“Now, wait just a minute,” Greg said, marching after them. “You can’t just do that! We were on a date!”
Amy bit her lip. She wanted to stay with Caleb, but she also didn’t want them to fight.
As if he could read her mind, Caleb gently set her on her feet again. “Gimme a moment.”
Amy nodded, wide-eyed.
Greg made it to Caleb’s side a breath later and grabbed the large cowboy by the shoulder. She put her hands to her mouth, worried, waiting for someone to throw the first punch. Instead, Caleb just grabbed the keys out of Greg’s hand before he could speak and pitched them as far as he could into the night. They sailed through the air and landed in the snow . . . somewhere.
“You son of a bitch,” Greg exclaimed. He stared at Amy, wide-eyed, and then stormed off into the snow to hunt down his keys.
“Let’s just go,” Amy whispered.
Caleb nodded and lifted her into his arms again. She held on to him, arms around his neck, and wondered if this was her getting swept off her feet. It made her want to laugh hysterically . . . okay, and maybe cry a little, too. Her weird night had taken a rotten turn, and she could still taste Greg’s awful kiss. If Caleb hadn’t been watching them . . .
She shook her head. No, he would have gotten the picture eventually. She’d have kneed him in the balls if he hadn’t taken no for an answer. This way, Caleb had solved the problem. Even now, when she looked over his shoulder, she saw Greg hunting for his keys in the snow, no doubt cussing up a blue streak.
In this moment, Caleb was her knight in shining armor. Or rather, a Santa in a padded suit. She looked at him, worried that she was too heavy—she’d never been carried before and she was at least two sizes larger than she was when she got married for the first time. “You can put me down. It’s okay.”
He shook his head. “Your feet hurt.”
He’d noticed? She hadn’t said anything. And they did hurt. Badly. Right now she wanted nothing more than to pitch the hated boots into a fire, but she had to return them. “Can you take me home?”
Caleb nodded and then hesitated, his gaze out on the parking lot. He swore under his breath. “I’m boxed in. Someone’s parked behind me.”
Which meant they were stuck here, unless he wanted to heft Amy through the entire town. She inwardly winced as Greg let out a triumphant hoot somewhere far behind them. He’d found his keys. Suddenly, the urge to run away hit her like a load of bricks. She patted Caleb’s chest as they got to the front of the school, indicating he should set her down. “Come on. Let’s go inside. I don’t want to make a scene and I’m afraid that’s exactly what Greg wants.”
Caleb hesitated, as if he wanted to stay outside and fight for her honor—in a Santa suit, no less—but she grabbed his hand and hobbled inside as fast as she could.
Adrenaline made her feet hurt less, oddly enough. Amy was able to race down one hall and toward her classroom. She pulled the door open and shut it behind them, then looked around for a hiding place. Greg would find her classroom. He would know that was where they went.
She turned, and Caleb was staring at her. “What—”
The coat closet! Amy grabbed his hand and hauled him after her, racing toward the small closet in the back of the classroom. Once they were both inside, she shut the door and turned off the light.
Now there was no sound but that of their breathing.
Caleb cleared his throat. “Any particular reason why we’re hiding in a closet? In the dark?”
“You’re awfully chatty tonight,” she sniped back.
He grunted.
“That was mean of me. I’m sorry. It’s just been a hell of a night.” Amy buried her face in her hands and then bit back a groan because she’d probably just smeared her Mrs. Claus makeup all over her face . . . if it wasn’t already smeared from Greg’s punching-tongue kisses. Ugh. “I’m sorry. This just . . . all went to shit in an instant.”
Silence.
“You cuss a lot for a kindergarten teacher,” he whispered.
“It’s a habit I’m trying to break,” she whispered back. “And we’re hiding in a closet because Greg is going to know this is my classroom and he’s going to come looking for us.”
“And we’re hiding from that shit stain why?”
That made a horrified giggle rise in her throat, and Amy clamped a hand over her mouth. Oh god, Greg was a shit stain. It didn’t matter that he was her Secret Santa. It didn’t matter if she was trying to be open-minded or not. She didn’t want to date him, especially not after that fiasco.
Parking the car behind the school and immediately molesting her was just . . . ugh. Who did that?
Greg, apparently.
“We’re hiding because I don’t want anyone to get into a fight,” Amy said in a soft voice as she sat down on the shoe bench and noticed he sat down next to her. “If you can promise me that you aren’t going to get into a fight with him, we can get out of this closet.”
It was all quiet for a minute. Their breathing evened out. Strains of “Silver Bells” carried through the school’s PA system.
“Guess we can stay for a bit,” he finally said. “Because I can’t promise I won’t punch his smug face.”
She let out a small laugh. “It is rather smug, isn’t it?”
“And punchable.”
Amy was pretty sure that Caleb had said more words to her in the last thirty seconds than he had in the entire last week, and, oh . . . she liked it. She liked it far too much for her own good.
“How long are we going to stay in here?” Caleb asked, and she jumped, startled at how close he was. Maybe it was the darkness in the closet or maybe it was just his sheer size, but he seemed to be everywhere. His shoulder was brushing her shoulder, his leg against her leg.
