The Christmas Fix

by Lucy Score

  Noah made a grab for her stabbing hand. “I’m starting to wonder,” he admitted.

  He hadn’t put his gloves on, and his hand was warm over hers.

  She leaned in to bring his face into focus. His glasses were a little cockeyed on the bridge of his nose. “You make me want to maim you.”

  “Yeah? Well, right back atcha,” Noah said, his green eyes narrowing in the dim light of the alley.

  “I don’t like your attitude. Like not at all,” Cat insisted.

  “You know what else I want to do besides maim you?” Noah asked. He leaned in like he was about to tell her a secret.

  Cat, through her Cosmo fog, could smell his soap. The sliver of air between them was charged. She could imagine the sound of the slap, the feel of his stubbled jaw under her open palm as it cracked across his face.

  “What?”

  “I think I wanna kiss you.”

  “Well that’s a stupid—”

  The rest of her words were lost as if they’d been wiped clean from her brain. His lips, firm and warm, pressed against hers, shocking the breath and thoughts right out of her. Noah was warm and hard everywhere. And Cat realized she was noticing this because she’d splayed her hands across his chest under his jacket.

  He spun her so her back was to the alley wall. Cold brick bit into her back, but the rest of her was overheating. Tilting his head, he changed the angle of the kiss, and when Cat opened her mouth to tell him this was the worst idea in the history of stupidity, he took possession.

  His tongue swept into her mouth rendering her completely stupid. He stroked her tongue with a rough lap of his own, and she moaned deep in her throat. Noah leaned into her, his hips pinning her to the wall. She couldn’t get enough air to breathe or she would have gasped when he grinded the rigid length against her. Noah Yates was either packing heat or he had an entirely different kind of weapon holstered in his pants.

  Impatient and ready to take this bad choice to the next level, Cat yanked Noah’s shirt out of his waist band and slid her hands underneath. His skin was hot to the touch. She felt muscle and heat and just the right dusting of hair.

  “Ah, fuck,” Noah breathed. He dove back into the kiss and, holding her in place with his hips, shoved his hands under her sweater.

  Cat murmured a string of yeses as those big hands skimmed up the sides of her waist and around the front to cup her breasts through her bra.

  “Need more,” he murmured. He pulled one hand out from under her shirt and fisted it in her hair. He forced her head back, bruising her lips with his as he slid under the graphite satin cup of her bra.

  When his palm met skin, when it dragged ever so lightly across the pebbled point of her nipple, Cat gave an honest to god whimper.

  The rumble in his chest was so primal, so alpha, so beyond the cool, controlled Noah that she knew.

  Without thinking, Cat hooked one leg over his slim hips angling for more friction right where she needed it most.

  He obliged, grinding and thrusting against her. He tightened his grip on her hair and the shock of it blazed through her roots. He stopped kissing her but didn’t move away. So close their lips were still brushing, she breathed him in as his hard-on begged to be freed. She couldn’t look away from those eyes as his fingers closed over her nipple, tugging and pulling until she worried her knees would buckle.

  Intimacy, raw and spontaneous, stripped her bare under that heated gaze. Oh, yes, there were sparks here.

  “This is the stupidest thing…” she whispered, lips brushing over his with the words. Regardless of the idiocy, Cat shoved her hand between their bodies and gripped his cock through his pants. Oh God. She wanted to be on a first name basis with this particular part of Noah’s anatomy.

  Noah gritted his teeth at her touch. “The stupidest,” he agreed, even as he pumped his cock against her hand.

  “I don’t even like you,” Cat admitted, biting his lower lip hard.

  He winced, tweaking the tip of her breast hard enough to make her yelp.

  His expression turned predatory. “It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s that I don’t trust you.”

  “Which means fucking in an alley on a cold winter night would be astronomically stupid.”

  “You’re drunk,” he reminded her.

  “You’re no pillar of sobriety either,” she pointed out.

