An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Special Agent Santa
ISBN # 1-4199-0447-7
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Special Agent Santa Copyright© 2005 Denise A. Agnew
Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower.
Cover design by Syneca. Photography by Dennis Roliff.
Electronic book Publication: December 2005
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Warning:
The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Special Agent Santa has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).
S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.
E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.
X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.
SPECIAL AGENT SANTA
Denise A. Agnew
Chapter One
Special Investigations Agency
Christmas Eve
Top-Secret Facility
Somewhere in Colorado
Tinkling, disgustingly cheerful Christmas music echoed throughout Finance Services.
Kat Langdon returned to the spreadsheet on her computer that she’d tried to finish for the last hour. Instead, all she could think about was one maddening SIA agent extraordinaire.
Boone Granger. Or, as many women in SIA referred to him, the long, tall Texan. She often wondered if the women of SIA meant his cock or his considerable height. Her face heated at the conjecture.
Boone. His name sounded like a country and western singer or an old-west gunfighter. He’d invaded her thoughts for too many days lately, and too many nights. What made her think of him today?
Maybe because she didn’t have anywhere to go on Christmas Eve. She imagined him visiting family around a twinkling Christmas tree, his wide smile gleaming as he laughed. Her body heated ruminating about the gorgeous agent. At the same time, deep sadness threatened. She wished Boone happiness, but she longed for a similar joy for herself.
Oh, yes. It would be bliss to touch him. Kiss him.
Face it, Kat. It would be flaming fantastic to fuck him.
Thinking about the crack special agent sent her heart into a chaotic pounding and her stomach dancing with manic butterflies. The flush migrated like a solar flare from her face down her neck, to chest, to her belly with maddening attention. Nevertheless, she refused to buckle under to the treacherous desires that slammed her at the mere thought of him.
If Boone decided to visit today—God, not right his minute, please—she’d be a goner. Okay, goner didn’t exactly describe what would happen. Nothing would happen, as usual. Boone would walk into the room, smile and nod civilly or make some jokes—horrible jokes—and she’d lose her ability to form a coherent sentence as she always did when he appeared. Top that off with her wildly out of control hair, dark circles under her eyes, and the fact she’d worn sweats, and her sex appeal fell to a one on a scale of one to ten.
She remembered a weird saying one of her friend’s teenage daughters said one day, “I’d like to break me off a piece of that.”
Oh Lord. Yeah, she could imagine getting a piece of him. Her mouth wrapped around his cock, sucking him until he spewed down her throat. She tried to envisage the vital, sexy, strong man ever depleted of his high-test sex appeal. Nope, just couldn’t happen.
She heaved a deep breath. Damn, she needed to get back to work. Kat returned to her spreadsheet. She felt the pressure behind her eyes. Tiredness flirted with her body, warning that she’d gone too hard, too fast, for too many days. She’d worked overtime during the holidays for several years now and avoided holiday parties like the plague.
One person she could count on for the holidays was her friend Christabel. But she’d taken off over a week ago for a bus tour through the Central American country of Puerto Azul. Kat had resigned herself to a quiet holiday season, and when Christabel came back before New Year’s Eve, they planned to get together.
Worry made her pause with her fingers above the keys. Christabel had promised to call her yesterday but hadn’t. When she’d expressed her concern to her boss, Lanny, he’d told her not to worry. No doubt Christabel was having so much fun she forgot to call. She’d probably phone later tonight to say Merry Christmas.
Brushing aside worry about Christabel, her mind popped back to the delectable Boone. Why did she have such an obsession with the man? It couldn’t be because he man was too damned sexy for words. No, he had other qualities that she liked. Integrity. Intelligence. A sense of humor even if he couldn’t tell a good joke. Kat sighed and saved the half-finished work. She’d never complete this project if she didn’t stop thinking about Boone.
A huge yawn cracked her jaw.
Numbers ran through her head in a scramble as she entered more data into the spreadsheet. Another yawn caused an annoying squeak to leave her throat. Tears caused by the yawn blurred her vision. She leaned back against the executive-style chair, appreciative of the high back. After one more jaw-stretching yawn, she closed her eyes.
A second later, a fantasy passed through her mind. A very vivid, descriptive, inappropriate for the workplace, delight. The world started to fade. Even sounds muted. Keystrokes on computers, phones ringing, footsteps in the hall, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the heater spewing warm air from the vent above her desk. All faded away in the face of her daydream.
