Santa, Honey

by Sandra Hill

  Holly couldn’t look at him. Her face was flushed, and her hands were all thumbs as she threw her energy into untwisting the wire at the top of the arch.

  He’d get even with her, Alex silently swore. He’d donate a pile of one-dollar bills to kiss the nutcracker. He’d make love to her mouth until their lips went numb.

  Another twenty minutes, and the twelve-foot arch curved perfectly. Hanging the sprigs of mistletoe came next. Alex tied bright red-and-green striped bows around the sprigs, then attached them to the wire. He felt like a floral designer.

  The arch was soon transformed into a sweet, festive bower of leathery evergreen and waxy white berries. Several longer sprigs of mistletoe hung along the top; the leaves provided the kissing couples a bit of privacy.

  Project completed, Hank pulled off his gloves, picked up the empty cardboard box, and moved toward the garage door. “You two should initiate the arch,” he cast over his shoulder, then was gone.

  Holly went red at his suggestion.

  Alex rather liked Hank’s idea.

  She resisted when he took her hand, scuffing her feet and leaning backward. He was stronger and got his way. The urge to kiss her proved as undeniable as breathing. A final tug and she was his.

  He circled her waist, noted how nicely she fit within the circle of his arms. He wanted her to feel every inch of him. Their bellies brushed, and he snuck a knee between her thighs. Their jeans created a friction that shot straight to his groin. He stirred, a significant twitch against her stomach.

  She shivered, all raw nerves and expectancy. She pressed her garden-gloved hands to his chest, held him off by an inch. “The mistletoe arch is for charity. You have to pay to kiss me,” she stalled.

  A one-handed dip into his side pocket, and Alex pulled out a money clip. He thumbed off a fifty, slipped the cash into the back pocket of her white jeans. His hand lingered over her left butt cheek. He had big hands and she a small ass. He squeezed and eased her so close they were breathing the same air.

  He stroked his palms over her hips, along her waist, worked up her spine. Time slowed, seduced them both, in the silent, dimly lit garage.

  Gently, persuasively, he brushed his lips along her cheek, then her nose. The sugary-soft scent of cookies mixed with her own sweet essence.

  He let Holly come to him. All she needed to do was angle her head ever so slightly and let him take her mouth.

  She was slow in doing so. When she finally looked at him, open and trusting, he framed her face with his hands, and stared deeply into her eyes. He felt her tremble and knew she feared as much as wanted him.

  Anticipation quickened their heartbeats, thrummed in their blood. Their attraction was undeniable. He knew one kiss wouldn’t be enough. Once their tongues tangled, their bodies would heat, grow restless, and he’d want to take her against the garage wall.

  Something inside him wouldn’t allow a zipper-down quickie with this woman. She deserved more. Holly needed a man to take his time with her, to make her feel desirable, cherished, a man who’d be faithful. Alex didn’t qualify on any level.

  Every time he looked at her, touched her, her warmth and Christmas spirit rubbed off on him. The people of Holiday were merry and embraced the season. They’d welcomed him, even as he counted down the hours, eager to leave.

  Miami called. Blond twins awaited him at a cabana by the pool. He and his fellow Rogues would go wild; it would be the blowout of the decade.

  Baseball, body shots, and booty made up his life.

  Not a nutcracker, ice cream, and Christmas cookies.

  His conscience spoke louder than his need for sex. Kissing Holly would mean more to her than it did to him. She deserved promises and commitment. Alex had a phobia for both.

  Reason and respect warred with the desire to kiss her senseless, and, in the end, Alex was honorable. His lips touched hers in a kiss that lasted less than a second. Holly didn’t have time to close her eyes.

  Her gaze widened now as she stared at him; her lips were parted, her cheeks a flustered pink. The moment stretched, turned awkward.

  “You deserve a refund,” she eventually managed, her voice soft, unsure, as she reached into the back pocket of her jeans and returned his fifty.

  He refused the money. “Give it to charity.”

  A heartbeat of silence passed before she licked her lips and asked, “Is that how you see me, Alex, as a charity case?”