  “I hate your smart mouth,” he hissed, kissing her again until her knee buckled. She wanted the layers of denim and cotton gone, wanted him dragging the swollen head of his dick through her slick folds before slamming into her and ridding her of the ache at her core that threatened to drive her mad.

  “I hate you,” she shot back.

  He bit her on the neck and then sucked away the sting of his teeth.

  “I don’t know what this is,” she said, clawing at his belt.

  “Hurry up before we come to our senses.”

  Cat’s fingers fumbled with the buckle. “Why are you wearing so many damn clothes?” It wasn’t cold anymore. The heat they were throwing off was enough to chase the winter from the alley.

  “Cat?” Her name called from the front of the building reached them both.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cat chanted. “It’s Paige.”

  Noah jumped back and tried to shove his shirt back into his waist band. “Just close your coat, genius,” Cat hissed as she tried to put her boob back in her bra.

  “Cat? Oh, uh…” Paige trailed off as she peered into the alley. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Cat said, clearing her throat and crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re just telling each other how much we hate each other.”

  “Lovely.” Even drunk, Paige had better judgment than Cat. “Why don’t you two call it a night? And we’ll clear the air tomorrow?”

  Noah was still staring at Cat as if she were dessert.

  “Yeah. Sure. Fine with me.” He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that had moments ago been clutching her breast.

  Cat wet her lips and watched Noah’s eyes narrow in on her mouth.

  “Whatever,” she shrugged. When she pushed past Noah, she made sure to drag her knuckles over his still ragingly hard dick.

  She heard Paige saying something to Noah, but the blood pumping in her ears muffled the words. She’d just made out with her nemesis. She’d been ready to drop to her knees in an alley to take her mortal enemy’s cock out of his pants and—

  “You okay, Cat?” Paige asked, jogging to catch up with her. “That looked like a pretty intense argument back there.”

  “Intense,” Cat agreed.

  “We’re really going to have to find a way for you two to keep the peace if we want this show to happen,” Paige reminded her. The only hint at her lack of sobriety was the way she closed one eye to better focus on Cat’s face.

  “You’re such a weird drunk,” Cat commented.

  Paige gave an unladylike snort. “Me? You’re usually the one who ends up riding some guy like a bronco bull on the dance floor.”

  “Yeah. That’s what normal drunk people do.” Normal drunk people, however, did not kiss the ever-living shit out of a man whose sole purpose in life appeared to be driving her crazy. What had she been thinking? What was in those Cosmos? Inhibition relaxers?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Noah woke the next morning with a dull headache, an unsettled stomach, and a vague sense of disappointment. His two self-induced orgasms the night before had done nothing to get Catalina King and her breathy declarations of every dirty thing she wanted to do to him out of his head. They’d just left him feeling embarrassed.

  He’d kissed her. More than kissed her. He’d tried to devour her in an alley in front of a recycling bin. And not ten minutes before he’d been quite convinced that the roiling of his blood every time he saw her was just run of the mill distaste.

  He started the first pot of coffee in the peace of his quiet kitchen. On morni
ngs when Sara wasn’t here, he tried to be up and out the door before any of his guests invaded the kitchen. Now, he was alone with his thoughts.

  And in the hungover light of day, his choices the night before didn’t look any better. He’d been four seconds away from tearing the jeans off Cat and banging her against the wall. It wasn’t that Drake and Henry’s schooling had done it either. No, that kind of buildup must have been burning bright long before anyone told him Cat wasn’t the devil herself.

  Noah didn’t like strong feelings. He wasn’t comfortable with anything that pushed him out of his safety zone. Not extreme anger or fear or now the hazy blaze of lust. He liked being on an even keel. It was safer there. A therapist would probably say that stemmed from his childhood. But he didn’t have time for therapists or dwelling on the past. He could only do his best to make sure his daughter never suffered a second of the fear or dread or desperate hunger he’d known as normal.

