by Shen, L. J.
“Got it.” I look around. “So if I open drawers in here, will I find a little voodoo doll with a Hawaiian shirt on?”
Her brown eyes light up. “That is a great idea.”
I laughed. “Why don’t we stick to the tree stand for now, huh? I’ll run out to the store. Where do you want your tree to go?”
She drops her arms and turns in a slow circle. “Maybe over there by the window?”
“Good choice.” I check my watch. If I hurry, I can go buy her a tree stand, set it up by the window, and make it to my sister’s party by nine, ten at the latest. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait! I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to. It’s freezing out there. Why don’t you stay in and get warm?”
“I am warm.”
“Oh yeah?” Unable to resist, I reach out and touch her nose. It’s still chilly. “Doesn’t feel that way.”
She sighs. “My nose always gets so red from the cold. I hate it.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“Cute like Rudolph?” She eyes me warily. “That’s what my ex used to call me.”
“Let me just say right now that your ex was a real big asshole who didn’t deserve you, okay? And I don’t care what he looked like or how steady his job was. Even if he kicked the gambling habit, he was never going to deserve you.”
“But you just met me,” she says softly. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.” And the urge to kiss her at that moment is so overwhelming that I have to take a step back. Like she said, I just met her. I don’t want to be that guy. “Come on. Let’s go.”
* * *
We walk the three blocks to the drugstore with an icy Chicago wind blowing in our faces, the cascading flurries growing thicker. I’m not sure how much snow we’re going to get this evening, but it could make for a long ride out to my sister’s house in the suburbs.
“Can we slow down a little?” Harlow asks, her shorter legs scrambling to keep up with my long ones. “I’m dying here.”
“Oh, sorry.” I shorten my strides and move a little less briskly. “I was trying to hurry because the weather’s getting worse. I have a long drive tonight.”
“I knew it!” She whacks me on the arm. “I knew you had somewhere to be. You should have told me. I can handle this myself.”
“Harlow, you were never going to get that tree up to your apartment if I hadn’t intervened. And even if you did, what was your plan—decorate it lying down?”
“I told you, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I don’t know anything about Christmas trees! We had an artificial one growing up. It stood on its own. Why shouldn’t a real one?”
“Oh my God. Come on in here.” I put my arm around her to shepherd her through the revolving door to the store, and it feels so good I wish I had a reason to keep it there.
“They have tree stands here?” Harlow looks around. Her nose is bright red again, and I want to warm it up with my lips. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t even know this girl’s last name. And other than putting makeup on, she hasn’t really given me any indication she’s interested in messing around tonight.
Tearing my eyes from her face, I look for the holiday aisles. “Over there,” I tell her. “Aisles eight and nine.”
3
Harlow
We make our way toward the other side of the store, and I grab an abandoned shopping cart along the way. “I might need some other things too.”
“Like what?”
“Like decorations. Lights and ornaments.”
He glances at me. “You don’t even have lights or ornaments?”
“No, and stop making me feel bad. Getting the tree wasn’t even my idea, it was my boss’s.”
“What did you do last Christmas?” he asks.
My spirits sink even lower as I remember. “I put up a tree with the asshole ex in our apartment, but it was fake, just like his love for me. And I don’t want any of the stupid ornaments that we hung on our fake tree with our fake joy in our fake happiness. It was all a lie.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Michael sighs heavily.
“I’m going to grab some vodka too. Be right back.” I veer off down aisle four and head for the booze section. They probably won’t have my favorite brand here, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I really need something to take the edge off this holiday angst.
Too bad Michael won’t be able to stick around long enough to have a drink with me. It sounds like he has to drive somewhere, and the weather is getting worse by the minute. I’m lucky we ran into each other and he had mercy on me—I’d probably be stringing lights on a tree still stuck in the lobby door if he hadn’t.
God, he’s so damn cute. And charming. And sweet. There was a moment in my apartment, right after he touched my nose, that I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. Did I imagine it?
Duh, of course you imagined it, you dummy! All you’ve done is make an ass of yourself and talk about your ex. He probably looks at you and thinks crazy ex-girlfriend. And look at the way he’s dressed—that man is too hot to be alone on a Friday night. He’s got a date.
I pull a bottle of vodka off the shelf and place it in my cart. Then I add a bag of Hershey Kisses, a box of candy canes, and a tube of ready-made sugar cookie dough. In aisle eight, I grab a few strands of lights and a box of colorful ornaments. Since we’re on foot, I don’t want to buy too much, but I can’t resist picking out a star for the top.
I find Michael in aisle nine looking at a box in his hands. My stomach flip-flops a little as I approach. He’s so tall. I wonder what he looks like underneath all those clothes, and for a moment I fantasize about unwrapping him layer by layer. The winter coat and scarf. The suit and tie. The buttoned-up shirt. I wonder if it has French cuffs or not.
I love French cuffs.
He catches me staring at his hands, which are strong but elegant-looking, with long fingers. “Do I need a manicure or something?”
Embarrassed, I feel my face get hot. “No! Sorry, I was just wondering something.”
