She makes a show of reaching for her purse seated on the floor by her feet, but I wave her off. “My treat.”
“Thank you.” She beams as I walk off.
I feel like a criminal with a giant flashing sign hanging over my head, telling everyone that I’m up to something as I walk through the office toward my destination. I feel naughty, sneaking around like this. There’s nothing to say that there’s anything salacious awaiting me, but the touch of secrecy lends it that extra something that suggests a certain amount of reticence is required.
What could Niles be up to?
I hope it’s another stolen kiss. I didn’t get nearly enough last night, and I’m craving more. Who knew that quiet, reserved Niles Prescott had it in him to be so gosh darn sexy? The juxtaposition of what I knew and what I know now is thrilling. I feel like I’m part of an insider secret that few get the privilege of experiencing.
When I turn down the hall leading to the storeroom, the atmosphere grows quiet, leaving the hustle and bustle of office life in the distance. I’m the only one here, and I start to doubt myself as I approach the closed door.
Where is he?
I stop before the door marked with a black and gold placard that clearly states “Storeroom” and hesitate. Do I wait or go in?
I toy with the choice before me for far longer than is probably advisable before deciding that I should just go in and see for myself what awaits me, if anything.
The room is dark, but the slice of light from the hallway lends just enough illumination to showcase tall metal shelves on either side of a small closet-like space filled with various cleaning supplies and office extras.
And the handsome, smiling face of Niles Prescott.
He stands with his back to the opposing wall, waiting for me. I step inside, quickly closing the door behind me and shutting out any and all light aside from the sliver that sneaks in beneath the door. It’s not nearly enough to guide my way, so I have to rely on memory and sensory skill to find him in the dark.
Arms out, palms flat, I take hesitant steps, grinning as I chuckle and say, “I can’t see anything. I’m sorry in advance if I poke your eye out.”
“Well that would sure suck the fun out of it,” Niles says with a smile.
I follow his voice, and within a moment, I feel his hands brush mine and follow up until they reach my shoulders, and then he grasps on and pulls me into him. There’s a little clumsy bumping of noses and foreheads, and then I’m sighing into his embrace and a kiss that’s both hungry and sweet and a lot like coming home.
I can’t believe that in the matter of a day, a moment, a sliver in time, I’ve become so addicted to this man that I barely knew existed. All it took was a kiss under the mistletoe and here I am, in a broom closet, making out with a guy that I normally wouldn’t look twice at.
Maybe I should send out thank you cards to everyone who attended the party for forcing the two of us together. Without them, none of this would be possible. It’s crazy how a single moment in time, almost like a twist of fate, can change the direction of your whole world.
“What?”
Niles’ voice is deep, husky, and filled with need, his rock-hard cock pressing against my stomach as he comes up for air and transfers those magical lips to my jaw and then down to my neck as I tilt my head back.
“What?” I ask in return.
“You’re distracted. What are you thinking about?”
Is he serious? “Now’s not the time to be playing twenty questions,” I breathe, eager for the words to stop and the kisses to continue.
“I’m only playing one.”
He has a point. And the sooner I give him his answer, the sooner he’ll give me what I want. “I was just thinking about how serendipitous all of this was.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said only one question,” I whine, raking my fingers through his hair and tugging lightly at the soft strands in reprimand.
He huffs a laugh against my throat and then runs his tongue up the center, and I swallow hard, imagining how that tongue would feel on other parts of my body.
“I lied. Now tell me.”
Ohhhh, I like this demanding side of Niles. It’s sexy in a way I didn’t know he had in him. What other layers is he hiding?
“The party. The kiss. If you hadn’t gone, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
He hums under his breath as his hands wander to my ass and squeeze the globes firmly, while his teeth graze across my earlobe. “I almost didn’t go.”
“Not your thing?” I already figured that. Talk surrounding Niles and the little I knew about him at the time suggested that he wasn’t the adventurous, social type. Now, I’m not so sure.
“Not at all. I hate social crap.”
“Then why did you go?”
“My friends made me.” That delicious tongue of his dances across the shell of my ear before he brings his mouth back to center and lightly kisses my lips. “They said I don’t get out enough.”
“Do you?”
“Not much lately.”
“Why?” I shouldn’t be talking so much. The more talking we do, the less kissing I get. But I want to know everything about this man.
“Just haven’t felt the need.”
“So cryptic,” I accuse, although I’ve already let the topic drop in favor of more intimacy. My core is throbbing, aching for him to touch me lower, to kiss me deeply right where I need him.
“All will be revealed in time,” he teases, and I have no doubt he’s telling the truth. At the moment, I intend to stick around for the big reveal. Missing out on more of this isn’t an option.
“When do I get to meet your friends?” I ask. It’s a question that’s been weighing on my mind off and on since we parted ways last night. He said they like to share, that if I’m his, I’m also theirs. Assuming I’m game to play, that is.
I think I am. At least, I’m game to explore the possibilities and see where it leads, what it’s all about, and if any of his world is for me.
I expect not, but there’s no harm in checking it out and seeing for myself. After all, it’s important for a person to be properly informed before making a judgment on another person or situation. From where I’m standing, it seems prudent to launch a private investigation in the interest of personal growth.
