Baby, Let It Snow: I'll Be Home for ChristmasSecond Chance Christmas

by Beverly Jenkins

  Dina and the members of the wedding party were lined up by the altar in the positions they’d hold during the real thing in the morning. Morgan was standing with the groomsmen. She glanced his way and found his eyes waiting. They shared a smile. She thought about all the hot and heavy lovemaking they’d been doing and wondered where it would lead. She didn’t dare think about it leading to them standing as bride and groom in a church someday because she’d dared to dream that in the past only to have it morph into a nightmare. This time around she planned to go with the flow and not put a name to whatever it was they were doing, because it was safer for her heart, even though they were closer than they’d been in years and much closer than she’d ever imagined the day she gave him back his ring.

  While the reverend moved from the twins and over to the mamas to speak with them, Rick stepped out of line with his phone against his ear. He pulled it away for a second to whisper something to Jas. Dina hoped the call was from his parents with news that they were going to attend the wedding. He was still talking as he left the altar and headed down the center aisle. She assumed he wanted to find a place with more privacy to hold the conversation. Just before he disappeared out the door, everyone heard him yell out, “I don’t care about the will, Mother!”

  From that, Dina guessed they hadn’t changed their minds. Jas was standing beside her and the look on her face was a mix of resignation and sadness. All Dina could think was how dare they ruin her wedding day with their petty classism. Morgan didn’t look any happier and neither did the mamas, Tony or the other members of the wedding party. She took hold of Jas’s hand and gave it a supportive squeeze.

  Jas squeezed back. “Thanks, Dee Dee.”

  The rehearsal dinner was held at the Todd home. Morgan had prepared the food earlier in the day so as to devote his energy to finishing up the cakes. He’d also set aside his fancy cooking side and fed them down-home food like chicken wings, meatballs, baked beans and potato salad. Everyone enjoyed themselves but the continued absence of Rick’s parents loomed in the back of everyone’s minds.

  After the meal, Jas and her girls were headed back downtown to the hotel for the bachelorette party. Many of her friends were going to be joining them there but Dina opted to stay behind once she heard the words male stripper. The guys, except for Morgan, were off to the bachelor party. She was pretty sure there were going to be strippers on hand, too, but more than likely not male.

  Her father Tony opted to stay behind, as well. “Only half-naked woman I want sitting on my lap is that woman over there,” he boasted, pointing a shrimp Lynne’s way.

  She choked on a meatball, cut her outrageous husband a smiling look while laughter rang out around the room.

  Dina shook her head.

  Jas asked, “Dina, if you’re not going to come, what are you going to do tonight?”

  Before she could respond, Morgan said, “She’s volunteered to help me with the last cake.”

  Before she could respond to that because this was the first she’d heard of this, his mother asked with a confused look, “What last cake?”

  “Just don’t you worry about it, Ms. Mother of the Bride.”

  She stared at him suspiciously for a moment. “Now, I’m your mother, so I’m supposed to know what this is about.”

  Jas laughed. “Morgan, I don’t know why you even went there, you know Grace Knows All.”

  Lynne drawled, “And what she doesn’t, her best friend does.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Dina tossed in. Living with the two of them had been like living with that Greek god with the eyes all over his head. They missed nothing.

  Jas said, “Remember that time they caught you and Morgan—”

  “Shut up!” Dina and Morgan said as one.

  Everyone laughed.

  Morgan asked, “Why do you always have to be the little-sister tattletale? Go play with your strippers.”

  Rick disagreed, “Hey, hey hey. No playing allowed. Just looking.”

  Jas replied, “Make sure you remember that, too, Mr. I’ve Never Been to a Strip Club. Don’t get in there and lose your mind.” She walked over and gave him a kiss. “Have fun.”

  Jas and Rick left with their respective entourages.

  Grace said, “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. I’m heading to bed.” And then she stopped and eyed Morgan. “Weren’t we talking about a mystery cake?”

