holly’s attention off Louie and onto him.

  Holly took the bait; she wanted Alex out.

  She came at him with quickness and grace. The boys went wild as Alex danced about, attempted to dodge her throw. The girls screamed just as loudly for Holly to nail him.

  She had a good eye and decent aim, Alex was soon to find out. A double-arm toss caught his hip. But though he was out, Louie had snuck home. The kid scored the only run of the game.

  Louie may have been small, but he was definitely mighty. His team cheered him loudly.

  Mrs. Rome soon called her class to lunch. Alex snagged his glove off the bench and followed Holly into the cafeteria. He stuffed himself on macaroni and weenie winks.

  Louie hugged him good-bye and Alex patted his shoulder. The kid would grow. He’d no doubt shoot up several inches over the next year.

  Returning to the parking lot, Holly glanced at her watch, scrunched her nose. “It’s time to return to the mall. Try to conjure a little holiday spirit.”

  Alex glared at her from across the hood of her car. “I’ve run out of cheer,” he said. “I want to go to the beach, catch some rays.”

  “You need to serve your community hours,” she said as she ducked into her VW. “The judge ordered you into a Santa suit—there’s no beach break.”

  “I’m chafed from red velvet and have a rash under my chin from the beard,” he complained.

  “Use more talcum powder,” she suggested.

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “You sure whine like one.”

  Alex was done arguing. He climbed in, levered back the passenger seat, and placed his glove over his face. He’d nap on the ride back.

  But it seemed Holly was out to get him. She popped the clutch, swerved unnecessarily, and stopped suddenly for no apparent reason.

  He’d get back at her later. He planned to steal a kiss when she least expected it. He’d twist her inside out.

  Back at the Jingle Bell Shop, he shot upstairs to shower. Again. His skin was starting to feel scaly.

  Toweled dry, he came down the curving iron staircase in nothing but his boxer briefs. Near the bottom, he slowed, stopped.

  From his vantage point, he viewed a tall holiday screen decorated with a vintage sleigh. Behind the center panel, Holly McIntyre stood in her bra and panties.

  Alex went hard in a heartbeat.

  He clutched the railing, tried to catch his breath but failed. Lady was hot in her lavender satin and lace. She had slender curves and long legs. And a really nice ass.

  He knew he should make his presence known. She’d kill him for checking her out. But it was tit for tat in his mind. He was in his briefs, and she’d gone hanky-panky.

  “I’m not a peep show, Alex Boxer.”

  Busted! Holly had eyes in the back of her head. He’d never seen a woman dress so fast. She’d transitioned to the nutcracker in under a minute, though she hadn’t yet donned the big wooden head.

  He took the remaining stairs, crossed to her. “I imagined you more cotton than lace.”

  “I pegged you a Peeping Tom from the first.”

  “A man likes to look.”

  “Get dressed.” She produced his Santa suit. “Ten minutes, and I expect merry.”

  Jolly wasn’t on his agenda. He went through the motions, but his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t feel Christmas like the rest of the town. Holiday had an abundance of cheer. Alex felt lost to the spirit.

  The afternoon moved forward, closing in on the dinner hour. His stomach growled at six-thirty.

  “Only thirty minutes more.” Holly pacified him with a free sample of a raspberry smoothie from the health food store.

  He sucked it down in one sip, certain most of the drink now colored his mustache red. At least the color matched the season. He’d never seen so much red, green, and white in his life. It was as if no other hue existed.

  “You’re done for the day,” Holly announced when she finally came to relieve him of his duties.

  Alex stood, stretched, and felt red velvet creasing his ass. After the holidays, velvet would be dead to him.

  He was halfway out of his Santa suit by the time he reached the Jingle Bell Shop. “You shouldn’t undress in the hallway,” Holly chided.

  “When you’re as hot and sticky as I am, you let the clothes fall where they may.” He kicked off his Nikes at the doorway.

  He caught Holly’s look as she took him in. His hair was plastered to his head, his chest damp, his briefs clingy. Red lint dusted his calves. The talcum powder on his thighs and beneath his chin had turned to paste. He smelled. Still, she stared. And he grew uneasy. He shifted his stance twice.

  “You’ve put in a long day,” she finally said. “Take it easy tonight.”

  “What are your plans?” he surprised himself by asking.

  She blinked, equally taken back. “I’m headed to Edna Murdock’s house,” she told him. “The se nior citizens are baking and decorating Christmas cookies for less fortunate families. I’m going to help out.”

  Alex spent so little time in his own kitchen, he needed no more than a refrigerator for beer. “I can bake,” he was quick to say. “I’m an artist when it comes to frosting and sprinkles.”

  Holly didn’t believe him for a second—he could see it in her eyes. “What’s your favorite Christmas cookie?” she asked.

  “Sugar cookies. They’re Santa’s favorite too.”

  “Frosting?”

  “Butterfat.”

  “You mean buttercream?”

  “Yeah, right, easy mistake.”

  She debated, finally decided in his favor. “You screw up one
recipe,” she threatened, “and I’ll shove you in the oven.”

  Hansel and Gretel came to mind. The crazy witch too.

  He wondered if Holly would try to fatten him up first on spun sugar and cake.

  Maybe he should drop breadcrumbs on his way to Edna Murdock’s house, just to be on the safe side.

  Chapter Four

  Baking cookies with the over-sixty crowd was one thing; having Alex Boxer in Edna Murdock’s kitchen was quite another. The man charmed every woman wearing granny panties. Holly had never seen him so friendly, so flirty, so polite. So not-Alex.

  She stood back and watched him work the room. He’d taken a turn at every cook’s station except hers. She knew which cookies were Alex’s and which belonged to the ladies. Especially when it came to the apricot and raspberry thumbprints. There was a big difference between Alma Mason’s delicate thumb and jock boy’s. His print required an extra dollop of preserves.

  He’d encouraged Greta Taylor to double the Bacardi in her rum ball recipe. He’d sugar-dusted the crescent moon cookies twice over. Two of his gingerbread men were anatomically correct. He’d made the older women blush.

  At that very moment, Alex was eating chocolate chip shortbread off the cookie sheets faster than Emily Ison could bake them. He’d poured his third glass of milk.

  He was relaxed, smiling, and very much at home.

  Holly, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck.

  The man gave her goose bumps. From the moment he’d arrived, she’d gone all tingly and jumpy. Alex hadn’t paid her the least bit of attention. Yet his occasional glance stole her breath and made her heart race.

  She instinctively knew he’d try to kiss her again. She watched, anticipated, yet kept her distance. She was afraid if he caught her unaware, she’d respond. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of another conquest.

  Three days and he’d be leaving town. Unless he got off early for good behavior.

  There were twins in Miami.

  She didn’t want to be his Holiday lay.

  “Where are you from, Alex?” Edna Murdock of the white hair, kind brown eyes, and arthritic hands asked as she passed him a plate of warm snickerdoodles.