All I Want for Christmas

by Denise A. Agnew

  The kids clapped. The skeptical boy asked, “He didn’t kiss her did he?”

  Nick couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Uh, no...”

  “Okay kids, time’s up,” Abby said, walking to the front of the room. She pinned Nick with a stare. “Santa has to get back to the North Pole.”

  After the parents had collected their children, Nick approached her. She ran a hand through her hair, effectively tousling her bob. For a moment Abby let her index finger twirl a strand of hair. He’d seen her perform this unconscious hand movement before. In a sense, Nick was envious of that finger. He wanted to run his own hands through her hair, feel the texture and thickness against his skin.

  “Thanks for doing the Story Time today. What would you think of doing it next Saturday?” Abby asked.

  “I enjoyed it.” He put his hand out. “It’s a deal.”

  “Good.” Hesitating, she shook his hand.

  He pressed it, taking pleasure from her soft palm. Nick kept her hand within his. “So, what did you think of my elf story, Pixie?”

  Abby glanced at their linked hands and pulled away. Even the sensation of her skin sliding against his sent his temperature into the fever range. “Fascinating. Was there a moral to the story?”

  “You know what it was all about.”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast. Her hair fell over one eye, and Nick reached for it on impulse, to fulfill the fantasy of moments before. Abby’s gaze appeared surprised, but not unwelcoming. He caressed the strands between his fingers, then pushed the hair back in place.

  God, if they had been somewhere private, he knew he’d kiss the hell out of her. Hard and deep to assuage this pulsing need. Just being this close to her drove him insane, and he would die if he couldn’t sample her lips soon.

  “Lunch?” she said, breaking the spell.

  Nick wanted to groan with need, but instead he smiled. “I’m starving. Let’s get outta here, Pixie.”

  The windshield wipers on Abby’s car barely removed the heavy, wet snow that pelted her windshield. The rhythm of the wipers...the steady thump, thump, thump hypnotized. Snow piled high in the streets, but the plows hadn’t appeared yet. The weather service predicted six inches by nightfall and the clock had just struck noon. Maybe she should have gone straight home and holed up for the weekend. Running around in this weather wasn’t safe. Then again, many things weren’t safe, and she’d spent too much time running from things that might hurt her.

  Such as lunch with an intriguing, attractive man.

  Well, she’d agreed to lunch with Nick, and as she followed behind his car on the way to his apartment, she thought of the elf story.

  Abby did know the moral of the story, and suspected that he wouldn’t explain anything more. The man managed to be so damn self-assured, a mystery that begged to be answered. Nick might be an open personality, friendly and gregarious, but she felt something hiding in him. To answer the enigma, a woman would have to get close. Very, very close.

  A few minutes later, Nick pulled into his apartment complex, and after they got out of their cars, he came toward her with a smile. He’d taken two steps when he slipped in the snow, his heavy Santa boots shooting out from under him. With a grunt of surprise, he plopped backwards, much the way she had in the mall parking lot not many nights ago.

  Abby cried out in surprise as she put her hand over her mouth. She made her way toward him, trying not to slide. “Are you okay?”

  Instead of frowning, he smiled. “This situation is distinctly familiar.”

  Abby reached him, holding out her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

  “You’re right. If I stay here much longer I’ll not only have a sore ass but a frozen one.”

  Nick clasped her hand, and as she tugged him upwards, Abby levered too much weight forward, and her boots failed her. Letting out a blistering exclamation, and then a small sound of defeat, she fell toward Nick. Her descent came too fast to attempt evasion maneuvers. Crap. She was going to land flat on top of him. Nick’s arms came around her, and he fell back into the snow.

  Nestled against him by the pressure of his arms and gravity, Abby instantly responded to his masculinity. Devoid of the padding he wore with his other Santa suit, his tightly muscled contours pressed against her. Her body betrayed her, aware of how their hips and thighs meshed together. She took a startled breath at the intimate position. Hard body didn’t begin to describe the strength of Nick Claussen’s physique.