  He glanced at his watch and poured his first cup of coffee. He double checked his bag for his laptop, charger, office keys, phone, and wallet. He’d left his car downtown. Five beers and two shots were however too many drinks for him to get behind the wheel. Plus, he’d hoped the bitingly cold air would clear his head from the fog of Cat’s body responding with abandon to his.

  Would he see her today? Would she remember? Would it happen again?

  He’d half expected her to text him the night before. Maybe chalking it up to high tensions and alcohol. Maybe firmly stating it would never happen again. Maybe questioning if it would be the worst thing in the world to let it happen again…

  Flashes of teeth and tongues and hands played on a disjointed track through his aching head. And he was hard again. Annoyed, Noah adjusted himself. He couldn’t remember the last time a fantasy had gotten him in its grips like this.

  He picked up his gym bag, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, and grabbed his to go mug.

  For better or worse, he was ready for the day.

  --------

  An hour split between trying not to vomit on the treadmill and free weights, another cup of coffee and a bagel from Reggie’s temporary stand, and Noah found himself in his office still swamped in thoughts of last night. Was Cat really the woman Drake and Henry painted her to be? If she was, did that make his physical attraction to her less shocking?

  He shook the mouse to wake up his desktop computer. As it lumbered into functionality, he put his voicemail box on speakerphone. He was into his fourth message when he realized he’d zoned out again and had to replay them from the beginning.

  Noah forced himself to focus, taking careful notes the second time through. Then came the ocean of emails that washed into his inbox every morning like the tide. Along with the standard city manager stuff, now he was awash in media requests to comment on the Christmas special and the town’s recovery. Then there was the recovery itself. Email chains dragged back and forth between himself and dozens of other government officials, private contractors, and nonprofits.

  It was his first major disaster in Merry and hopefully his last.

  He opened his calendar on the computer. Today he had a meeting with the water and sewer authority and the council meeting. He needed to update his budget report and was thankful that they were at least seeing some immediate cash from the rental of the old high school. When all of this was said and done, he wanted to give some serious thought to permanently leasing the building.

  A calendar alert on his phone popped up. Sara had a geography test today. He typed out a text wishing her luck, adding that he hoped she’d studied. He paused, thought better of it, and then deleted the fatherly warning, replacing it with an invitation for ice cream later. His stomach, still recovering from wings and way too much beer, rolled over at the thought. But Sara would enjoy it, so he’d pray he could leave his indigestion and poor choices behind him by the time she got out of school.

  “Good morning, Mr. Yates!” Carolanne, his part-time assistant since he started as city manager seven years ago, looked as though she’d studied 1950s secretary fashion and planned her look accordingly. Her hair, a not-found-in-nature red, was teased into a bouffant that added another three inches to her petite five-feet-one-inch. Today she wore a yellow and black dress with a ribbon around her middle. She resembled a bumble bee, the way she buzzed into his office carting the mail.

  “Morning, Carolanne,” Noah said, wincing at the volume of her tone. He rubbed his forehead and wished he’d thought to down an aspirin or seven before leaving the house. Humming some Christmas carol, she set about firing up the ancient coffee pot and opening the envelopes and packages with exuberance.

  Noah rubbed his temples and considered throwing up.

  There was a knock that had him opening one eye.

  “Good morning, Noah!” Rubin Turnbar and Imani Greene, two of the most excitable town council members, practically skipped into Noah’s office.

  “Morning. What can I do for you two?” Noah asked, hoping he didn’t look as hungover as he felt.

  Rubin and Imani shared a conspiratorial look. They were an odd pairing, a drycleaner owner and a dance instructor with a twenty-year age difference between them. Rubin and his wife were staunch conservatives in every sense of the word, but he’d bonded with Imani and her pottery-making wife. The foursome enjoyed a weekly dinner together in town where they brainstormed ways to make Merry even merrier.

  “Well,” Imani began gleefully. “Since the Reno and Realty Network seems to be picking up the tab for a lot of the cleanup and renovations around town, Rubin and I would like to put these back on the table for discussion.”

