by Jax Hart
“I’ll introduce you. He’s single.”
“So am I,” my lips curve.
“Are you done shopping?”
“For now. I’ll come back after the tree lighting. We’d better get those cookies over to the Santa meet and greet.”
We walk back to Sally’s car and she piles my arms high with box after box.
Who knew cookies weighed a ton?”
“No need to hit the workout room later, eh?”
“I only go in there to dust.”
Laughing, we pass children asking for them. It’s hard to walk through them. I try to hold my arms steady, my knees wobble and I try not to stumble, losing the boxes to the slushy street.
“Let me help you with that,” a deep voice sends chills down my spine. The good kind.
“Well, hello.” My eyes look up meeting a pair of deep mocha ones. It’s him. The smoldering VP. Despite the jerk I met on my way here, this trip is turning out better than expected.
8
DARE
“I’m going to kill you for this,” I hiss to Rog under my breath as he smiles like an ass for the photographer from the town paper. They mayor and Santa will make the front page.
“No, you won’t. You owe me.”
“Since when?”
“Since that Christmas morning I found you half-frozen in the snow without a decent coat on.”
“Fuck me.”
“Santa doesn’t curse.”
“A bad Santa does.”
“Don’t be a bad Santa. You remember what it’s like to be them?” Rog points to the line of kids waiting to sit on my lap and spill all their secrets. It’s kind of creepy when you really think about it. A lump forms in my throat because shit I do remember. Lately all I do is remember. Dredging up the past is pointless. The ghosts in mine won’t teach me any lessons I don’t already know.
“Who’s that?” Federico, the new VP asks as he whips of his shades to get a better look.
It’s her.
Fur baby, looking all fine in the full-length coat and stiletto fucking heeled snakeskin boots. Her hair the color of milk chocolate falls down her back.
I look away, irritated I’m looking. Noticing. Wanting? Fuck no. I don’t want a piece of that, but the bulge beneath my Santa suit is saying something else.
I look away, count to a million by hundreds and think of anything but sex.
“Let me help you with that.” Federico practically runs, taking the boxes from her arms. Beneath my fake white bear my eyebrows furrow. He’s panting like a bitch in heat as she smiles up at him looking just as starstruck.
“It’s almost show time. Don’t fuck this up,” Roger warns as he walks into the crowd grabs a mic and welcomes everyone to Christmas in Springdale.
I count the heads of at least fifty kids lined up and munching on cookies. “How in the heck did I end up here?” I mutter to no one. “I went from the head of a boardroom table to sitting in the back of a goddamn sleigh.”
“Life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?” Devon quirks an eyebrow, stuffing a cookie in my mouth. “You need sweetening up.”
“You owe me big time.”
She smiles as she walk away to her man leaving me at the mercy of the kids rushing the sleigh.
“One at a time!” Rog bellows.
“Hi Santa.”
I clear my throat, “Ho! Merry Christmas. What’s your name?”
The boy stares down at his feet.
“Nate.”
I lean closer, pushing the glasses that came with the custom higher on my nose. “What’s your Christmas wish, son?”
I peer over his shoulder eyeing the boys trying to push their way to the front.
“A new Xbox.”
“Good. Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Smile!” A flash blinds me as the next kid is pushed forward. It goes on and on. Some kids are sweet. Others hell on wheels. Some smell like old piss and stale cigarettes, others like new winter coats. My white-gloved fists clench as I think of Freddie. Roque better keep his word.
My head turns at the sound of a woman’s giggle jingling like bells.
What. The. Fuck.
Fur baby’s leather gloved hand is creeping up Federico’s forearm. He draws her in to his big frame. “I’ll keep you warm, sugar.”
“Is that a promise?” She bats her lashes back.
“We’re all done. Thank you, Santa.”
“Not yet.”
Devon’s brow quirks.
“You wanna get out of here?” Federico asks as they walk closer to the sleigh. My hand snakes out and grabs fur baby around the waist.