  He grinned like a little boy, mischief etched in his gaze. “Frozen asses seem to be our specialty.”

  “I’m smashing you.” Abby moved slightly, trying to get up. He didn’t release her.

  “Don’t move.” Nick shifted as if settling down for a nap.

  “Why? Are you hurt?”

  “Only my pride,” he murmured.

  His gaze traced over her features with fascination, disturbing her equilibrium. Abby hated the inspection. She hated...

  No, she didn’t hate it. Nick’s daring perusal made her feel askew, like she’d been spinning on a carnival ride and flung out of the seat. She’d never experienced a disturbance like this in any other man’s arms.

  “Pixie.” Nick’s voice came soft, husky. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that...”

  “What?” Her voice came as a weak whisper to her ears.

  Abby saw the warning in the smoldering attention in his gaze, but she ignored it. She felt the forewarning when he slid his fingers through the hair at the back of her head, cupped her there, but she disregarded it. With a sigh, Abby let him guide her head down, let Nick press his mouth to hers.

  7

  Nick’s lips seared Abby’s mouth, making a sensual exploration. The heat built as he showed Abby that he never did anything half way, never did anything because he worried what others would think.

  With a sense of joy, Abby sank into him, allowing her body to go pliant with pleasure. She ignored the cold wind, the snow, the possibility someone would see them and disapprove.

  Just this once she didn’t care what people thought.

  Nick wrapped her in a cocoon of safety. Abby felt protected by his strength, as if nothing or no one could ever hurt her again.

  Allowing all her senses to bloom, she gave in to arousing enjoyment, savoring his lips. His mouth tasted like hot chocolate. Her lips parted, and a sound of masculine pleasure came from his throat. Bold, perhaps reassured by Abby’s response, his kiss grew hungry, his tongue pushing deep into her mouth.

  A startled, but pleasure-filled sound escaped Abby. She responded, enjoying his heat, the arousal that spread within her belly and breasts. Nick instigated a rhythm of immerse and retreat, caressing her tongue with wild strokes that sent heat charging through her like a firestorm.

  The rumble of a car engine broke through the fever, and Abby broke the kiss. She took a deep, startled breath, as if surfacing from a long underwater dive. His breathing came quick, his gaze lambent.

  Oh, yeah. He wanted her all right. Abby couldn’t mistake the blatant desire in his gaze.

  “Um...people are going to see us down here and wonder what is going on,” she said, unable to break with his intimate gaze.

  He lifted one eyebrow. “You worry about that a lot, don’t you?”

  Abby’s discomfort with the situation escalated. “Let me up.”

  They managed to make it to the building without taking another fall. But all the way, she continued to feel the hard impression of his body, the taut strength in his muscles.

  Little vignettes bombarded her from all sides.

  His naked chest bare for her inspection.

  His lean hips pressed against hers.

  The tensile strength of his arms holding her.

  Abby had to shake her head to eliminate the fantasies. And, still, they hovered on the corner of her mind, taunting her.

  Once inside his apartment, and after he’d taken her coat, Nick headed to the bedroom to remove his wet Santa suit. As she waited for him to retur
n, Abby sat on a bar stool at the breakfast bar connected to the kitchen.

  Nervous about what had happened between them, she looked around the kitchen, attempting to guess from the decor what type of man Nick Claussen was. So far his apartment told her nothing. It was stark, modern, cool. Somehow this interior didn’t fit him. Nothing about the plain surfaces, the lack of gadgets and appliances told her much other than he didn’t spend much time cooking. There was no bread maker, no potholders, decorative towels, mug tree, recipe box, or Tupperware in sight.

  In her book, the kitchen spelled ugly. Lacking a feminine touch. Not that she could claim to be Julia Child. Though she spent more time nuking a cup of soup or sliding a frozen pizza in the oven, at least her kitchen looked like she used it. Maybe he ate out a lot.