  She handed Noah a printout and he found himself staring at a pole mounted light up reindeer. Rudolph just wouldn’t die.

  Noah had yet to break it to the council that the five-foot snowflakes that had adorned Merry’s downtown streetlamps for the last fifteen years had met their bitter end in three feet of mud and icy water.

  “These are five hundred dollars apiece,” Noah noted. Doing the math made the dull throb of his headache even worse.

  “A bargain,” Rubin nodded enthusiastically. Clearly the man didn’t know what bargain meant.

  “They’re LED,” Imani said, tapping the picture with a long purple fingernail.

  “And the noses light up red,” Rubin announced.

  Oh, well then. That’s worth the fifteen-grand right there, Noah thought miserably.

  “They are certainly festive,” Noah agreed, clearing his throat. “How about you leave this with me, and I’ll look into them?” he suggested.

  “Sure thing,” Rubin agreed.

  “Question,” Imani added. “Do you know if the show plans to do the downtown window competition?”

  Noah rubbed his forehead. “I can check on that and get back to you.”

  “Great! Because my students came up with the perfect idea for a mural,” Imani chirped.

  “Oh, I don’t think it can be better than what Elizabeth and I came up with,” Rubin warned.

  Imani gave him a level look. “Twenty bucks.”

  Rubin offered his hand. “I’ll take that bet, and I’ll be taking your money.”

  “Please! You’re comparing the creativity of dancers to drycleaners?” Imani snorted.

  Noah thought about reminding them that they didn’t even know if the annual window painting contest was on and decided he didn’t have the energy. Imani and Rubin left, too busy trash talking to say goodbye.

  Noah took the moment of peace to put his head down on his desk. He had nearly twenty seconds of time to lament his beverage choices from the night before when another knock sounded.

  A sallow-looking Paige winced at the decibel of her knuckles on wood. She cleared her throat. “Got a minute?”

  Noah gestured toward his visitor’s chair. His eyelids went from half-mast to wide open when Cat slunk in. She was wearing oversized sunglasses and a hat as if hiding from the paparazzi. He wanted those glasses
off. Wanted to know if she was looking at him, thinking about last night. One night, one—well, several—kisses, and he was already looking at her differently. He knew what the satin skin of her stomach felt like under his hands. Knew how she tasted. Knew the weight of her breasts as they filled his palms.

  And now he was nauseated and hard.

  Paige and Cat wearily took their seats, and Paige produced three sports drinks and a bottle of ibuprofen from her bag. With gratitude, Noah pounced on the tablets she doled out and knocked them back with a swig of hot pink liquid.

  “Ungh,” Cat groaned, following suit. She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her slim hands over her face. Those gray-green eyes had enough red around them to make Noah wince. “Yeah? Well, you’re not looking so hot this morning either,” Cat grumbled.

  Paige held up a hand. “Hang on. Before we head back down Scream at Each Other Lane, I’d like to broker a truce.”

  Cat met Noah’s gaze. There was a lot being said by those bloodshot eyes. They had more complicated problems now than just intensely disliking each other.

  “What would this truce look like?” Noah asked diplomatically.

  “Frankly, I’d love to say that we can just allow you two to avoid each other. But we all know that’s not a possibility. There’s too much work to be done, and Noah, we need you on our side. I hope you can believe that we’re not here to exploit anyone. And if you and Cat can agree to be civil to each other, I think we’ll all be better off.”

  “Agreed,” Cat said, catching Paige and Noah off guard. “What?”

  “I agree, as well,” Noah announced. Cat arched an eyebrow at him and studied his face.

  “Okay, I thought that would be a lot harder,” Paige admitted.

  Cat gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’ve got enough shit to do without worrying about verbally sparring with you or running into you in dark alleys for a... fight.”

  Noah was smart enough that he could tease apart that coded message.

  It’s not like he wanted last night to happen again—even though it was all he’d thought about in the last eleven hours since it happened. What he did want is to know what Cat thought about it.