All this closeness? All this darkness? After he’d carried her away from the worst (and shortest) date ever?
She’d never been so turned on in her life.
Amy licked her lips nervously and shifted on her feet. “I don’t know how long we should stay in here. How long do you think it’ll take for him to give up?”
“Dunno. How are your feet?”
She was touched that he’d noticed. “They hurt like the dickens.”
“The boots?”
“Yeah, they’re awful.”
“Well, if we’re going to be in here for a bit, take ’em off.”
“Oh no, I’m sure it’s fine,” she began, only to let out a yelp of surprise when big hands clasped her calf and started working the zipper down her leg. Okay, she’d gone from turned on to practically coming out of her skin, all from that small touch. Why was his taking off her shoe so damn sexy? Lord have mercy, if her date had gone like this, she’d have never gotten out of the car. She clutched one of the low coat hooks jabbing into her shoulders as he moved across from her in the darkness and tugged one boot off. “You don’t have to . . .”
Her words died in a moan. The moment that boot came off her foot? It felt like paradise.
“Other foot,” he told her in a gruff voice.
She immediately obeyed. It didn’t matter that she was sitting in a poofy crinoline with smeared makeup on her face and duct-taped boobs as long as she could get those hated boots off. He pulled the other one off her foot with gentle, enormous hands . . . and then began to rub her foot through her sock.
His hands felt so good she nearly came. Instead, she bit her lip and fought back another moan. “You . . . you don’t have to do that,” she managed, breathless.
“Does it feel good?” His voice was low and gravelly again, and, oh god, he sounded amazing.
Sexy. Arousing. He could read her the phone book in that voice and her panties would get wet.
“It does feel good.”
“Then I’m happy to do it.” And those magical fingers rubbed the arch of her foot. This time
, she couldn’t bite back the whimper of pleasure that erupted from her. God, he was going to think she was perverted with all the noises she was making. Greg was going to hear them simply from all the moaning she was doing. The other teachers would think . . . well, they’d think she was getting worked up by a cowboy in a coat closet, and they wouldn’t be wrong.
She’d never known her feet were such erogenous zones. Yet he kept rubbing them with those strong, amazing hands, and she never wanted him to stop.
Heck, if this kept up, she’d never want to leave the closet. Ever. She could just have her students bring her meals in here or something and she’d set up shop permanently with Caleb at her side.
“So . . . that was your date,” Caleb said after a long moment.
“Ugh. Yeah.”
“You can do better.”
He sounded so disgusted, his voice so flat, that she giggled. “It’s been a strange week. He was my Secret Santa, and I’ve been telling myself I need to get out more, you know? Get back on the wagon and start dating again. I told myself that whoever was my Santa, I’d go out with him and give him a chance. Unfortunately, it was Greg.” She sighed. “I wasn’t thrilled, but I thought I’d give him a chance, since he was my Santa and all.”
Caleb made a sound of disgust in his throat.
“I know, I know.” Amy felt a little disgusted herself. “It was just . . . some of the gifts were so thoughtful, and I guess I felt like I should get on the wagon again, you know? So it seemed like a good idea. Sort of. It meant ignoring a lot of other things about his personality, but . . . yeah.” Sometimes she was really stupid when it came to men.
“Which gifts?”
“Huh?”
“Which gifts were the ones you liked?” he asked again, his fingers moving over her foot. “The jewelry?”
She chuckled, grimacing in the dark as she thought about the locket and the bracelet and how uncomfortable they’d made her. “The coffee maker, really. It wasn’t something I expected, but it was kind of perfect for my needs.”
“You should have been excited about the coat,” he muttered.
She pulled her foot out of his lap, curious. “How did you know I got a coat?”
It was silent for a long, long moment. Then he reached for her foot again and began to rub it once more. She should have protested, but she didn’t. It felt too good. “He wasn’t the only one giving you presents. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You?” she breathed, utterly surprised. Other than tonight, he’d always acted like he barely tolerated her. Like she was an idiot he was just being nice and helping. He’d given her presents?
“Not all me,” Caleb confessed. “I sent you the carnations, but it just seemed silly to send you more flowers when you needed practical things. So I sent you the trees, the ornaments, the boots, the coat and scarf, and the coffee maker.”
Here Caleb had been the one sending her the most thoughtful gifts. The ones that made her pause. The ones that made her want to go out with her Santa in the first place. “You . . .” she repeated again. “You never said anything.”
There was a long, heavy sigh in the darkness. “Don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not real good with words.”
“You seem to be fine right now.”
“I’m in the dark. I can’t see your face or the look in your eyes. That makes it easier.” He rubbed her foot hard, working her arch. “That, and your feet. For some reason, that helps. The rest of the time? It’s just . . . hard for me. My tongue gets tied up in knots.”
She was speechless. All this time and he’d been her Santa? Well, one of her Santas? He’d said nothing as she brought home present after present? No wonder a second tree had appeared on her doorstep after she took the first one to school. How that must have made him crazy. “Why did you give me all those things?”