“Anytime you want.”
“When is good for you?”
“How about tonight?”
Niles’ suggestion catches me off guard. Of course he would suggest tonight. I don’t know why it sends a kaleidoscope of butterflies into flight in my stomach, but I’m suddenly nervous.
“O-okay,” I stutter, unable to hide my uneasiness.
“Don’t worry.” Niles kisses my lips again, but this time there’s no heat to it. It’s purely to ease my worry. “I haven’t told them anything about you yet. You’ve already got the upper hand.”
My total lack of existence to them is my upper hand? I won’t pretend to understand how that is a benefit, but I’ll roll with it.
“What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven. Unless you’d feel more comfortable driving yourself.”
He’s so considerate. “I think I’d like to drive.” If I get uncomfortable or need to pull the white flag of surrender or the weirdness factor gets too high and I need to race out of there to preserve my innocence, then I’d rather have the means to do so than not.
“I’ll send a missive with directions.”
A missive? Who the hell talks like that? I almost laugh, except that I find his little quirks, like his use of antiquated English, cute.
“I have a better idea.” Retrieving my cell phone from my skirt pocket—the sole reason I bought the too-tight tube of polyester blend fabric—and illuminate the room with its soft glow as I pull up the contacts and create a new one. “Here, put your information in.”
I watch his eyes in the dim light as he takes the phone and adds everything I’ll need, and when he passes it
back, I call him, let it ring twice, and hang up. “There, now you have mine too. Text me when you get the chance.”
I catch his smile just before the glow of the screen light disappears, and then I feel his mouth descend on mine once again, and we share a brief but passionate kiss filled with the promise of later.
Then, far before I’m ready, Niles turns me by my waist and pushes me toward the door. “You go first. I’ll text you later.”
I locate the handle and open the door a crack, peeking through it long enough to ensure no one is around to see me emerge, and then I issue what I hope is a sexy, “See you later,” before slipping out and heading back to my desk.
“Hey, you.” Colleen pauses her typing to glance up at me, and I run my hand self-consciously through my hair to make sure everything is in place. I can feel a light burn from Niles’ barely there beard on my chin, and I’d bet money my face is red, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Colleen’s eyes scan over my form, and I assume she’s seeing my secrets plain as day, but no. Instead she says, “Did you get lost on the way to the machine?”
“The wh…” I trail off, suddenly remembering the excuse I gave earlier. “Oh, right. Yeah. Had a bathroom emergency.” I grimace, hoping it’s enough to sell the lie.
“Oh, man, I hate those.” Her features scrunch. “I hope it’s nothing going around. I can’t afford to take any sick days right now.”
As I take my seat behind hers, I hear the scrape of her metal filing cabinet followed by the aerosol spray that, with a glance over my shoulder, turns out to be a giant can of Lysol. She coats the cubical in a thick smog of floral scent that makes me cough, but all I do is smile because a text just came in and in just a few hours, I’ll be finding out just how sharply a turn my life is going to take.
5
The ride over is filled with tension. My hands grip the steering wheel as I follow the GPS’s directions and turn down a quiet street lined with a canopy of naked, mature trees decorated in tiny white lights that give the road a soft glow.
I’d bet in the summer, when everything is in bloom, the view is stunning.
Makes sense, since this is clearly the rich side of town. I’m instantly uncomfortable, and I haven’t even reached my destination. I’m not used to moneyed people. I’ve always been a strict member of the middle class and those I’ve chosen to share my circle have been at that level or below. I hadn’t even considered what Niles was working with beyond the physical, but now I’m hyper aware of at least one difference between us: money.
I drive the requisite twenty-five miles per hour, a speed I’m positive was decided by a housing association that wanted outsiders to admire residents’ wealth. Each home is grand, its lawn a vibrant spring green despite the pending snowfall and it being the dead of winter. Most homes boast an elaborate holiday display, including blow-up Santas and his reindeer and a host of twinkling lights—mostly white, rather than the multi-colored strands I grew up with and prefer.
These are the types of homes that don’t have curtains so you can see straight inside. I play witness to nightly news programs and the occasional gathering, and a few dozen Christmas trees that are tall and full and, I’m sure, lined with presents.
What a life they must live. I long for the day I can achieve a similar level of success.
The GPS guides me down the winding cul de sac until I reach a dead end with a circular turnaround. Addresses are difficult to see in the low light, and after two spins around the circle, I find the one I’m looking for.
Niles’ house is a simple two-story, compared to some of the other houses I passed on my way in, but it’s no less rich. The red brick is a nice break from some of the white-washed and siding in varying shades of brown and grays. There are squared hedges under each window on either side of the front stoop, complete with wrought iron railings wrapped in evergreen garland and a brick-red front door adorned with a wreath decorated with fake cranberries and a giant gold and red bow.
Considering there are three bachelors living inside, I’m surprised they made that much effort, but I’m sure homeownership inspires much. I haven’t even begun to decorate, and a tree is the last thing on my mind. Although, I’ll get around to it eventually. Last year, I purchased an artificial Charlie Brown tree that pops open like an umbrella and is pre-decorated, so all I have to do is set it on a table and plug it in.
