Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance

by Krista Sandor

  He cleared his throat. “Janine, there’s been a change of plans. I need to leave for Colorado on the first flight out tomorrow. I’ll be gone the entire week.”

  “Tomorrow?” she echoed, wide-eyed in disbelief.

  “Yes, can you book the flight now?” he replied, then walked to the window.

  The tap-tap-tap of his assistant checking airline schedules ticked like a clock counting down.

  “I can get you on a flight tomorrow morning, but there’s a weather advisory for Colorado.”

  He nodded, then glanced at the photo on his bookshelf. “That’s fine. Book it. I need to get there as soon as possible.”

  Janine came to his side. “I’m proud of you, Soren. I’m glad you’re going to spend the week with Tom and get to know his fiancée.”

  He grunted a non-reply, and she chuckled.

  She wouldn’t be proud if she knew her words had lit a fire inside of him—not to only take part in his best friend’s wedding—but to make sure the damned thing got called off.

  3

  Bridget

  “Is he looking at you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Is he cute?”

  Bridget glanced at the man sitting catty-corner from her in the bustling hotel bar. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. He cracked the hint of a smile when the bartender brought him his drink, and she would have sworn she saw a dimple hidden beneath a layer of sexy, dark scruff.

  She crossed her legs, repositioned herself on the barstool, then angled her cell phone closer to her lips. “Yes, he’s cute.”

  “Go for it, Birdie!” Lori cheered.

  Bridget’s heart beat like a drum. Nothing seemed real.

  Getting fired.

  Catching Garrett with another woman.

  Twenty-four hours ago, her life had imploded.

  But here she was, sipping wine like she could be anyone or anything.

  The last time she’d felt like this was, well, never.

  “You’re there for one night, Birdie. All the weather reports say that the snow will let up and that the roads should be cleared by tomorrow morning. You’ll be out of Denver and on your way to Kringle Mountain before you have to worry about bumping into him at the hotel breakfast buffet.”

  Bridget twisted the corner of her cocktail napkin. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Flirt with him,” her sister replied.

  Flirt?

  When was the last time she flirted?

  She’d met Garrett when he’d come into the bakery to purchase a cake for a coworker’s birthday. There was no flirting involved, not really. He was a nice enough guy. He came back the next day, then the day after that. For all she knew, the man kept things going as long as he did to ensure a steady supply of baked goods.

  Then his words drifted back to her.

  You’re the most stifled, stuck person I know. I feel sorry for you, Bridget.

  The last thing she wanted or needed was anyone’s pity.

  She shook off her ex-boyfriend’s assessment of her character and stared down at her tattered napkin, embossed with the outline of the Rocky Mountains. She’d landed in Denver to find the city at a standstill. Mother Nature had blown into town with arctic temperatures and two feet of snow. There was no way she’d be able to make it to Kringle Mountain today, so she booked a night at the hotel adjacent to the airport. Lucky for her, they’d had one room left.

  The bartender gestured to her empty glass. “Would you like another, miss?”

  She wasn’t a big drinker. A glass of wine, here and there. But what did she have to lose? She wasn’t driving anywhere—nobody was. She nodded to the man, then took the chance to sneak another peek at the handsome stranger as he sipped a tumbler of whiskey and checked his phone.

  She drank him in. It wasn’t like her to swoon over a man. Who had time for that? But he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, exposing tanned, muscular forearms. A curl of dark hair fell forward, and as he reached to brush it out of the way, he met her gaze.

  One beat, then two. She focused on two intelligent, cat-like eyes staring into hers. Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips. Could it be the altitude? She wasn’t in Texas anymore. Even in the midst of a snowstorm, it was dry as hell in this city. But this rush of heat felt like a lot more than merely the effect of an arid climate. She pressed her thighs together, released a jagged breath, then broke their connection.

  What was that?

  The bartender returned with her Chardonnay, and she gripped the stem and took a long sip, trying to get her bearings.