  He put his hands behind his back and began to whistle like a character in a cartoon. Dina and her parents chuckled.

  As if the answer to the riddle had come to her, Grace’s face took on a look of satisfaction. “I know what it is.”

  “No, you don’t,” he countered.

  “Yes, I do, but I’ll act surprised tomorrow when the time comes. Don’t worry.”

  He laughed. “Okay. Good enough.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “See you in the morning.”

  “’Night, Aunt Grace,” Dina said affectionately.

  “’Night, Dee.”

  Grace gave Lynne and Tony a hug goodbye. They in turn hugged Dina and Morgan.

  Lynne asked, “Do you have your key, Dee?”

  “Yep.”

  “See you later, then.”

  After their departures, Morgan and Dina were left alone in the silent living room.

  “Now when did I volunteer to help with this secret cake?”

  He traced her mouth slowly. “The night we made love in the basement.” He leaned in and kissed her invitingly.

  Smiling, she responded with her own invitation. “I don’t remember that?”

  “You were busy at the time.”

  The kiss was deepening.

  She slipped her tongue over his. “Doing what?”

  “Riding me,” he whispered hotly against her ear.

  She dissolved.

  “So how about we go downstairs, you can help me with the cake and I can help you with your memory.”

  She laughed softly. “You are so outrageous.”

  “Yep.” Breaking the kiss, he took her hand and led her away.

  Chapter 8

  The basement of the Todd home held not only Morgan’s bedroom, but an addition his mother had added after Gracie Lynne’s opened. It held a chef’s kitchen, complete with stainless-steel tables, top-of-the-line appliances and a large double sink. While Morgan and Jas were growing up she’d had to do a lot of the prep work at night, so the addition was also soundproof in order to keep the whirring of the mixers and food processors from disturbing her children while they slept.

  “So what are we making?”

  “A Zaüber Torte. It’s one of Mama’s favorites.”

  “Do you think she really knows?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m hoping not.”

  The torte was one of the most beautiful confections a chef could create.

  “So how can I help?”

  “There’s a chef’s coat hanging up in the bedroom. Go change while I set up here.”

  Morgan watched her depart and couldn’t believe how well they were doing. If he didn’t think she’d sock him, he’d ask her to marry him again, but he knew it was too soon for that, no matter how much he wanted it. He also wanted to take her into his bedroom and finish the conversation they’d had upstairs but then the torte wouldn’t get finished, so he put his desire for her on lockdown and concentrated on what he needed to do. He’d made the cake part yesterday, and it, along with the wedding cake and groom’s cake that he’d finished earlier in the week, was chilling in the fridge. Tonight he’d make the golden cage that would fit over the torte. The first time he had made the torte for his mother, he’d just gotten his chef’s certification and the beauty of it had made her cry. In fact, she’d said it was way too beautiful to eat, so she hadn’t. That memory made him smile.

  He grabbed his own clean chef’s coat from a hanger on the fridge door, washed his hands and took the sugar canister out of the cupboard. He was heating sugar, water and a tiny amount of cream of tartar in a heavy sa
ucepan on the stove when Dina strolled back in wearing one of his chef coats and her boots. Stirring with the spoon to make sure the sugar dissolved, he was supposed to be concentrating on the pot but his eyes kept straying her way. The white coat hit her about midthigh and her legs were bare down to the boots. “Where are your jeans, madam?”

  “Hanging in your room. I’m the sexy sous chef.”

  “Ah.” He chuckled and his manhood hardened just like the sugar in the pot would eventually, if he didn’t let it burn. “May I ask what you have on under the coat?”

  “No, you may not. We haven’t gotten to that part of the show, yet.”

  “Oh, really? And the name of the show is?”

  “Hot Times with Morgan Todd.”

  He got harder.

  She pulled up a stool, took a seat on the other side of the steel table he’d be working at, and smiled.

  “You know you’re distracting me, right?”