“Ho Ho! What do we have here? Come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me all your secret Christmas wish.”
Federico’s meaty fists clench but I have seniority on his ass. Besides, challenging Santa wouldn’t be a bright idea.
Her smile’s tight. Forced. “I don’t have any secret wishes.”
“Liar.” I pull her into my lap, sniffing the confection sugar clinging in her hair.
“You smell delicious, cupcake, What’s your name?”
“Unimpressed.”
“Burn.”
“…in jolly, fat men.”
“There’s nothing fat on me besides the club in between—”
Her gloved hand covers my mouth. I’m tempted to bite it. Instead my nose travels the side of her silken neck. “You smell like Christmas in Candyland.”
The flat of her hands push against my chest. Her eyes widen as I flex my pecs.
“Told ya’. This Santa’s stacked. Smile,” I order as the camera flashes capturing her trying to pull away like the cat in the old Looney Toons show when the skunk Pepe Le’ something tries to hold the object of his affection.
“This is sexual harassment,” she hisses, wiggling in my lap.
“This is Christmas in small town America sweetheart. I saw you. Looking for trouble.” I nod over to a steam-faced Federico.
“He’s definitely trouble.”
“Stay away.”
“Maybe that’s my secret Christmas wish… to find some trouble.”
She moves off my lap and I blow out a breath, yanking her back down. “Not so fast.”
“What are you doing?”
“The fuck if I know,” I mutter. She smells so damn good, like a cookie my mouth waters for before biting into.
“If I tell you my real wish will you let me go?”
I nod still high on sugar and vanilla extract.
She bites her pinkalicious lips, a bloom of red stains each her cheeks, “I really to be seen. For me. Not this,” she gestures to her luscious curves and beautiful surface but in here, “she presses her index finger into her heart.”
Well shit. She is full of surprises.
“He won’t see you.” I motion to Federico.
“I know. There’s nothing wrong with finding a little trouble while waiting on Mr. Right.”
“Mr. Right is a fairytale,” I snort.
“Thanks Santa. I knew it was dumb to believe.”
When she moves off my lap this time, I let her go.
“What in the hell was that?” Rog smirks.
“Damned if I know. Can I get out of this suit now? I need a cold shower.”
“Yeah, I reckon you do,” he whistles jingle bells and gets lost in the milling crowd. Federico can have fur baby. I don’t give two shits about it. I just better warn him woman like her aren’t worth the trouble. “But you can’t. Santa is scheduled to show at the luncheon at the Senior Center than he’s having afternoon tea with the book club followed by—”
Santa flips him the bird white gloved hand and all and walks away. “I’ll never forgive you for this Rog. I swear to God, I’m going to get even for this.”
“Ho Ho!” He laughs like a bastard and shakes hands with more people wanting to wish the mayor Happy Holidays.
9
Shiloh
“HUNGRY?”
“A bit.”
“
There’s a luncheon at the Woman’s Club catered by the Mayor himself.”
“Lead the way.”
“I saw you talking with Federico.”
“You mean you saw me talking. The man just stood there and grunted for most of the time. He’s nice eye candy though.”
“Federico’s smart. He was probably just busy surveying the crowd for threats.”
“Threats?”
“The MC has enemies. Dangerous ones. But don’t worry, dear. Now that Roque has partnered with Creed anyone who makes a move is as cooked as a Christmas goose.”
“This town sounds like it has all the makings of a good reality TV show.”
She clasps her hands, “I’ll tell the mayor. That’d bring a lot of press and commerce. We need both.”
“I was kidding.”
“Well, I’m not.”
She leads me to a cozy looking brick building with a bright red door. “Here we are.” I hand my coat over to a shy teen checking them and gaze around.
“How lovely.”
Poinsettias sit in the center of cute round tables draped in a tartan plaid tablecloths. Garden string lights hang from the ceiling in a crisscross pattern over the room. Heat comes from a woodstove tucked in a corner.