“Why do you think?” His big fingers—calloused but strong—moved over the front of her foot in the best massage ever.
“You like me?”
Those magical fingers paused. “You didn’t know?”
“No. Of course I didn’t know!” She was still in a state of shock. He’d thought she’d known that he liked her? She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told her that Santa Claus really did exist. “You . . . you’re always so short with me. Like I’m doing something wrong, or like I’m an idiot that you’re forced to put up with.”
“What, just because I ain’t chatty, that means I can’t like you?” He sounded defensive.
“You’re not chatty. You’re, like . . . silent. And it seems to be just around me. You were amazing with the kids.”
“Well . . . they’re just kids.”
“And I’m just me.”
“You talk like you’re not something special.”
“I’m not!”
He grunted, the sound one of disbelief. Carefully, Caleb set down Amy’s foot, and she could have cried at how gently he did it . . . or the fact that the foot rub was coming to an end. She stayed in place, even as she heard the bench creak as he got to his feet. Heard his footstep as he crossed the small closet over to her.
His voice was gentle as he finally spoke. “I’m not good around women. Never have been. Grew up just me and my brothers. Every time I saw a pretty girl, my tongue just . . . knotted up. It’s hard for me to talk. Everything comes out wrong.”
“You seem to be doing okay right now,” she breathed, aware of his nearness. For some reason, she was picturing him shirtless again, like a pervert. She really needed to stop focusing on his chest. It was just . . . it was such a nice chest. She’d never been one to get bowled over by the physical form, or so she’d thought. But Caleb’s chest? Caleb’s chest had changed her mind on that. “It’s a social anxiety thing, then?”
“I guess.”
Amy wasn’t good at making speeches in front of crowds, so she understood that. There was no reasoning behind a phobia of that kind, just that it happened. “You could do what I do when I have to give a presentation—picture everyone naked.”
“If I picture you naked, that’s not gonna help me talk,” he said with a low chuckle that warmed her down to her toes.
She’d opened her mouth to speak, when she heard the creak of the door opening in the other room. Amy sucked in a breath and grabbed for Caleb’s hands to quiet him. He was standing near her, she realized, and she felt him lean against the wall right next to her, as if there wasn’t an entire coat closet full of space.
She remained still, waiting for Greg to show up, for him to fling the closet door open and see them hiding like a pair of kids. And why was she hiding, really? Other than she just didn’t want a confrontation with him?
As if their minds were on the same wavelength, Caleb leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I know I already asked, but are you sure we have to hide from him?”
“I don’t want to talk to him, and I don’t want you to fight him,” she whispered back, breathless. Then she added, “Don’t change the subject. I can’t believe you really like me.”
“I washed your dog,” he pointed out in a low voice.
She smothered a laugh behind her fingers. He had washed her dog, and poor Donner had been filthy filthy. “I thought you were being nice.”
“You’re sleeping in my bed.”
Amy gasped. “That’s your bed?”
“Shhh,” he whispered, his fingers brushing over her mouth.
They both froze at that small touch. She didn’t know if he’d meant to touch her like that, or if it was an accident, but it had sent a reaction through her body that made her senses tingle like mad. “That’s your bed?” she whispered again, even softer. “You brought me your bed?”
“Yours was ruined,” he murmured, and Amy felt his breath tickle her ear. “Didn’t like the thought of you sleeping on that love seat.”
“That’s . . . very nice
of you.”
“And I’m fixing your car. You think I’m that much of a Good Samaritan?”
She loved the amusement in his voice. It made her all warm inside, and it made her toes curl. Caleb with a touch of amusement in his tone did all kinds of things to her body. “So I should fling myself into your arms out of gratitude for the mattress?”
“That wasn’t why I did it.”
Her breath caught in her throat. He was definitely leaning in, and she could feel his breath hot against her ear. Her skin prickled with awareness, her body pulsing. “Then why did you do it?”
“Same reason I volunteered to be Santa, I suppose.”
“I still haven’t figured out why you did that, either.”
A long pause. Then she got her answer. “Because . . . it made you smile.”
Oh god. Why was that the sexiest thing she’d ever heard? Had anyone ever been so generous? She was stunned by just how much he’d done over the last week, and how clueless she’d been. Amy was kicking herself for even spending five minutes focusing on Greg when this knight in shining armor of a cowboy was right under her nose.
Silently under her nose, of course, but still there.
Harnessing just a hint of daring, Amy turned and faced him—at least, she thought she was. She turned in the direction of his breath and hoped she was facing him. The skirts of her costume were pushing against him, and she suspected if she leaned forward, she’d press herself against his chest. It was all very intimate . . . and she was eating it up. “I have to say,” she whispered, “I much prefer the Caleb that talks to me. I like it when you speak.”
“It’s easy in the dark.” His nose bumped hers, and she realized just how close together they were, how far he was bending over to be face to face.
She wanted to kiss him. Just close that distance between them and kiss him before he got all shy on her again. Would it be a bad idea? He barely even said two words to her, half the time, and yet here she was, getting all turned on by the feel of his breath against her skin. By the way his laughter slowly rumbled through his chest, like a train car taking the long way around. By—
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