  “Birdie!” came an urgent voice. “Are you there, or did I lose you to that hotel hottie?”

  She’d almost forgotten she was on the phone with her sister.

  “I’m here. Sorry, I’m really in my head. I must be tired from traveling,” she lied, still reeling from the intensity of catching the man’s eye.

  “Travel or not. Tonight, you’re a woman of mystery. Tomorrow, you’ll be on your way to my wedding. A nice one-night stand could help you unwind, big sis. The three orgasms I had with Tom have put me in a great headspace.”

  Bridget groaned. “I don’t want to hear about my baby sister’s multiple orgasms. I’m happy you’re happy. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Perhaps Lori was on to something. Blowing off a little sexual steam with a handsome stranger might be what the doctor ordered. And she needed to be on her A-game tomorrow. Once she arrived at Kringle Mountain House, nothing was going to stand in her way of Lori’s wedding—especially not a killjoy named Scooter.

  “Oh, and I should let you know that Scooter is going to be here for the week, too,” Lori added.

  Bridget ripped a corner off the poor napkin. “I thought he was flying in the day of the wedding and leaving the next morning.”

  “Nope, and Tom’s thrilled that he changed his mind,” her sister answered.

  Lori tried to sound upbeat and supportive—that’s who her sister was. But she could hear the worry in her voice.

  Crap!

  Now she would have to pull off this wedding and keep an eye on this asshat the entire time!

  She took another sip of wine. “What made him change his mind?”

  “I don’t know. He texted Tom early this morning to tell him that he was catching a flight out today,” she answered, sounding matter of fact as she went into lawyer mode.

  But the strained tone betrayed her words.

  Bridget started in on the cocktail napkin’s opposite corner, twisting the paper as she tried to piece together what would have caused the best man’s change of heart.

  “Does he ski? Could he have seen the weather report and decided he wanted to get in a few days on the slopes?” she ventured.

  Lori released a pained sigh. “Yes, he skis, but I’m not convinced that’s the reason he’s coming early.”

  Heat that had nothing to do with the wine warmed her cheeks. She’d managed Gaston Francois for six years. Granted, that didn’t end well. But all she had to do was run a little interference with a jackass of a best man. This Scooter would be nothing compared to what she’d dealt with over the years.

  “Don’t give him a second thought. Do you think I’d let some jerk screw things up? I’ve always been in your corner,” she said as a surge of determination accompanied the alcohol circulating through her bloodstream.

  “Thank you, Birdie. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” Lori said.

  “Don’t worry about the wedding. Everything is planned and ready to go.” She paused. “Is there something else on your mind?”

  “Um…no, no! It’s an emotional time, that’s all. It’ll be good to see you, Birdie. It’s been too long.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  It had been ages since they’d had some one-on-one sister time. While they talked and texted every day, with Lori in Boston and her in Texas, they’d only seen each other a handful of times in the last several years. But now, she needed to be Lori’s rock.

  “All ri
ght, little sis,” she began, channeling a pepped-up cheerleader. “Go enjoy yourself and knock out another orgasm with your fiancé—only spare me the details.”

  “Same goes for you! You don’t have to be Bridget Dasher tonight. Find that sexy bar guy and have some fun,” Lori replied, sounding more like herself.

  “I could be a vixen,” she said, thinking back to the little girl’s slip of the tongue the other day.

  Bridget Dasher. Not your average vixen—at least for tonight.

  “Hell yes, you could,” her sister agreed.

  Bridget bit her lip. It had been ages since a man had made her toes curl.

  Scratch that. No man had ever made her toes curl.

  “Hey, Birdie, Tom just got back to the room, and I think we’re going to go for orgasm number four,” her sister whispered.

  “Lori, you’re killing me! Four orgasms in a day? I don’t think I’ve had four orgasms in a month! God, maybe longer!”

  Her sister giggled as Tom’s muffled voice hummed in the background. It was good to hear her laugh. The last thing she should be doing the week of her wedding was worrying about some douche of a best man.

