by Lori Wilde
“If you’ve gotten your eyes full could you leave me in peace?” He turned toward her.
“I—er—didn’t mean...” she stammered, unable to wrench her gaze from the spectacular sight of Santa’s washboard abs.
What was a man like this doing playing Santa at a mall department store? He should be modeling underwear or playing professional sports.
“What am I supposed to do about those children?” She gestured helplessly toward the door.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” He reached an arm over his head and clawed the back of his neck.
“Could I ask a question?”
“I have the feeling you’re going to ask it no matter what I say.” He sighed. “So go ahead.”
“Why did you run in here and take off your clothes?”
“Fleas.”
“Excuse me?”
“Fleas.” He scratched his chest; bright-red welts dotted his skin.
“You have fleas?”
“The suit did.” He nodded at the discarded garments scattered across the cement floor.
Edie slapped a hand across her mouth. “Oh my, and I was giving you a hard time.”
“Yes,” he said. “You were.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea. See, I’ve worked with store Santas before and I’ve had some unpleasant experiences.”
“Are you always so quick to stereotype?” His smirk told her he enjoyed her embarrassment.
“No. Listen, I’m very sorry. Let me make it up to you. I’ll go find the manager and tell him about the suit.” Edie felt as small as a popcorn kernel. She usually prided herself on being nonjudgmental, but her reputation was riding on Santa’s sobriety.
It had taken her a week of tall talking to get Mr. Trotter to agree to hire men from the local halfway house for seasonal employment and that was after she’d already gotten approval from the store owner, J. D. Carmichael himself. Her argument that the men worked cheap was what swayed him, not her speech about community responsibility.
If Santa got soused, Mr. Trotter would hold her personally accountable. That’s why she’d jumped to conclusions about why he was running away and she was ashamed of herself.
“Before you go, would you mind doing me a favor?” he pleaded.
“A favor?” Oh heavens, what did this sexy man want from her?
“Could you scratch right here?” He twisted his arm around his back. “Right below my left shoulder blade. I can’t reach the spot, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“Uh...” Touch this man? Her fingers ached to obey his request, but her brain urged her legs to run right out the door.
“Come on, lady, have a heart.”
“It’s Edie.”
“What?”
“My name’s Edie. Edie Preston.”
“That’s great.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jonah. Could you be a doll, Edie, and help me out here?”
She started to chew a fingernail but stopped herself. She’d almost broken the habit except when she was under a great deal of stress.
“Please,” he begged.
“Well...”
“If you don’t want to touch me then find me something to scratch with. A stick, a coat hanger. Have mercy, ma’am. Please.”
Please.
The magic word Edie could never resist. He certainly seemed sincere. She took a deep breath.
“Okay, I’ll do it.” She stepped forward and tentatively reached out a hand.
His flesh was taut and warm. He arched his back. “Higher.”
Edie splayed her fingers over his warm skin. An odd shiver zipped through her.
“A little to the left.”
Her heart thumped. She was actually touching this incredibly hot man. Unbidden, her gaze slid down his back to the curve just above the waist band of his underpants.
What she saw was so delightful Edie snapped her eyes away and focused instead on a tower of boxes stacked in the corner.
“No,” Santa turned Greek God said. “Too far. Back, back. Ah! There, that’s the spot.”
Edie raked her hand back and forth, keeping her eyes firmly averted.
“Harder,” he said, his voice guttural. “Faster.”
Geez, she needed a flame-proof suit to combat the fire building inside her.
“Yes!” He groaned. “Don’t stop.”
Jonah bent forward slightly. Edie stood right behind him furiously scratching his naked back.
“You got it, baby!”
At that moment the storeroom door flew open. Edie and Jonah turned in unison to see Jebidiah Trotter, standing in the doorway, a gaggle of rowdy kids visible behind him.
“Just what,” Mr. Trotter demanded, “is going on in here?”
“I can explain,” Edie said.
Mr. Trotter slammed the door behind him, crossed his arms over his chest and leveled her a condescending stare. “I suggest you begin immediately, Miss Preston, and tell me why I shouldn’t fire both of you this very minute.” He threw a disdainful glare in Jonah’s direction.
Edie raised her palms, then pulled them downward in a calming gesture. “You’ve got a store full of kids waiting to see Santa. If Santa doesn’t appear, their mothers will take be upset.”