  “Yep. That’s what the sexy sous chef does. So concentrate on what you’re doing and maybe, I’ll let you look under my coat when you’re done.”

  “I’m going to take you on that table soon as I’m done.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Hot lust hit him right between the eyes. Forcing himself to remember what he was supposed to be doing, he turned back to the pot and upped the heat a bit until the mixture began to boil. He was boiling, too. Their lovemaking had always been uninhibited, so he was glad this part of her had finally come out to play. “Can you put some ice in a flat pan for me, please?” Once the boiling sugar turned an amber color he’d set the pot in cold water to stop the cooking.

  She hopped off the stool and strolled over to the drawers where they were kept. “This for the sugar, or for you?” she asked teasingly.

  “Just bring me the water, woman.”

  Grinning, she complied and set the pan on the table and added ice cubes and water.

  He placed the thermometer into the boiling sugar. It needed to be at least three hundred and fifty degrees. In another few minutes, the temp was right and so was the color. He placed the hot pot in the cold water. “Now, we give it about seven minutes to cool down to two hundred and forty degrees.”

  She began slowly opening the buttons on her coat, one by one.

  He stared riveted. “You are so going to pay for this.”

  “Mmm,” she purred holding his eyes. “How hard are you?”

  “You are so naughty…?. Come here.”

  “Not yet. Check your pot.”

  As she opened the coat so he could get a good look at the sexy little teal bra she had on, the pot was the last thing he cared about. However, he’d have to start over if the contents were ruined and that would further delay the fierce loving he planned on giving Ms. Sexy Sous Chef, so he stuck the thermometer into the amber caramelized sugar…?. It was ready and so was he.

  The cake had been baked in a kugelhupf pan, reminiscent of a Bundt pan, only fancier. He’d be using the same pan, but the outside of it, to make the golden cage that would fit over the already-prepared torte. While Dina covered the overturned pan with a nonstick liner, he tested the mixture with a clean spoon spatula to make sure it would be thin enough to do what he needed it to do. Once the pan was ready, he used the spoon to slowly drizzle thin lines of the caramel first around the bottom of the lined pan to give it strength and then round and round over the surface, back and forth until it began to form a bowl shape.

  “That’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  He agreed, and so was she, sitting in her bra. He didn’t look at her, though, so as to keep his hand steady. “Can you get me a long piece of foil, please, and one of the large glass measuring cups?”

  She set the piece of foil on the table and the cup beside it.

  He added the last few gossamer circles and the cage was done. Once it hardened, he’d be able to slip the whole thing up free of the liner and place it over the cake like a cage.

  “Great job,” she said, taking in the finished product.

  He poured what was left of the caramel into the glass measure, reheated it for a minute in the microwave so it would return to a liquid and then poured it slowly over the foil.

  “And this?” she asked, watching the caramelized sugar start to harden.

  “Eventually, gold dust. I’ll sprinkle some on the cake in the morning before I put the cage on it.”

  He filled his eyes with the smooth brown tops of her breasts peeking up over the low-cut teal bra and got hard as the caramel all over again. He wondered what she’d taste like sprinkled with gold dust. He grinned.

  “What?’ she asked.

  He waggled his brows.

  “What are you up to, Morgan Todd? Something naughty to close the show, I’ll bet.”

  “Yep.”

  His phone rang. He picked it up and looked at the number. “My director,” he told Dina. “Yeah, Karen, what’s up?”

  The call concerned Eunique. “What’s she done?” The longer he listened the more irritated he became. Eunique was complaining about the quality of the utensils, the sugar needed for the fondant and even the candy thermometers. “How about we just fire her?”

  Karen gave him the bad news.

  “What do you mean we can’t?” Her reply made him pinch the bone between his eyes. “Okay. When the Wicked Witch of the West burns down the hotel, I hope Don’s got enough insurance to cover it. I’ll see you Sunday morning.”

