Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance

by Krista Sandor

  Washboards would be jealous of this man’s abs.

  And her banana had nothing on this hotel hottie.

  Ugh! Stop!

  She shook her head, trying—without much luck—to get this man’s body off her mind.

  “What were you thinking?” she cried, staring him down in an attempt to recalibrate her raging libido. He was no longer her sex machine, orgasm-inducing handsome stranger.

  No, he was the devil.

  He smoothed his coat. “For the record, you fell asleep on me.”

  She scoffed. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”

  There was no way she’d migrated toward this moron, not even in her sleep, would she?

  “Yeah, you did,” he countered, looking all smug and handsome—the jerk!

  She lifted her chin. “Why didn’t you just push me back over to my side?”

  That sexy smirk stretched across his cat-who-ate-the-canary face as his equally sexy dimple made an appearance. “I tried. You kept coming back for more. Even in your sleep, you can’t get enough of me.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks. This cuddle bug bastard was asking for it!

  She glanced out the window as Dan disappeared into the mountain house with their bags.

  Good! They were alone now. And this was the perfect time to lay down the law.

  Vixen mode on.

  She leaned in. “Maybe you can’t get enough of me.”

  His cocksure expression vanished as a muscle ticked on his perfect chiseled cheek, and his tanned complexion grew rosy.

  Ha! He was attracted to her!

  It was time to strike while the iron was hot. She gripped the collar of his coat and pulled him in closer.

  “This is your warning! Do not derail this wedding. And don’t think I didn’t hear about the strippers!” she hissed, her voice low and deadly.

  That sexy smirk pulled across his smug lips. “Tom’s not ready for marriage. I’m his best friend. It’s my job to look out for him.”

  “The hell it is. Tom is lucky to have Lori. And news flash! He proposed to her. He’s crazy in love with her,” she shot back.

  Soren pinned her with his gaze. “He’s not crazy in love. He’s confused.”

  Nearly a breath apart, she wasn’t about to blink. “This wedding is happening. And I have a warning for you.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” he challenged, his breath tickling her lips.

  Her pulse thrummed. Her entire body vibrated with frantic energy. It was as if every cell in her body ached for this man’s touch.

  “Do not mess with me, Scooter,” she growled, channeling her badass pretend vixen.

  “That’s how it’s going to be?” he growled back, that sexy rasp coating each word.

  “My way or the highway, Scooter,” she replied with a smirk of her own.

  He twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers. “Call me Scooter one more time and see what happens.”

  He was playing with her. If he wanted to raise the stakes, that was his funeral.

  She tightened her grip on his collar and met those cat-like green eyes head-on. Heat blazed in his eyes, and fire roared through her veins.

  It was hardcore vixen time.

  She moistened her lips with her tongue, then narrowed her gaze.

  “Scooter.”

  They hovered there, eye to eye, their breaths mingling. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It could have been a fraction of a second or, quite possibly, a quarter of a century. But as if a switch had flipped, she tightened her grip on his collar. His hands flew to her face, cupping her cheeks and sending electric sparks down her spine. Her body, which must not have gotten the memo that this slimeball was off-limits, melted into his touch as their mouths came together in an angry, ravenous kiss fueled by lust and loathing.

  It was…glorious. Their tongues fought and retreated. Their lips crashed in a frenzy of furious passion.

  “I don’t like you, Scooter!” she breathed, then bit his lip.

  “I don’t like you either, Birdie!” he said, meeting her bite with one of his own.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, then wove her fingers into his dark shampoo-commercial-ready hair. Endorphins flooded her system in a dizzying state of complete make out mania. She’d never hate-kissed anyone. Before Soren, Scooter, whatever, making out with your adversary seemed like something only idiots did in rom-coms.

  She wanted to construct a witty retort. She wanted to tell him just how much of an asshat a person would have to be to go to a wedding with the sole intention of stopping it. The whole “I don’t like you” response reeked of seventh grade. She could do better. But as soon as this man’s lips connected with hers, her brain turned into a gelatinous mound of mush.