  “I’ve got to go, Birdie, but I want to hear all about your night! Do not back out of this! You deserve to have some fun. Be the vixen!” Lori coaxed.

  Be the vixen.

  Bridget traced her fingertip around the rim of the wineglass. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll let you know if something happens.”

  She ended the call, then took a sip of wine. This was it. She’d lift her chin, look his way, give him her best come-hither bedroom eyes, and demand her handsome stranger’s attention—like the vixen she was. Or at least what she assumed a vixen would do. She was literally making it up as she went along.

  Slowly, she turned and peered across the bar to find…

  An empty barstool.

  Her hotel hottie had vanished.

  She shook her head and chuckled. Who was she kidding? When had she ever taken a chance like that? Still, a thread of longing wove its way through her heart. But before disappointment could set in and she could head up to her room to binge on late-night TV, the man seated on the barstool next to her placed his meaty hand on her leg.

  She gasped at the contact, then found herself eye to eye with one of the smarmiest men she’d ever laid eyes on. Balding with a bad comb-over, the man licked his glistening lips as his gaze raked the length of her body.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

  The man grinned, revealing a mouthful of pearly whites speckled with salsa.

  Who was this Mr. Smarmy Salsa man?

  He licked his lips again. “That was a pretty hot conversation, baby.”

  “Baby?” she echoed, brushing away his hand.

  Oblivious to her disgust, Mr. Smarmy Salsa leaned in and made an attempt to squeeze her knee. “All that talk about multiple orgasms got me so hot. I know when a girl is trying to seduce me. You’ve wanted to get my attention all night.”

  All night? She’d barely registered the guy was there. And what kind of creeper listened in on a woman’s call.

  “Get your hands off me,” she ordered, twisting away from the man, but the salsa mouth-breather wasn’t letting up.

  “Come on, baby. You know you like the attention,” he crooned, sliding his hand up her leg.

  She batted him away, but the comfortable shirt dress she’d chosen to wear on the flight, which was perfect for travel, turned out to be terrible at deterring salsa-infused meatheads. And since it was nearly eighty degrees when she’d left Texas, she didn’t even have on tights or pantyhose, and her bare skin crawled from his touch.

  His salsa-sticky assault startled her, knocking her off balance. She reared back, attempting to get out of his grip when her barstool tipped, teetering dangerously on two legs. A rush of adrenaline sent her scrambling to stay upright. But just as she was about to fall flat on her ass, two strong hands caught her from behind. The stool crashed to the ground as her back made contact with a wall of muscle. She stilled, safe in her rescuer’s embrace, and inhaled hints of soap and sandalwood. Strong, warm hands gripped her shoulders, then slid down the length of her arms, leaving a delicious trail of goose bumps in their wake. The frantic fight-or-flight frenzy set off by the salsa creep melted away. She took a breath, then another, matching her breathing with the stranger standing behind her.

  She waited for her protector to continue on and leave her to fend for herself, but the man didn’t move a muscle. Instead, his fingertips lingered on her forearms, leaving her breathless. Slowly, she turned to meet the person who’d saved her from crashing to the floor and found…him.

  She stared into his eyes. In the bar’s dim light, they sparkled green-gold. Her hotel hottie held her gaze as everything disappeared. The clank and hum of the bar. The jazzy holiday tune playing over the speakers. It all vanished.

  What was this? Some after effect of being manhandled, only to find yourself staring into the eyes of the sexiest man alive?

  Could she have fallen? Maybe she fell over, hit her head, and this was a dream or a delusion.

  She parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out. Her handsome hotel hottie watched her with an intensity that sent a ripple of heat between her thighs. All she could do was breathe and pray she wasn’t concussed and lying on the floor of a hotel bar hallucinating.

  “Hey, buddy!” Mr. Smarmy Salsa yapped. “We were having a conversation!”