  “I wanted to kiss you.” He owed her that much.

  “But you stopped.”

  She looked hurt, Alex saw, and her pain made his chest ache. “You’re decent, kind, and deserve better.”

  “Better than what?” Confusion darkened her brown eyes.

  “Better than me.” The words were tough to say.

  “I damn sure do.” Her agreement set him back. “A kiss under the mistletoe is holiday fun. No one takes it too seriously. You, however, look like you’re standing before a judge.”

  “You look nothing like Judge Hathaway.” The judge had a receding hairline, a sun-weathered face, and a hostile disposition.

  “Look closer.” She gave him her profile. “Some say I have his nose.”

  She had his nose? “You’re related?”

  “He’s my uncle.”

  Chapter Five

  Holly’s admission punched Alex in the gut. He was so startled he forgot to breathe. He choked, coughed, studied her closely. She’d claimed Hank as her cousin—they both had blondish hair and brown eyes—yet the judge was another matter. Hathaway had authority: he’d stuffed Alex in a loft above the Jingle Bell Shop and court ordered community hours.

  Had Holly spoken in his defense, Alex was certain the judge would have shortened his time. He’d have burned the itchy velvet Santa suit and never bellowed another ho-ho-ho.

  He could be in Miami right now. The thought made him a little crazy. Instead of partying with bikinied babes, he presently stood beneath a hand-crafted mistletoe arch, bone hard yet bowing out, being honorable.

  He raked one hand through his hair. “The judge is your uncle?” It was damn hard to believe. “You never reported my good behavior?”

  “Good behavior?” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been difficult, arrogant, ornery, and horny.”

  “I’m always horny.” That was nothing new.

  “You’ve been a halfhearted Santa at best,” she said. “You have no holiday spirit.”

  “I baked Christmas cookies.”

  “You ate the cookies faster than the grannies could bake them. Your decorating efforts were X-rated.”

  Alex crossed his arms over his chest, shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “We could walk into the court house tomorrow and you could tell the judge I’ve been a good boy. He’d then release me on the spot. You wouldn’t have to deal with me ever again.”

  “I could never lie to my uncle.”

  “Not even a little white lie?”

  “A lie is a lie, Alex.”

  Damn. “You’re cracking my nuts.”

  “That’s my seasonal job.”

  “Look.” He went for charming and persuasive. “If I don’t complain for an entire day, will you get me released so I can be in Miami on Christmas Eve?”

  “You sound like you’re serving a jail sentence.”

  That was what it felt like to him. “Do we have a deal?”

  Holly McIntyre released a slow, soft breath. She had the power to terminate his community hours right that second if she so chose, yet a part of her hated to see him go.

  Alex was too handsome, too rich, too egotistical for her liking. She did, however, believe a good man hid behind his humbug and horniness. She had one day to draw it out.

  She held out her garden-gloved hand. “Not one complaint, Alex, and we have a deal.”

  He took her hand, tugged her close, and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. He was all smiles now, his eagerness to behave almost comical.

  Holly pulled off her gloves and glanced at her watch. “It’s late,
time for bed,” she said.

  “I can’t wait to return to the loft and curl up in bed.”

  She knew the bed was too small for his big body. She’d seen him working the kinks from his neck and shoulders each day. She’d watched him stretch, caught his muscles ripple. He had a killer body.

  “Get in my car and I’ll drive you home,” she offered.

  “The Volkswagen’s about the size of my bedroom.”

  Twelve hours later, Alex was again dressed as Santa and Holly wore the painted wooden head of the nutcracker. Alex had wakened cheerful for a change. He’d grinned through two cups of black coffee and four donuts.

  Holly was surprised his red velvet outfit still fit. The man liked his sweets.

  He blew her away with his boisterous ho-ho-ho. While he still looked more Chippendale than North Pole, he welcomed the kids with open arms. A few even got hugs.

  The man could behave, she noted, when he wanted to. He just needed the proper incentive. If leaving town early meant so much to him, she’d keep her word and talk to her uncle.