“Two?” Sally nods and our hostess takes us over to a window table and hands us a menu.
“Eat up. All proceeds are for charity.”
“I will.”
We share a pot of tea while our lunch is cooking. My eyes often straying to the window at the MC still hanging out around town.
“What are you doing in Springdale besides husband hunting?”
“Wow. That was direct.”
“I pussy-footed around for twenty-four hours. Spill.”
“I came to find Christmas. The kind I’d always dreamed of but never had. I also…need more. I love my job, but I need more. I need to do something else. It’s not enough. Most my friends have babies and husbands. I mean my life shouldn’t be defined by my relationship status. And it isn’t,” I pause lifting the steaming tea to my lips, taking a small sip. “I want to write children’s books. Fill their heads with dreams ripped from the pages.”
“Do it. Don’t wait for dreams that may never be. Life’s too short.”
“I need to find an illustrator. They’re expensive…. I could afford it,” I gesture with my hands getting excited, “but I want someone I’m comfortable with…someone whose able to create what I have in my head.”
“It sounds as if you already have a story?”
I bite my lip, opening my large Luis Vuitton bag, pulling out my leather-bound journal. “I like the feel of ink on a page. I’ve written two stories so far. It’s a series about a little girl on her quest against an evil queen. She has a magic horse who turns into a unicorn and flies her through the night sky.”
“Wow. I wish I had a unicorn.”
“Right? Every girl does.”
“Can…I ask you something? It’s personal but I’m curious.”
“Sure.” I shrug, cupping the warm teacup in my hands.
“How do you afford all that on your salary.” Her eyes move to my coat to my bag and down to my knee high Ugg’s.
“My mother was Lexi Whitmore.”
“No shit.”
“She was a shit mother, but somehow managed to hire the only honest manager in LA. He was probably in love with her. I remember him being a dorky with thick glasses and a comb-over. But he handled her money well. There was a time when boatloads of it rolled in. I guess he lied to her when her spending got out of hand and told her she owed more taxes than she did. He invested her money stocks and real estate.”
“Wow.”
I snort, “Men went crazy for her. Craved her. One guy cried outside in the rain. But when she was done, she was done. Usually because she had someone better lined up.”
“Was your father in the picture?”
I wince.
“Never mind. I’m sorry I pried.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“You’re right, I’m not. Sexy Santa’s back.”
“You think he’s sexy?”
“His package is…”
“Stop,” I snort. “I can’t. Come on, it’s Santa. Checking him out is just…wrong.”
“I wish he had asked me to sit on his lap and ask what I wanted for Christmas.”
Our food’s delivered and I’m saved from replying by the heavenly smells. Sally stuffs a french fry into her mouth and moans. “Truffle fries. He makes the best.”
I lower my head and nibble my sandwich. Santa waves as he walks in with the mayor, shaking hands and trying to “Ho.” But the man is jacked. It’s a wonder the stitches on the suit haven’t torn from the bulky muscles underneath. I can’t see his face beneath the white beard and through the large glasses. It’s impossible to tell if he’s old, young, or somewhere in between.
My back tenses the closer they get to our table. I eat, pretending to look out the window. Thankfully, Roger is pulled into a conversation and I’m able to finish my meal, leave a generous tip and slip out the door after telling Sally I wanted to explore the shops along Main Street.
Christmas is at the end of the week and I want to get a little something for Sally. A light snow has begun to fall, and it feels like I’m strolling inside a snow globe. I enter the General Store and get lost perusing jars of homemade jams and jellies, soaps and bath salts. But Sally could buy any of these things…but then I notice the perfect things. I pick up a paperback of a shirtless pirate with his arm around a woman about to swoon. The laces at the front of her dress are undone and her hair falls to the plank floor of the boat.
“Perfect.” I riffle through the bookshelf finding as many as I can and fill a wooden basket with fudge and dirty paperbacks.
Snip. Snip.