  He kissed a trail along her jawline, then combed his fingers into her hair, holding her at just the right angle. “This wedding is a mistake, Birdie. And I plan on making damn sure Tom knows it,” he murmured against the sensitive skin below her earlobe.

  She tilted her head, her treacherous body welcoming the heat of his touch. “Well, Scooter, unlike you, I put others’ happiness and wellbeing above my own, and that especially includes my little sister. I am ride or die when it comes to her. So, you better not sabotage this wedding!” she threatened, followed by a dirty little sigh, which may have reduced the mafia hitman effect she was going for.

  He stilled, and she pulled back, expecting to meet his gaze brimming with contempt or conceit. But something more akin to panic or possibly grief flashed in his green-gold eyes. But before she could blink, he had his asshat glare back. Still, she couldn’t look away.

  “Soren, why are you against this wedding?” she whispered, stroking his cheek just as she’d done when she’d left him this morning.

  He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against hers, then released a pained sigh.

  It didn’t make sense. Tom’s family had welcomed Lori with open arms. Why wouldn’t his best friend feel the same way?

  She was ready to ask him point-blank when a sharp knock on the window sent them jumping to opposite sides of the back seat like teenagers caught necking after curfew.

  “Uncle Scooter? What are you doing in there?”

  A little girl with a scrunched-up face stood beside a little boy wearing bright red bifocals.

  “Did that lady have an eyelash stuck on her eyeball? Sometimes, when I have an eyelash stuck on my eyeball, Mommy has to get that close to fish it out,” the boy commented, pressing his gloved hands to the glass to get a better look at them.

  “It’s all steamy in there,” the little girl remarked, rubbing her mitten against the window above the boy’s head.

  Soren’s gaze bounced between her and the children, who were watching them as if they were in a zoo enclosure.

  “That’s Carly and Cole,” he said, losing the asshat vibe and looking downright flummoxed.

  She nodded, completely cognizant that two little kids had caught them full-on sucking face.

  “Tom’s niece and nephew, right?” she replied, going for casual, which was not as easy as one would think after a make-out session that left her swaying side to side in a woozy kissing daze.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he answered, still looking quite shellshocked.

  Before this awkward moment, their lives had intersected, first, in a rapture of anonymous sexual bliss, then as steadfast sworn enemies, once their veil on anonymity got blown to hell. And now, they were two people connected to these children, who continued to watch them like a science project gone wrong.

  She waved to the kids and did her best not to look like a wannabe dirty girl vixen.

  These two kiddos were just as Lori had described: Carly with her button nose, ash-blond hair in two braids, and Cole with his rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. Her sister had told her all about Tom’s family. She absolutely adored them, and from the sound of it, they adored her, too.

  It was quite a distinguished group.

  Tom’s parents, Grace and Scott A
bbott, ran their Boston-based law firm, Abbott and Associates, where Lori and Tom met and worked. Tom’s sister, Denise, a social worker, was five years older than Tom. She and her wife Nancy were the proud parents of eight-year-old, Carly, and five-year-old, Cole.

  Lori had spent many a weekend with them on the coast along with Tom’s grandfather, who Lori described as one tough, lovable character. Franklin Abbott went by the moniker, Judge. Everyone, even the grandkids and the great-grandkids, called him by this name as a tribute to his forty-five-year career on the bench. Tom’s uncle Russell would be joining them for the wedding, but Lori hadn’t spent much time with him.

  “Is your eyeball okay, lady?” the little boy called.

  She nodded to the child, then turned to Soren.

  “We should probably get out of the car,” she said, smoothing a lock of her hair before gesturing to the door.

  “Yeah,” he answered with a minute shake of his head.

  At least, this seemed as weird for him as it did for her.

  He opened the door and barely had a foot out before the children pounced on him.

  “Uncle Scooter rides!” Cole cheered.

  “Me, first,” Carly called, jumping into the man’s arms.