  Judge Hathaway would be lenient. Despite what Alex thought, her uncle was a fair man. He’d sat on the bench for forty years, admired and respected by the community.

  The excited mood in the mall turned giddy when her cousin Hank delivered the mistletoe arch. People started giggling, gossiping, and going in for kisses. A lot of money would be raised for charity.

  At the end of Alex’s shift, a third line had formed near the arch, all single women. “What’s going on?” he asked as he pushed off his chair.

  Holly lowered the jaw on her wooden head and explained, “The ladies are waiting to kiss Santa.”

  Alex’s surprise was almost comical. The man’s concentration had been on the kids and not on the females dying to kiss him. There was even a set of triplets.

  He looked at Holly. “Can I take off my beard?”

  “Not in front of the children.”

  “I’ll get lipstick on my mustache.”

  Her heart clenched. “Santa’s known for pecks on the cheek. You don’t have to French them.”

  “Do I get extra Brownie points for no tongue?”

  “Behave, Alex.” Her tone was stern.

  “Got a breath mint?”

  She held up a candy cane. “Peppermint?”

  “Gag me with a spoon.” He broke off a tiny bite, freshened his mouth. “Let the kissing begin.”

  Holly’s day was done, yet instead of changing into her street clothes, she stood off to the side and watched as Alex Boxer satisfied sixty women. He’d jacked the price to five dollars a kiss, all in the name of charity. No one seemed to mind.

  The line moved snail slow as he flattered and teased every female. Most of the ladies were blushing as they rose on tiptoe for their Santa smooch.

  Alex had been right, Holly noted, the longer he kissed, the more lipstick rubbed off on his mustache and beard. A few ladies tugged his whiskers aside to take his mouth more deeply. Holly wondered about the best way to remove shades of hot pink and climax red from the fake white curls.

  A sigh escaped, and her heart turned suddenly sad. An unexpected emptiness expanded within her chest.

  She felt half, not whole. The sensation made her body ache.

  She was witnessing what Alex Boxer did best: he charmed women and made them want him. Dozens had kissed him, then gotten back in line, anticipating a second time. The five dollars appeared money well spent.

  Twenty minutes into the kissing and Holly’d had enough. The nutcracker costume was hot; the wooden head weighed heavy on her shoulders. The time had come to deliver the holiday baskets that Hank had stacked and packed in her car after he’d set up the arch. She would make the rounds without Alex.

  Even if the deliveries took longer than expected, Christmas carols would be sung late into the night at the community center. Agnes Smith would play the piano until her carpal tunnel acted up.

  Back in the Jingle Bell Shop, Holly took in the silence. The storage room was quiet without Alex. She missed his growling, grumpiness, and sex appeal. He was easy on the eyes, and his suggestive humor turned her on. She liked the way he kissed.

  He’d soon be leaving. She already missed him. Holiday wouldn’t be the same without him.

  She struggled with the wooden head and set it on a corner table. She unbuttoned her red jacket and let it hang open. She’d just kicked off her gold-glitter boots and dropped her baggy black pants when the side door flew open and Santa charged in.

  His gaze swept her, and his grin turned naughty. “I’m suddenly jolly.”

  She clutched the lapels of the jacket together but had nothing to cover her legs. His once-over skimmed from her peach bikini to her painted toes.

  After gazing his fill, he jerked off his beard, dragging air into his lungs. “Between the closed-mouth kisses and mustache hair up my nose, I damn near suffocated.”

  He looked pale, miserable, and sweaty.

  Holly had never felt happier in her life. “How much money did you raise?” she asked.

  Alex did a mental count. “Hank closed the arch at forty kisses. We made two hundred dollars.”

  “There must have been some disappointed women.”

  “My lips got tired.” He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “The ladies kissed, then whispered their Christmas list. They wanted me to come down their chimney.”

  He peeled off his skull cap, ran a hand through his hair. “No more kissing for today. We have holiday baskets to deliver—that takes pre ce dence.”