“Hey!” I scream as the handle to my Luis are severed and my purse is snatched. It happened so fast all I see is a blur of messy hair and jeans run out the backdoor.
“Hey! Come back here!” I yell, giving chase. People stop to stare at the commotion, but no one acts. I follow the thief out into the back alley behind all the buildings on Main Street. “Stop! Please! You can have my money, but my journal means more to me! Please!” I shriek.
I try to run but in my stupid, sexy boots there’s no way I’ll catch him. But that doesn’t stop me from trying. I dash on the slippery concrete around a corner placing my palms on the old bricks to keep myself from falling and pull up short.
Sexy Santa snags the thief by the back of his neck. I do a double take. The top half of his costume is on a pile of crates leaving him in a white tank top.
Panting, I finally slide over to the kid kicking and screaming in the big man’s grip. I grab my purse, now covered in snow, first checking that my journal is safe. I clutch it to my chest, squeezing it tight before taking out my wallet and folding five twenty-dollar bills in half.
“Take it. Spend it wisely. If you were desperate enough to steal from a stranger, you must need it.”
Santa frowns.
But up close, I see the grime in the boy’s hair and the grease marks on his coat and clothes.
“You ain’t calling the cops?’
“No. How old are you twelve?”
“Fourteen.”
“Come back to the store with me. I’ll buy you lunch and some clothes.”
“I ain’t no charity case,” the boy sneers.
“Why you stealin’ kid?” Santa’s voice is gruff.
“None of your business.” The kid knees Santa’s package catching him off guard.
“Motherfucker!” He roars, falling to his knees in the know, cupping his balls.
The boy is free and takes off.
I place a hand on his bar shoulder covered in ink. “You okay?”
“No.”
My eyes travel down his cut arms, tatted biceps and peek over his broad back. This is one sexy AF Santa. Whoever this man is. I push back a lock of white plastic hair that fell in front of hi
s cheek.
Startled by my gentle touch, he lifts his face. “Thank you.” My praise comes out sounding like a moan as my hand slides down his jaw and cups his chin over the beard.
“What was Santa doing in the back alley? Hiding?”
“He nods. Those women in the Senior Center have really lost their minds. Their hands were all over me. A few even copped a feel other kept pinching my cheeks. These ones,” he points to his ass.
My brow rises, “Well it is rather nice.” My eyes rove over him from head-to-toe, showing him how much I appreciate every inch of his muscular, tatted body. My eyes trail the twisted vine tattoo on his bicep that covers his arm and disappears onto his back.
A wicked gleam glints in his eyes. He stands, stalking forward, moving me back between him and the brick wall. “I think you owe Santa a thank you for catching your thief.”
“I already said, thank you.”
“Actions speak louder than words…”
I gasp as his head lowers. My eyes flutter shut as his lips somehow manage to find mine through the fake beard.
I moan clutching his broad shoulders as his mouth slants over mine again and again. I move my hips, allowing his to snuggle closer. He groans in satisfaction as the hard bulge between his legs presses up against my heat. It’s a kiss.
The kind of I’ve been craving. He’s rugged. Manly. Taking what he wants greedily as his tongue and mouth dominates mine. My hands move up to his wig, pulling it off. His mouth lifts, “Don’t.”
He rests his forehead on mind as we both pant. His hands find mine, pinning my wrists above my head. His lips move to my ear, “I think you found trouble, cupcake. More than you can handle,” he presses into me briefly before pulling away.
I’m still recovering from his kiss as he picks up his discarded Santa top and puts it back on. He frowns at me, his eyes no longer dancing. Now they’re filled with something else…something dark that looks like…disdain?
“Are you married? Did you just cheat on someone?” My eyes reluctantly travel from the cotton clinging to his abs to his ring finger.
He shakes his head. “What did you expect carrying a Louis Vuitton purse and parading around in that coat? You made yourself the biggest target since Harry Lincoln picked his nose and wet his pants during field day in ninety-three.”