One of his eyebrows cocks up. “About my hands?”
Oh, dear God. “Uh, about your shirt actually. Whether or not it has French cuffs.”
“Why were you wondering about my shirt?”
Because I was thinking about taking it off of you is not an appropriate answer, although I’m almost tempted to give it. I mean, why not—I’ve been spewing every thought in my head without a filter all night long, haven’t I?
But in the end, I don’t.
“I guess I just like a nice dress shirt with French cuffs.”
He looks amused. “And why’s that?”
I shrug, figuring I might as well be honest. “I think they’re classy and convey there’s something powerful about a man. But it’s an understated kind of power. Like he might drive a Range Rover and drink expensive scotch, but he’ll still pull your hair and say dirty things to you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his eyes stay locked on mine. The tension between us ratchets up about a hundred notches. “Yes.”
I’m so lost in the heat of his gaze that I forget the question. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, my shirt has French cuffs.” He places the boxed tree stand he’s holding in my cart. “Yes, I drive a Range Rover.” Then moves closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on my lips. “Yes, I drink expensive scotch.”
I can barely breathe. My throat is dry. “And the other stuff?”
He smiles the slightly sinister grin of a well-heeled villain. “Come on. I have to let some things come as a surprise.”
While I’m standing there, equal parts turned-on and dumbfounded, he takes the cart from me and pushes it toward the front of the store.
Jolly Old St. Nicholas! Is this guy for real?
I feel like I might look for him again only to find he’s been nothing but a figment of my imagination. Do guys like Michael exist outside of fantasies and romance novels? Is
he secretly a serial killer? Am I going to wind up tied up in my closet tonight?
Actually, the idea has some possibilities …
It takes me a couple minutes to recover my senses, and by the time I find him near the registers, he’s already paying for all my loot. “What are you doing?” I ask, frantically tugging on his sleeve. “You don’t have to buy all this!”
“Harlow, it’s not that big a deal.” He pulls out a credit card from his wallet, but before he can swipe it through the reader, I grab it.
Michael West.
“Hey, that’s funny,” I say.
“What is? You stealing my Amex?”
“No. Your last name is West. Mine’s North. North … West … we have the same kind of last name.” I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does. We’re both directions! We’re both witches from Oz! Together we’re Kim Kardashian’s baby! It has to be a sign, right?
“Nice to meet you, Harlow North.” He quickly snatches the card out of my hand and swipes it. “Now quit being a pain. I’ve got this.”
I huff and pout, but there’s not much I can do since the transaction is complete within seconds. “Thank you. It was really nice of you to help me at all, let alone pay for my drunk tree-trimming party supplies.”
He laughs and gathers up three of the four bags, including the bulky one holding the tree stand box. “Is that what all this is?”
I grab the last remaining bag, which contains my candy and cookie dough. Maybe I’d just eat it right from the tube. “Pretty much.”
We exit the store and immediately, a frigid blast of air hits us. The snow is coming down hard and heavy now, and it’s tough to see even five feet ahead. The ground is slippery too, and I slide a little as we make our way down the sidewalk.
“Careful.” He switches all his bags to one hand so he can take my arm. His touch sets off a spark that warms my entire body. I swear every snowflake that lands on me sizzles.
“So where are you headed tonight?” I ask, hoping it sounds like an innocent question.
“To my sister’s in Lake Bluff.” He looks up and down the avenue. “But the drive is going to be so fucking slow.”
“Do you have to go?” Inside, I’m shrieking for Christmas joy that he’s not going on a date. Visions of sugarplums and his naked body dance in my head.
“I should. It’s my family’s Christmas party, and I skipped it last year.”
I nod, focusing on the sidewalk again as my sexy visions go poof and vanish. Unless … “You know, your sister probably wouldn’t want you on the road in this blizzard.”
“Oh no?”
“Definitely not. In fact,” I tell him as we reach our building, “I think you might want to call her and tell her not to expect you.”
“Really.” He sounds amused as we make our way to the elevator.
“Of course!” I punch the button. “I mean, no pressure or anything, but I know I wouldn’t want my brother on the road tonight.”
The elevator doors open. It’s empty.
“Ah. Very sweet of you.” He lets me enter first, then hits twenty.
“It’s just too dangerous,” I insist as the doors close. “You could get in trouble out there.”
He leans back against the wall and looks over at me, his expression smoldering. “I could get in trouble right here.”
4
Michael
What the hell am I doing flirting with this girl (who is clearly going through a breakup) instead of being with my family (who are going to kill me for this) and wondering if her tree isn’t the only thing we’re going to get erect tonight?
I never think like this. I’m a logical guy who makes logical choices. I don’t walk girls to get tree stands in the middle of a blizzard, no matter how red their noses get.
“You know, they say that decorating a tree is not something you should do alone,” Harlow says as we reach her door.
“Who says?”
“Everyone.”
“Is that so?”
She nods. “It’s the Christmas law. I heard about it on the internet and you know that everything you read there is true.”
“I would hate the break the Christmas law.”
Harlow’s brown eyes sparkle as if I just gave her the best present in the world. “Really?”