  Nick still hadn’t decorated his apartment for Christmas. The place had as much warmth as an Arctic landscape.

  In contrast, Abby had put up a tree in her living room, and red felt stockings on the mantle. There was still plenty to do, though. Instead of lying in a pile of snow with Santa and kissing his brains out, she should finish decorating her house. Flustered by what had occurred in the parking lot, her mind wandered back to what Nick’s embrace had made her feel.

  Gourmet cook he might not be, but his kiss had liquefied her like warm pudding. Allowing her imagination to roam, she thought about how much she wanted to sample his mouth again.

  Hell, she wanted to do more than taste. She wanted to dally there...relish him...ravish him.

  She scampered away from dangerous thoughts. Just because he’d kissed her didn’t mean Nick wanted to do it again, or that it would lead to a long-term relationship. Permanency couldn’t be in his vocabulary when he planned to be in Russel only six months. When he realized that a little town with a lot of snow and little excitement didn’t provide what he needed, he’d pack up and go back to his life in Denver.

  Yet when she’d looked down on him the tension had stretched between them. More than four years had passed since a man had kissed her, and it sure as hell hadn’t rocked her like the bone-melting clinch she’d experienced with Nick.

  Maybe that’s why her brains felt rattled. How had their embrace influenced him? Did he think about it while he took off the Santa suit? Abby propped her chin in her hand. Closing her eyes, she imagined him removing his clothes bit by bit. A slow smile covered her lips.

  She heard him come in, and her eyes snapped open. Nick had covered his broad shoulders and chest with a red sweater and jeans hugged his hips and legs.

  “Ready for the best damn nachos this side of Yuma?” he asked.

  “Sounds great.” She hopped off the stool. “Can I help?”

  He opened the refrigerator and rummaged. “Stay put.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. You’re my guest. Would you like something hot to drink?” He looked up. “Tea? Cocoa?”

  “Tea is fine.”

  Sitting back on the stool, Abby watched him move about the kitchen. She envied his economical motions, the obvious ease of a man who knew his way around any situation. This man was so together.

  “Have you baked anything from that cookbook that you bought at the store?” she asked.

  As he put together the ingredients for the nachos, he said, “Haven’t really had time.”

  “Why?”

  Nick set the teakettle on the range, then turned back to her. “Well, you see, there’s this slave driver I work for.”

  She grinned. “Bull.”

  “No, actually she’s a Pixie.”

  Abby’s grin widened, and she gave in to pleasant feelings swirling. After he slid the nachos into the oven, he faced her and leaned on the counter. “What were you thinking earlier when I was changing out of the Santa suit?”

  “That’s a strange question.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Who says I was thinking anything?”

  “You had your eyes closed.”

  Tension tightened the muscles around her eyes, but she didn’t know if it was nerves or excitement. “I can’t tell you.”

  “You were plotting my slow and painful death.”

  “How did you know?”

  “It was the ecstasy on your face. And I figure two things could put that look on your pretty face.” He reached out and gently brushed the underside of her chin with his index finger.

  “Pepperoni pizza or a hot fudge sundae,” she said.

  A wicked light brightened his eyes. “My carcass slowly turning over a roaring fire—”

  “Ewww.”

  “—or someone making love to you.”

  Abby drew in a slow breath, Nick’s unadulterated flirtation making her pulse kick into high gear. “Someone.”

  “Yeah.”

  His lips parted as he traced his finger under the line of her jaw. Tiny starburst sensations tingled along her skin. Where had her inhibitions gone?

  “What am I going to do with you?” Abby asked, conscious of the innuendo in her tone.

  The kettle on the range screamed, and the moment broke.

  After he poured their tea, Nick settled onto the stool next to her. They talked of inconsequential matters until he retrieved the nachos and they dug into his recipe with relish. They ate in silence, and Nick seemed comfortable with the quiet. The quiet heightened her awareness of Nick so close to her.

  “Thanks again for helping out at the library today. The kids loved the stories. You could see it in their expressions,” she said.