Boone sauntered into her office in slow motion, his handsome mouth tilted in sardonic appreciation. His dark blond hair fell straight around his face to about chin level and reminded her of a disreputable pirate. His blue eyes twinkled with a secret, his day-old growth of beard providing a thoroughly roguish appearance. He wore a black leather jacket, blue denim long-sleeved shirt and black jeans that curved over his narrow waist, hips and muscular legs. His hiking boots gave him that “I’m a country boy” fashion statement that cemented the fantasy. Why, oh why, did she find him so gorgeous? Her heart tripped as he planted his big hands on her desk and leaned forward.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
She jolted awake.
Standing right in front of her, hands planted on the desk, was Boone.
He’d stripped off his navy blue winter coat and tossed it on the chair in the corner, rolled the sleeves up on his red flannel shirt to reveal bronzed, strong forearms. Heat filled her face and spread straight down her chest into her stomach in a wild whirlwind of arousal. Her gaze pinpointed to his shirt collar, where dark blond chest hair peeked out. She could almost smell a hint of earthy man. Nothing intrusive, but she
couldn’t ignore the delicious scent either. God, he was so maddeningly distracting with that teasing grin and sparkling, ocean water eyes.
“Boone,” she finally managed to say with a scratchy voice.
He straightened and tucked his thumbs in his belt loops. He winked. “Hey, darlin’.”
His drawl held enough hint of the South to make a woman wonder. He rarely laid it on thick unless he wanted to tease her.
His brow creased, and a second later he cruised around her desk and squatted down. He planted one hand over hers as it rested on the chair arm. Renewed heat shot up her arm and tingled.
“Everything all right?” he asked, eyes worried.
She smiled, gratified not only by his concern but the tenderness in his usually gruff voice. “Of course.”
His brows drew together, doubt planted in his gaze. “I’ve never come in here and seen you fast asleep.”
“I didn’t have my eyes closed more than a few minutes.” She shifted in the chair, and he released her hand and stood. “Thanks for your concern, though. It was sweet of you.”
He snorted. “Nothin’ sweet about me. Nothin’ at all.”
She almost spouted a “yeehaw”, then thought better of it.
“Lanny called me on my I-Doc and wanted to see me,” he said. “I was off until later tonight, but he said to get my butt in here. It’s about my latest assignment.”
“You missed him. Lanny ran out of here an hour ago and said he had some errands to do before the snow got too bad. Last-minute Christmas stuff. Why would he want to see you about your assignment?”
He grinned. “I think I spent too much on my costume.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Costume?”
“There’s this Christmas Eve party I need to infiltrate, and I needed a costume for it.” His gaze twinkled, wicked and spiced with amusement. “Last month I was a homeless man, this month a Santa.”
He headed to the one chair opposite her desk. Boone eased six foot four inches of brawny male into the dainty chair.
“One of these days that chair is going to protest your treatment, Boone.”
His cockeyed grin and sparkling eyes declared he didn’t care. “I’ve sat in this chair dozens of times. It can hold me.” In a flash, his amused glance changed. He tilted his head as if he had a brand-new idea. “Now, you and I both sitting in this chair…that might break it down.”
Despite the nonchalant tone in his voice, she knew exactly what he meant. Fire burned her cheeks as she visualized his naked body in the chair, cock pointing straight up and waiting impatiently for her to straddle his lap and impale herself on several thick male inches. Searing heat rushed through her body at the thought. Oh God. Yes.
For six long months since he’d started work at the SIA, he’d waltzed into this office and made statements this side of suggestive. No matter what he said, she could never think of anything equally clever to say. Today a yearning built within her that made her want to connect with him on a deeper level, a respite against one more Christmas Eve spent alone.
Before she could respond to his flirtatious statement, he winked. His gaze, a disturbing cloudless sky she could fall into easily, turned warm and appreciative. “You look pretty in that sweat suit. What is it? Velvet?”
Bemused by the fact he cared, she shook her head and looked down at the plush emerald green material. “Velour.”
“Looks soft.” His voice lowered, husky and sensual, his gaze holding hers. His eyes took in her sweat suit again, fixating on her bust area. “But those goin’-to-Sunday-meetin’ pearls don’t do you justice.”
She flushed and tugged self-consciously at the pearl necklace. “These are my mother’s pearls.”
“Mmm. Well, they’re pretty, but you need something less conservative.”
Damn, would she ever get used to his outrageous comments? She clasped her hands in her lap. “Boone, it’s none of your business what I choose to wear.”
“True. Don’t tell anyone I said that about the pearls, though. If you do, the guys will all think I’m gay as hell.”
“I thought you didn’t care what other people thought.”
“I don’t.” He shrugged those big shoulders again. “Except maybe for you. I care what you think.” He stood and with one eyebrow cocked in question, he touched the doorknob. “Mind if we talk in private?”
“No, I don’t mind.”
He clicked the door shut then locked it. Warmth stole into her belly and she inhaled deeply to calm her racing heart.