  His words surprised her. “You remembered?”

  “I would never forget what’s important to you.”

  The man was being considerate. His expression revealed the depth of his sincerity. Gone was the cockiness, the arrogance, the swagger. For the moment, he appeared conscientious and helpful.

  Her heart skipped two beats, and she softened to him. Alex being nice was new to her. She wasn’t quite certain how to take him at his best.

  “Go shower. We need to hit the road in twenty minutes,” she told him.

  He turned, took the stairs to the loft two at a time. A quarter of an hour later, a damp-haired Alex joined her once again. A brown button-down shirt stretched over his wide shoulders; a pair of khakis ran his long legs. Sperry Top-siders fit his feet.

  He looked cool, desirable, and all male.

  His gaze narrowed as he took her in. “You look like Mrs. Claus.”

  She patted her white wig, adjusted her granny glasses. Her dress was red and long sleeved and fashioned with a white apron. She’d slipped on red tights and black ballet slippers.

  “This time of year, Santa needs all the help he can get,” she said.

  “Christmas is a real ball-buster,” he agreed.

  “You should enjoy and embrace the season, Alex. It’s special.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  She pulled her car keys from the pocket of her apron, dropped them on his palm. “You drive, I’ll deliver. I’ll give you directions as we go.”

  “I can turn left or right.”

  Alex Boxer had never driven a Volkswagen Bug, and it took him a few adjustments to settle his big body in the seat. The VW had the chug-chug of the Little Engine that Could, not the silky smooth ride of his Saleen S7. If all went well with the judge, he’d soon be back behind the wheel of his sports car. Zoom, zoom, zoom.

  He’d be leaving any day now, and the realization that he’d miss Holly twisted his testicles as only a nutcracker could do.

  She had a way of making people smile, he noticed, as she slid from the VW to deliver the sixth basket of the afternoon. The door to the small, boxy house swung wide, and the nursery rhyme “The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe” came to mind.

  Eight children poured out, followed by one tired-looking mother. Holly gave the family three big baskets of cookies and reindeer dust. The youngest child immediately spread a runway for Santa, and the lawn soon glittered brightly.

  “What�
�s their story?” Alex asked once Mrs. Claus returned to the vehicle.

  “Mary Lambert has three children of her own and went on to adopt the remaining five when her sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car accident,” she explained. “Her husband, Jake, works construction and goes where the pay is highest. Right now he’s building condominiums sixty miles north on Vero Beach. He drives home every night to be with his family.”

  Alex’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “That’s a tough way to survive.”

  “People do what they have to do,” she said softly. “Jake’s a good man. He took on the responsibility of two families when he was twenty-five.”

  Alex was older than Jake, yet his deepest thoughts ran to twin blondes and a case of beer. The freedom of the road beckoned him. He took care of himself, but no one else.

  He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, felt the need to do something nice for someone other than himself. He looked at Holly and asked, “Is there anything I can do for the Lamberts?”

  “It’s nice of you to ask, but Jake would never accept charity. He’s too proud.” Holly slipped off her granny glasses, looked him in the eye. “Holiday takes care of its own. When the kids come into my ice cream shop, I give them each an extra scoop with sprinkles. At the grocery store, the owner slips Mary an envelope of coupons. The doctor always has pharmaceutical samples of medication to give out when the kids are sick. Should their car break down, the mechanic charges for parts, not labor. We all look out for one another.”

  He was suddenly at a loss. “I’d still like to do something.”

  “Why, Alex?”

  Because I have a million dollars in the bank and this family is living hand-to-mouth. “Seems the right thing to do, Holly.”

  He heard her swallow, saw her eyes well up. She was looking at him differently now, as if seeing him for the first time. He didn’t want her seeing more in him than was actually there, so he shrugged. “I can be a good guy sometimes.”

  “It’s called Christmas spirit,” she told him. “It’s far better to give than to receive.”

  She surprised him then by leaning across the seat and kissing him full on the mouth. He’d expected the cheek, but he’d gotten lips, and he took advantage of her gratitude.