She didn’t care for Carmichael’s new manager, but she prided herself on getting along with most anyone. However, Mr. Trotter was difficult to please and wielded a heavy-handed management style, preferring punishment over positive reinforcement.
Trotter tilted his nose upward. “Be that as it may, I will not have you and your Santa playing sex games in my storeroom. Especially when you’re supposed to be working.” He tapped the face of his wristwatch.
Sex games with Santa?
Edie darted at quick glance at her nearly naked partner-in-crime and gulped. Until today she had never considered Santa Claus the least bit sexy, but Jonah had changed all her preconceived notions.
Jonah stepped between Edie and Mr. Trotter, a thunderous expression on his face. “Listen here, Trotter, your Santa suit was infested with fleas. That’s why I’m in my underwear. That’s why I have welts on my body, which Miss Preston was so kindly scratching for me. If you don’t get me a new suit pronto, and lay off threatening the lady, I’ll be forced to report this incident to the public health department.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Trotter sniffed.
If she squinted just right in the glare of florescent lighting, Trotter looked exactly like the Grinch who stole Christmas—snooty nose, sour expression, virtually hairless—with an attitude to match.
Edie slapped a palm over her mouth to keep from giggling.
“Try me,” Jonah growled, leaning forward in a menacing stance. How anyone could appear menacing in his undies, Edie didn’t know, but Jonah was pulling it off with the pugilistic aplomb of a heavyweight boxer. “Oh, and I believe you owe Miss Preston an apology.”
“An apology? What for?” Trotter’s brows plunged together in an angry V.
“Insinuating that she’s the type to have a sordid affair in the storeroom.”
Trotter snorted. “I will not apologize.”
The two men stared each other down, eye to eye, toe to toe. Jonah clenched his hands.
Trotter’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
Neither blinked.
Edie’s heart skipped a beat, her tummy tightened. Jonah was standing up for her! No one had ever championed her like this before and while she found it thrilling, she was also terrified Trotter would fire them both.
She needed her job to pay for next semester’s tuition and she was certain Jonah hadn’t taken the position as store Santa simply for the fun of it. She had to smooth things over.
“It’s all right, Jonah,” Edie soothed. “I know how things must have seemed—with you in nothing but your tighty whities and me running my hands along your...” She hesitated on the word body. “Why don’t I go out and entertain the children before we lose customers?’ ’
“Are you sure, Edie?�
�� Jonah asked.
“Yes.” She turned to the manager. “Mr. Trotter, I give you my word, that nothing of a...er...sexual nature was going on between Jonah and me, nor will
it ever. I was simply trying to help him with his unfortunate flea problem.”
Mr. Trotter cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “you have been an exemplary employee until now. I guess I can give you another chance.”
He waggled a finger under Jonah’s nose. “But if I even get a whiff that there is hanky-panky going on between the two of you, then you are both out on your ears. Is that understood? Carmichael’s has an image to uphold.”
Edie forced a smile. “Yes, sir, thank you. You won’t regret your decision.”
Jonah said nothing, just kept glaring at Trotter with a wicked stare that sent goose bumps up Edie’s spine. Jonah possessed a volatile edginess that appealed to the nurturer in her. She wanted to pacify him.
“Let me see if I can find another Santa suit,” Trotter said. “Wait here, Stevenson. Miss Preston, back to work.” He made shooing motions at her.
Edie ducked her head, scurried around Trotter and through the door, the bells on her hat jangling merrily. She breathed a sigh of relief, but it was only temporary. Yes, she had managed to hold on to her holiday job, but in the process, she had promised to keep her hands off sexy Santa Jonah.
And as luck would have it, he was the most intriguing man she’d met in years.
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About the Author
Lori Wilde is the New York Times, USA Today and Publishers’ Weekly bestselling author of 87 works of romantic fiction. She’s a three time Romance Writers’ of America RITA finalist and has four times been nominated for Romantic Times Readers’ Choice Award. She has won numerous other awards as well.
Her books have been translated into 26 languages, with more than four million copies of her books sold worldwide.
Her breakout novel, The First Love Cookie Club, has been optioned for a TV movie.
Lori is a registered nurse with a BSN from Texas Christian University. She holds a certificate in forensics, and is also a certified yoga instructor.
A fifth generation Texan, Lori lives with her husband, Bill, in the Cutting Horse Capital of the World; where they run Epiphany Orchards, a writing/creativity retreat for the care and enrichment of the artistic soul.
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