“Why did you lock it?” she asked, a weird sense of apprehension mixed with excitement.
“Because I want privacy for what I’m about to ask.”
“Okay.” This sounded serious, and the teasing light that shimmered in his eyes disappeared.
He returned to the chair. “I need your help.”
He sat in typical male abandon with his legs spread out. He crossed his arms. Even under a long-sleeved shirt, she could see his muscles bunching and rippling. An over-the-top reaction to Boone drove her nuts because she couldn’t stop it now she was alone with him. His flattery and knee-buckling, I-want-to-eat-you look made strident arousal tug low in her stomach. Moisture trickled between her legs and she clenched her muscles in reaction. Oh God. She needed to stop this reaction before she did something or said something incriminating.
“What were you saying?” she asked.
“The costume I bought for this next assignment is a pain in the ass. Requires wrestling to get the damn thing buckled, strapped, you name it. Anyway, I was hoping you could help me put it on.”
“Oh…uh, well.” Come on, get with the program. Of course you want to help him. Say it. For once say what you really want to say to him and stop dancing around it. “I don’t know. Why me?”
He leaned forward. His salacious grin and the hot attention in his eyes almost sucked the breath from her. “There’s something else I need, Kat.”
“Oh?”
“A date for the party. It’s undercover, but only for a few hours. And there’s no danger, I promise.”
Surprise almost choked off her breath. “What?”
His eyebrows knitted together. “I realize it’s last minute, but there aren’t any other agents available to help me.”
She narrowed her eyes, picked up a pencil and started to twirl it nervously in her fingers. “That’s hard to believe.”
Jumpy, she stood and walked to the window, watching the snow blanket the pine forest around them.
He rose from his chair and ambled toward her until he stood a foot away. She inhaled his tangy, musky scent again and her stomach did that funny swirling dance.
He leaned close to her. “There isn’t anyone else. But even if there was, I’d still ask you.”
A tiny thrill tickled her lower belly. “Why?”
He edged nearer, and she took a step back and found herself up against a wall. He towered over her five-foot-six frame, and a subtle shudder rippled over her skin. Boone always made her feel delicate and feminine. She could be outraged by her response to him, but she didn’t feel helpless…just womanly.
He leaned one palm on the wall near her head. Oh, he was way, way too near for comfort. Excessively close for office etiquette. Thrilled and scared, she didn’t move.
His voice dropped even lower, a whiskey and velvet sound so husky and sexy she considered melting on the spot. “I just can’t take it anymore. Tonight I need you. Only you.”
“Me?” She almost choked on the word. Her hand went to her throat.
He touched the side of her neck, his fingers sending pure arousal into her belly and even lower in her pussy.
“Your pulse is racing. You feel the same way I do.” His voice held a husky plea that heightened the growing fervor inside her.
She did feel the same way, but enjoyed the desperation in his voice for a few more minutes. Moist warmth pooled between her legs as the excitement of having him so close quickened her breath. She dared look deep into his eyes. Rampant
desire sparked in those baby blues. Whoever said blue eyes couldn’t look hot and intense hadn’t seen Boone’s eyes. Oh, yeah. He wanted her all right. Several emotions ran through her at once. Amazement. Happiness. Toe-curling craving. All inhibitions started to crack and fall away one by one under the knowledge he cared for her and wanted her.
“You should leave work early.” Boone’s voice held the soft, encouraging nuance of a man in charge.
But she didn’t want him in charge—not of her, anyway.
“Boone, I have work to do. We both need to get back to our business.”
His gaze dropped to the pearls around her neck, then lower. She wondered if he could see down the zip front of her sweat suit top. Her heart continued that ridiculous pitter-patter.
“It’s my day off, darlin’. But tonight I’m back to wheelin’, dealin’ and playin’ games under the covers.”
She about swallowed her tongue. Under covers. Not undercover. Playing games, eh? What if he played a game with her right now? Let’s fluster the sexually frustrated single woman. God, she hoped not.
His hand came up to cup the side of her face in one big, warm palm, then let his fingers trace her jaw. A strong quiver racked her frame.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Definitely not,” she said, her voice a breath of sound.
He frowned, a purely worried look on his face now. Gone was the mild-mannered charmer. “You’re not afraid of me, I hope?”
She should be. His body radiated power and assurance. “Of course not. I just don’t think you need help getting into your costume.”
He winked again, the roguish tilt to his grin charming enough to sideswipe the most reluctant virgin. Not that she was a virgin, but she came as close to reconstituted as a woman could get. Working long hours at the office the last few years in Finance Division put a dent in her dating life.
“My costume is damned hazardous,” he said.
White Hot Holidays: Special Agent Santa Page 1