  “Uncle Scooter, do you want to see the snow angel I made?” Cole asked, pulling on Soren’s coat sleeve.

  The little girl pointed toward a small log cabin about fifty feet away from the large mountain house. “I made one in front of Dan and Delores’s little log cottage. See, it’s right over there. Dan says that there are lots of little cabins in the forest around here, but only theirs is warm enough to live in over the winter.”

  “Is that so?” Soren asked, glancing over his shoulder at her as she got out of the car.

  It was as if he didn’t know who to be. The cocksure asshat or Uncle Scooter—who, quite possibly, had one of the nerdiest uncle names out there.

  “You’re Birdie, Aunt Lori’s sister!” the little boy said, materializing by her side.

  This kid could really move.

  “Yes, that’s me. My name is Bridget, but Lori’s always called me Birdie.”

  “I like Birdie better,” the little girl chimed from Soren’s arms.

  “His name is Soren, but that’s a stupid name, so we call him Uncle Scooter because scooters are cool,” the little boy countered.

  Bridget pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Hey, you know that’s not how I got my nickname,” Soren said with a playful edge.

  “Yeah, I do. Mommy gave you the name a long time ago because you have a hard to remember name that spells Scooter,” Cole conceded.

  Bridget smiled at the little boy and made a mental note. If Tom’s sister had given him that nickname, Soren and the Abbotts must have been close for quite a while.

  “Guess what we were doing, Uncle Scooter? We were out looking for Christmas fairies,” Carly said, answering her own question as Soren set her down.

  He frowned. “I’ve never heard of a Christmas fairy.”

  “Aunt Lori says that Christmas fairies help Santa and the elves,” Cole chimed as his sister nodded.

  Bridget joined the trio. “That’s right. My dad used to tell me and Lori that the Christmas fairies would fly down from the North Pole to make snow angels for the good little boys and girls to see. So, if you ever come upon a snow angel with no footprints leading up to it, that means that a Christmas fairy probably made it. And if you happen to see one, they may grant you a Christmas wish.”

  Cole nodded emphatically. “I’m going to find a Christmas fairy and get a Christmas wish! I’ve got new glasses, and I can see far, far, far away. I’m going to ask it what its name is, and then tell the fairy to tell Santa that I’ve been really good this year and that Carly’s been really bad and should be on the naughty list.”

  “No way! You should be on the naughty list!” Carly threw back along with a handful of snow.

  “Hey, easy! I’m sure neither of you are on Santa’s naughty list,” Soren corrected, separating the squabbling siblings.

  She smiled at him, fascinated with the difference between the giant douche canoe, Soren Christopher Traeger Rudolph, and the light-heartedness of Uncle Scooter. But the man’s expression darkened the moment he caught her watching him.

  “And you shouldn’t call Lori, Aunt Lori. She’s not your aunt,” he said, making damn sure to catch her eye as he corrected the children.

  And boom! There it was. While he could play with kids and appear to be a decent human, he was still the devil. The devil who looked like sex on a stick dressed as if he were ready to model for Mountain Sports Weekly in his down jacket and dark jeans—but a wedding crashing devil, nonetheless.

  “You’re not our uncle, and we call you Uncle Scooter,” Cole said, sharing a confused look with his older sister.

  Soren’s expression soured. “That’s different.”

  “How?” Carly asked.

  “Yeah, how?” Bridget echoed, goading the worst best man.

  Soren pointed to a spot in the distance. “I think I saw a Christmas fairy. You guys better check it out. You wouldn’t want to miss out on making a Christmas wish.”

  The kids took the bait and headed for a grove of evergreens.

  As soon as the siblings were out of earshot, she marched over to the man and pushed up onto her tiptoes. It barely got her to his perfect chin. Damn his towering physique!

  “This is your warning. Do not pull anything like that again!”

  His eyes glimmered like a cheetah ready to pounce. “Like what? I’m not wrong. She’s not officially their aunt yet.”