Yes, I’m aware of how depressing that sounds, but the reality is, I’m a single woman and I spend my holidays surrounded by family, and they do all the big stuff, so there’s no need to go all out when it’s already been handled elsewhere.
I pull into the drive and set the car to park, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to calm my increasing nerves. I don’t know if I’m ready for this night, but I’m already here, so I guess I have to be.
The only thing I brought with me is a small, black clutch filled with my essentials, like cash, ID, and my cell phone. If the needs arise and I do have to run out quick because my life depends on it, then all I need is contained and easily collected on the way out.
Pushing open the car door, I step out, the thin heel on my mile-high pumps shaking threateningly. I pray that I don’t break an ankle on my way up. What a first impression that would be!
The pencil skirt I decided on falls to my knees, giving me a modicum of warmth in the frigid air, and I hold the leather crop jacket closed as I hunch in on myself and make my way carefully to the front door.
The outfit itself isn’t sensible. Far from it. But it is sexy, and when it comes to sexy, the sensible thing isn’t to be sensible at all. I’m freezing my ass off by the time I raise the brass door knocker and give the door a harsh rapping, and by the time the door actually opens, my lips feel numb and verging on frozen to my teeth.
Light pours out of the opening, as does the warmth of a solid furnace and the music notes of Sammy Hagar, along with laughter. Before me is one of the men I recognize from the photograph I’d found on Niles’ social media account, only his face has aged some, matured in a way that makes him more attractive.
He’s smiling at something that happened before my arrival, his spirits high and his face alight with good humor. He hasn’t even looked at me yet, but is instead flipping through a brown leather wallet that’s seen a lot of wear.
“Awesome, man,” he says to me, still without making eye contact. “We’re starving. How much do I owe ya?”
“Uh…” I look around, checking to be sure there’s no one else out here besides me. Nope, I’m alone.
The man finally glances up, his expression perplexed as he looks me over. “Wow, that’s a hell of a uniform. I bet it gets you some nice tips.” He returns to his wallet. “All I have is a hundred.” He appears regretful as he extends his hand and the hundred-dollar bill to me.
“I, uh, think you have the wrong person,” I say slowly as I reach out and take the money on reflex, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone makes an offering, right?
“We ordered the fried rice, sweet ‘n sour—hell, half the menu—with drinks?” I stare at him, having no idea what he’s talking about. “You’re the caterer, aren’t you?”
“Caterer?” I gather they ordered food and have been waiting on it. I just don’t know what else to say to make him understand that I’m not the person he was expecting. If I hadn’t already seen his face before, I would worry that I’d gotten the wrong house. Now, my only concern is that Niles didn’t tell anyone to expect me, and I feel like turning tail and running, because this is ungodlily uncomfortable.
“You forgot the food,” he states plainly. “Honestly, how do you forget the number one reason for a delivery?”
“I’m sorry, but you have me confused with someone else. I’m—”
“Is food finally here?” Another male voice approaches, and my attention is drawn there as a tall male with brown hair and thick features appears. He graces me with the same strange look as his friend. “You’re not the caterer, are
you? Because if you are, you’re late and you owe us a ten percent discount.”
“I’m not…” I shake my head as I speak. Forget the cold. I’m burning up with anxiety and embarrassment, though I have no idea what I have to be embarrassed about. Maybe for them and their inability to make connections?
“Huh,” the first one, who’s standing squarely in the doorway, blocking my line of sight inside in a feeble attempt to see if Niles can be spotted so he can save the day. “Are you lost? Car break down? Do you need a phone to call someone?”
I run through my mental checklist and am already shaking my head in the negative. I don’t need any of those things, unless… “Niles,” I say, my voice small, the statement close to a request. I’m aware my facial expression is verging on the apologetic. I just don’t know how else to handle this situation. I don’t know either of their names, and it’s pretty clear they don’t know anything about me.
“Oh!” The newcomer in the back steps closer, inspecting me over his buddy’s shoulder. “You’re the one Niles mentioned. Is it Friday already?”
His friend is scowling, deep in thought. “Holy shit, it is Friday.” Now he looks embarrassed, and I feel a sense of relief wash over me. The confusion is clearing. “Where are my manners? You must be Kate.”
And….it’s back again. “Um, no.”
Both men break into a wide, teasing grin and step aside, opening a gap between them. “Just pullin’ your leg,” the tallest of the two says as he motions me inside. I step up and over the threshold, having to thread my way between the small gap left between their chests.
“Niles told us all about you,” the other informs me as I sidestep a safe distance before turning back to face them. “You’re Elle, a coworker. What do you do there?”
I shrug off my jacket and hand it to Mr. Tall, who drapes it over a peg beside the door where a host of other coats hang. “I guess you could say I’m a glorified paper pusher.”
“Honest work,” Mr. Tall approves.
“It’s nothing special. Pays the bills.” I shrug.
The shorter one purses his lips and comes closer, sweeping a hand out in a silent bid for me to head deeper into the house at his guidance. I pivot and allow him to indicate and semi-lead the way.
Under the Mistletoe: A Reverse Harem Christmas Novel Page 3