  Ending the call, he read the concern in Dina’s eyes. “Eunique’s not happy. The assistant the producer hired for her quit yesterday during the prep. Nothing is to her liking. Everything is cheap and inferior, from the stove to the spoons. Producers refuse to kick her to the curb, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Ratings. Everybody on the planet knows she’s nuts and people are going to tune in to the competition just to see her prove it.”

  “I thought she was a judge?”

  “She is, but she has a substantial role.”

  “Oh, dear. You’d better wear armor and a helmet.”

  “No kidding.” He washed his hands again and put Eunique out of his mind. He had gold dust to make. He took down the food processor and plugged it into the socket built into the table.

  After covering the now-hardened sugar with a piece of parchment paper, he used a mallet to break it up. When he uncovered it Dina snitched a shard and put it in her mouth. “This is good.”

  “Good to know.” Her assessment boded well for the show-closing act he had in mind. Placing the pieces in the food processor, he pulsed it a few times until they were fine as gold dust. He poured most of it into a glass container and snapped on the airtight lid. It would go into the fridge until tomorrow. He poured the small portion that was left into a small ramekin and set it on the table.

  “Want to help me clean up, Ms. Sexy Sous Chef?”

  She sidled over to him and loosely locked her arms around his neck. He slid his hands into the opened halves of her coat and gently locked his arm around her waist. Everything about her was tantalizing, from the heat in her eyes, to the bra—he opened the coat wider, to the man-hardening sight of the matching teal thong circling her waist and bisecting her bare legs. He slid his hand into the vee. There was something about a seminude woman that he’d always found sexier than one completely nude. Watching her response play out on her face, he lingered for a few silent moments; touching, teasing, dallying until her stance widened and her lips parted passionately. He leaned down and gave her a humid series of kisses. She tasted of sugar and he indulged himself while his fingers continued their sensual priming of the damp delta between her thighs.

  “I thought you wanted to clean up,” she whispered, as she shrugged off the coat.

  “That’s what I’m doing,” he countered and bent to taste his way down her bare throat to the warm mounds above the teal brassiere. He paid homage to each slowly. Her groan of pleasure thrilled him. She reached behind and undid the clasp and that thrilled him even more. She shucked
out of the bra and tossed it aside and he feasted on her nipples as if they were sugar tipped.

  Straightening up, he watched her eyes slide closed in response to his bold circling of the damp nipples. She’d braced her back against the table behind her for support and he wished he had a picture of her with her nipples hard as blackberries and wearing only the thong and boots and the opened coat. A pic like that could make a man hard until Christmas. “Stay right there.”

  He took down a screened strainer from its hook on the wall and picked up the ramekin. Pouring some of the dust into the strainer, he gently sifted the contents over her breasts. The eyes watching him were hot and dark. Without a word, he leaned down and slowly sucked and licked away the sugar until she was glistening clean.

  She groaned as if she were being passionately tortured.

  Liking the lazy, sambalike movements of her hips, he sifted more sugar down her torso and followed the sweetness down to her belly. Kneeling, he dabbed a finger in the strainer and painted a circle around the whorl of her navel. He reached around to caress her partly nude bottom that was rising to the licks. Her breathless gasps rose on the silence.

  “Morgan,” she moaned.

  “What?” he asked. He slid the wet strip of fabric away from the aroused flesh it sheltered and she arched erotically.

  “I’m going to come.”

  “Just a minute longer, baby. Don’t fly yet.”

  He had one more spot he wanted to sugar, so he dipped a finger in the dust again and slid it over the ripe bud and took it into his mouth.

  She buckled and let out a raw scream that only made him increase his tribute. The finger that slid into the already rippling canal made her body arch and tighten. He placed his free arm around her hips and held her there so she couldn’t get away and continued to feast while her raw screams filled the room.

  By the time he let her go, he had to catch her to keep her from melting to the floor. Picking her up, he could tell by the way she was moving that she was still riding the orgasm. Morgan was hard as a bar of stainless steel. “Like that?”