  She grabbed his coat—again—and yanked him down. Cheetah eyes or not, she was nobody’s prey. And when it came to Soren, unlike every other man in her life, she seemed to have no qualms flashing her badass vixen ballbuster side.

  His gaze flicked to where she crumpled his coat’s down collar. “You’ll owe me a new jacket if you keep this up.”

  “You’ll be lucky to make it out of this mountain house with your coat,” she shot back.

  Confusion marred his perfect stupid face. “What the hell does that mean?”

  She sucked her teeth. What did she mean?

  “I don’t know. But it sounded badass,” she replied, doing her best to sound like a badass.

  “It kind of did sound badass,” he admitted as the crazy lust tractor beam pulled them in—again!

  She closed her eyes and surrendered to their super-magnetic attraction. Perhaps it was the altitude, but once she was within kissing distance of this creep, she lost all rational control.

  “Birdie! You’re here!” came her sister’s bubbly voice as she and Soren pulled apart like oil repelling water.

  Lori came down the mountain house porch steps dressed in her ski gear and shielded her eyes from the bright midday sun. “Oh, and I see you’ve met…”

  “Hello, Lori,” Soren said, sounding as slippery as a snake—because he was a snake. A wedding disrupting snake. She needed to remember that.

  “Scooter!” Tom called, emerging from the house.

  Soren grinned up at his friend. But when Tom took Lori’s hand, the man’s expression dimmed a fraction. What was this? Kindergarten? Could Tom not have a fiancée and a best friend?

  Tom leaned in and wrapped her in a friendly embrace as Lori attempted to hug Soren. The wedding crasher acquiesced with the most robotic hug ever recorded.

  “It’s good to see you, Birdie. This place is great. But Lori says it’s changed a lot since the last time you two were here. What do you think?” Tom asked.

  She hugged her sister, then glanced up at the majestic mountain house. Thanks to the hate-kissing-upon-arrival session followed by the whirlwind meet and greet with the pint-sized Cole and Carly, she hadn’t had a moment to take in their destination.

  “The house looks the same to me,” she said, inhaling the crisp mountain air as she observed the weathered log cabin. With a large gathering area in the center, the g
uest rooms lined one side of the structure while the kitchen and mudroom used to store skis and other outdoor equipment ran along the opposite side.

  “We’re so happy that you both are here,” Lori said, taking the high road with Soren—because that’s who her sister was. A good person. No, a great person.

  “But you look a little disheveled,” Lori continued with a crease between her brows.

  Bridget brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear and pasted on her best I wasn’t just making out with anybody grin. “I do?” she asked innocently.

  Now, it was Tom eyeing them. “You guys look a little scruffy. Scooter, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so…”

  “So, what?” Soren asked, stone-faced.

  “I don’t know. You guys look like you’ve been roughed up,” Tom replied, sharing a look with Lori.

  No, no, no! Nobody could know about what they’d done last night or five minutes ago in the car.

  Bridget glanced up at Soren, who must have been thinking the same thing. He gestured toward the children, who were tossing snow at each other between the trees.

  “The kids, they wanted Scooter rides,” he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

  Good save! If she didn’t hate the guy, she’d have thanked him for coming up with that excuse.

  Lori cocked her head to the side. “Did they want Birdie rides, too?”

  “Um,” she began, because, unlike Soren, she was a terrible liar.

  “I need a second with my sister,” Lori said, hooking their arms and guiding her a few paces away from the guys.

  “Birdie?” her sister whispered, stretching out the syllables.

  “Lori,” she replied, because when she was singsong echoing, she wasn’t lying.

  “You did it, didn’t you?” Lori whispered.

  Oh no!

  “The hotel hottie! I can tell! You seem a little more high-strung than usual but in a good way. Does that make sense?” Lori pressed.

  It made more sense than her sister would ever know. But there was no way she was going to tell anyone, let alone Lori, that the asshat of a best man had been the hotel hottie making her toes curl and her body sing with carnal delight all night long.