“Under one condition …”
“Name it.”
She agreed to that way too quickly. My mind wanders a bit before I remember what I wanted to say. “We don’t mention your shitty ex one more time tonight.”
She extends her hand, and I take it. “You got yourself a deal.”
We enter the apartment, tree still standing in the corner, thank God, and get to work. Harlow puts some cheesy Hallmark movie on the television and then brings in a mug of hot chocolate. “Here, it’s also law that we have to drink this.”
“This is a law I don’t mind.” I have a feeling her laws are only going to get more numerous as the night wears on, but I have a few laws I hope to enact as well. I’m such a dick. I have to stop my mind from going down this road each time she looks at me.
But she’s so damn cute. When we got back, she put on a pair of way-too-fucking-short shorts, a tank top (as if it’s not ten degrees and snowing right now), and tortoise shell glasses. She’s got that hot-for-teacher vibe going on right now and I’m dying.
I take a sip and it’s hot, but it’s not hot chocolate. “What the hell is in this?” I ask.
“Whipped Vodka, you don’t need the whip cream when you have it in alcohol flavor.”
“You know, drinking and tree trimming is probably a bad idea.”
She smiles. “Are you worried that you’ll get into trouble, Michael?”
“I’m worried you’re what’s going to be trouble.”
“Well, I’ve been on the nice list for a long time and it’s gotten me here … maybe trouble isn’t so bad.” Harlow bites her lower lip before bringing the mug up to her mouth. She takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim and my cock goes hard.
“Are you flirting with me?”
She sets the mug aside and sidles closer. “Maybe.”
“I think you are and I think you want me to kiss you,” I challenge her. I love when a woman is assertive and it’s clear that Harlow is testing her boundaries. She’s about to find out that there are some games I won’t lose. Enjoying the surprised—and pleased—look on her face, I place my mug on the coffee table next to hers.
“And what if I do?” she teases.
I raise my gaze upward, and feel a sly grin form on my lips because right above her head is mistletoe. While I don’t need the excuse, I’m happy to use it to my benefit. “Well, sweetheart, look up.”
“Huh?” Harlow tilts her head back and I take that opportunity to grab her and pull her to my chest.
She lets out a squeak in surprise and her hands grip my arms. “What does the law say about mistletoe?” I ask.
Her tongue darts across her lips, and I don’t wait for her reply, taking that as invitation enough, and I kiss her. She tastes of chocolate, vodka, and sweetness. I’ve never been so attracted to a woman this quickly, but Harlow is like a siren song, one I want to answer.
At first, the kiss is slow and tentative, but then she moans and all of that shatters. Her lips part and I delve into the heat of her mouth. She kisses me back just as rough. I love when a woman doesn’t hold back. Her hands drift up to my neck, holding me to her.
I slide my palms beneath her tank and up her bare back. Her skin is soft and warm and—
CRASH!
Harlow squeals and we jump apart as the tree hits the floor.
“Damn that tree,” she says breathlessly. “It’s evil and it hates me.”
I have to laugh at her indignant face. “It’s just a tree. How could it be evil?”
She arches a brow. “Clearly you have never heard of a Whomping Willow.”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t read Harry Potter.
”
“Why not?” I manage to right the tree and prop it in the corner again.
“Because then I won’t know if we can become friends.”
I give her a look over my shoulder. “Is that what we’re doing tonight? Becoming friends?”
“Of course. What else would we be doing?” Harlow pushes her glasses up her nose and gives me her best innocent little lamb face, all the while standing there in those fucking tiny little shorts.
I’m not sure she’s wearing a bra either. If she is, it isn’t doing much to hide the fact that her nipples are hard. It’s hell trying not to stare at her chest.
I slip out of my suit jacket, tossing it on the couch. “Well, my friend, why don’t you help me get this tree in the stand? Maybe all it wants is a permanent home. Some nice decorations. A drink of water.”
“I have to water the tree?”
“Yes, Harlow. You do.” Shaking my head, I grab the box with the stand in it from the drugstore bag. “It’s a good thing I’m here.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she says, picking up her mug again and taking a sip. “Okay, tell me what to do to help.”
We manage to get the tree into the stand, the bolts secured, and some water in the base. Harlow doesn’t have a tree skirt, but she does have a red fleece blanket she drapes around the base of the tree, and once it’s in place, she stands back and claps her hands. “I love it! Let’s decorate!”
I glance out the window. The snow is falling even heavier now, and if I stay even one more minute, I will never make it to my sister’s house. She’ll make me pay too—my entire family will. Nobody can work a guilt trip like my mother, and my sister can hold onto a grudge like it’s keeping her alive. They have the ability to make my life very unpleasant.
But when I look at Harlow again, she’s standing on tiptoe to hang an ornament high up on the tree, her bare legs beckoning. My cock stirs again in my pants.
Yeah, fuck my family Christmas. There’s something I want to unwrap right here.
“Hey, I need to make a phone call real quick,” I tell her.
“No problem. You can use my room if you’d like privacy,” she offers, pointing to a door off the living room.