  Her handsome stranger didn’t acknowledge the man. His cat-like gaze stayed locked with hers. “A table has opened up in the restaurant. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me?”

  “Dinner,” she repeated, rendered near speechless.

  Because, OMG, this was happening!

  A wolfish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth as he knelt and retrieved her clutch.

  “You don’t want to forget this,” he said, handing her the little purse.

  She stared at his hand and couldn’t stop herself from imagining what it would be like if he slipped that hand into her panties.

  “Miss?” he said, snapping her back.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  Get ahold of yourself, girl!

  She glanced at Mr. Smarmy Salsa. Bent over a fresh bowl of chips and another saucer of his signature dish, he’d switched from mauling her to hoovering more of the snack food. Ugh! That poor salsa!

  “Are you hungry?” her rescuer pressed, killing all thoughts of the smarmy man.

  His voice washed over her—a sensual rumble like the preamble to a dirty bedtime story. And again, she was speechless as she stared up at this Adonis of a man.

  Maybe Lori was right. Perhaps, it would do her good to fall into bed with someone for a night of pure animal sex. A tempting opportunity for a reset and an escape all at the same time. And if there was a man who looked like he could deliver on that request, it was the handsome stranger standing in front of her.

  He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

  This guy’s sexual magnetism was off the charts, and he looked at her as if he were photographing her with his eyes—like he could see everything.

  “You’re blushing,” he remarked with a sexy smirk.

  She smoothed her dress. “This isn’t my scene. I don’t usually go to bars and find myself falling off of barstools. Thank you for catching me,” she replied, praying that the words coming out of her mouth made sense. It took everything she had not to disintegrate into a million tiny pieces of swoon.

  He smiled, and holy moly, there was that dimple.

  “Where do you usually hang out?”

  This man.

  She gathered her resolve. If this was going to be her first one-night stand, she needed to play it cool. Tonight, she wouldn’t be the protective older sister. She wouldn’t be the girl who’d lost her job and her boyfriend all in the span of an hour. She wouldn’t be a lonely twenty-eight-year-old woman with zero prospects.

  Nope, n
ot tonight.

  Tonight, she was mysterious. Tonight, she could be anyone.

  Goodbye, Bridget Dasher. Hello, Bridget Vixen.

  She drew the tip of her tongue across the top of her lip. “I don’t think you really want to know where I hang out.”

  His eyes raked boldly over her body as the electricity between them crackled.

  Holy faking-it vixen! It worked. She was no expert on men, but her handsome stranger appeared to find her alluring.

  “How about we make our way to the table,” he said and gestured for her to walk ahead of him.

  A tingle ran down her spine as he pressed his hand against the small of her back.

  They left the bar, and he guided her into the dining area. He nodded to a hostess, and the woman showed them to their table, but not before giving her hotel hottie the once-over.

  Bridget couldn’t help herself from smiling as she rode this new wave of sexual confidence. She caught the woman’s eye and shook her head.

  Sorry, honey, this tall glass of sexy is all mine.

  The woman instantly broke their connection and stared at the floor, and wowie zowie! Look who was the new alpha lady in town!

  The hostess slinked away as her handsome dinner companion helped her into a U-shaped booth. While the restaurant was busy, their table, tucked away in a dim corner, felt miles away from the other diners.

  A waiter set a glass of wine on the table along with a whiskey. “A Chardonnay for the lady and a whiskey neat for the gentleman.”

  She turned to find her hotel hottie watching her.

  She cocked her head to the side. “You’ve already ordered?”

  His powerful thigh brushed against her knee as he settled in beside her. “I did.”

  She took a sip of wine. And lo and behold, it was her favorite Chardonnay.

  “How did you know what I was drinking?” she asked.

  There was an air of arrogance about him that sent a dizzying current racing through her body.

  “I asked the bartender.”

  Butterflies fluttered in her belly. “Why?” she pressed.

  That sexy smirk was back, taunting her. “Because I knew you were going to have dinner with me.”