  “Did you enjoy the stories?”

  “Very much. You’re great with kids. They’re drawn to you.”

  “It’s the Santa suit.”

  Abby finished a bite of nacho before responding. “I think it’s the way you talk to them. As if you’re their pal. Not an adult. Not superior. I think they respond because you make them comfortable.”

  Nick’s face remained stoic, and she wished he’d smile or show some other sign of happiness. She hated it when people frowned, and their disapproval washed over her like sandpaper, rough and totally unforgiving.

  You don’t smile much, Aunt Cassandra.

  Her aunt’s voice hammered inside her skull. Why should I smile all the time? What’s there to smile about? Don’t be silly.

  Silly.

  She’d been called that so many times she’d considered changing her middle name from Jane to Silly. Abby Silly Manners. Silly Manners. She almost giggled.

  “Of course I’m on the same level,” Nick said. “I enjoy their...” He shook his head and shrugged. “Their innocence, their willingness to let others in. They don’t have masks on. It’s been great working with kids and leaving the adult games to my brother back at the office. Kids are damned honest.”

  She felt, just as she had when he told the elf story, as if he’d delved deep into her mind. Reached in and muddled around, excavated vital features concealed within her.

  “Some kids are closed off because they learn that’s safer,” Abby said softly. “They have a good reason.”

  The stolidity dropped from his face. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Not a lot to tell.”

  He dropped a chip on his plate. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Okay. My parents were intrepid explorers who took wild treks into the jungle, kind of like Indiana Jones.“

  “They were archaeologists?”

  “No, but they were intrepid travelers. They left me with my Aunt Cassandra and Uncle Dick whenever they had some adventure planned. My dad was an engineer on an oil rig, so whenever he got home he wanted to spend time with my mother. Their last trip was to Tikal in Mexico. I remember my aunt complaining about them leaving. My parents died when the bus they were on collided with another vehicle.”

  Nick pressed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was four, so I don’t remember much about them. My aunt and uncle adopted me.”

  “It must have been a blessing to have family to adopt you.”

  Abby made a disgusted
sound. “Not really.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

  “My aunt and uncle lived in a big Federal house in New York.” She glanced around the room. “Sparse like this apartment.”

  He surveyed the area. “And you didn’t like the house?”

  “It wasn’t the house. It was...” Abby pushed back her plate. “It was the people in the house.”

  “You didn’t like living with your aunt and uncle.”

  When she didn’t answer, Nick turned his bar stool toward her, and arranged himself so that his knees were on either side of hers. As he pressed lightly against her, the intimate position sent heat through her. “Were they strict?”

  “My aunt was, and is very stuffy. Puritanical. She doesn’t have a sense of humor. They’d never had children of their own, so I don’t imagine they relished the idea of taking on a four year old.”

  “Maybe they were glad to have you, but they just didn’t know what do since they’d had no experience with kids.”

  She hadn’t considered that. “Possibly.”

  Nick popped a grin, and she gave herself a second to admire the curve of his lips. “And you butt heads with your aunt on a regular basis, I’ll bet.”

  The man was a mind reader.

  “Not at first. When I was little I thought she was right. She was an adult, and I believed what adults told me. But she was so closed. So cold.” Abby shook her head. “Later, when I was about eleven or twelve, I realized adults weren’t always right. I asked questions. I argued. When she got mad at me, she’d tell me I was just like my mother. She’d say it like it was an insult. Something to be ashamed of.”

  “Maybe she worried that if you did too much exploring you’d get hurt, and she’d lose you like she lost her sister.”

  His devil’s advocate position pricked Abby’s nerves like splinters.

  “People often defend her actions and give her the benefit of the doubt when they don’t know the facts and they don’t know her,” Abby said tersely.

  Nick’s gaze widened in surprise at her tone, and she couldn’t blame him. Few people understood emotional abuse in all its facades. He considered her for almost a half a minute. “You don’t think that’s why she protected you?”