Bad Boys for Hire_Nick_Christmas Holiday

by Rachelle Ayala

  Up in front of an audience, she had no time to wallow in her misfortune. There were more people in wheelchairs than those who walked on two legs. When she finished each dance routine, the cheers were loud and spirited. Some children even tried to copy her moves.

  Nick stood in the back near the door and gave her two thumbs up. Patronizing dick.

  She glanced in her sister’s direction and at the man in the wheelchair. He raised his shoulders and arms in a floppy clapping motion. His smile, however, was tight, like a grimace, and Carol knew that he was envious of her, the same way she was envious of anyone who had greater range of motion than she.

  Would she ever accept this? But no. Acceptance was worse than death.

  During the rest of the afternoon, Carol presented awards to the children, spoke about the importance of sports no matter the ability, and helped pass out snacks and drinks. Whenever she happened to glance Nick’s direction, their eyes would meet and he’d smirk behind his cotton ball beard.

  The man was positively infuriating—asking her for a lap dance and betting she couldn’t feel a thing. Grrr …

  Carol replayed every conversation she had with Nick, and the only thing good he had said was about his brother being a policeman. All the rest were douchebag comments, and once this gig was over, she’d file a complaint with Rex.

  The afternoon wound down and it was time for the Santa’s lap activity. Nick swaggered like a big man on campus to the throne, and the children lined up their wheelchairs along with their parents or helpers.

  Carol didn’t want to watch. She willed her eyes to avoid the throne, but it was hard to miss the happiness on the faces of the children.

  Even harder to avoid was Nick who allowed the kids to pull off his cotton balls—one per child. He was affectionate with each child, letting them whisper in his ear, and making delighted facial expressions. He high-fived, low-fived, and hugged each child, and he patiently helped each one back onto their wheelchair.

  “All right, Champ.” Nick gave a little boy a pat on the back.

  “Go get them!” He high-fived a paraplegic girl.

  Carol couldn’t take watching him be so sweet to the children. Everyone, from parents to caregivers, to her Bumblebee friends loved Nick’s performance. He really was a charmer to everyone except for her.

  He wanted nothing from her, except to mock her. Walking by her and thrusting his groin at her was a reminder of what she couldn’t do. Then he’d had the nerve to ask her if she was afraid of him or turned on.

  What a jackass.

  He had no respect for the disabled. Why, she bet he was the type to park in the handicapped parking spots. He’d probably enjoy tipping her out of her chair and laugh as she crawled to get back in. He might even go as far as throwing a football at her, trying to hit the moving target. Why, he might even believe disabled people should be relegated to nursing homes instead of out and about getting special treatment like accessible seats at the theater and expensive ramps to get into public buildings.

  “I’d like to thank the gorgeous and talented Carol Cassidy for inviting me to the Wheelympics Toy Drive.” Nick’s booming voice knocked her back to the party. “Let’s give her a standing ovation, er, a sitting ovation.”

  Nick stood from his throne and clapped his hands, shrugging and doing double thumbs ups like he was running for president. Most of his cotton ball beard had been picked clean, and she now had full view of his rakish grin.

  The Bumblebees jumped up and down, cheering for her, and every person in the bar turned to her, clapping and smiling.

  Carol wanted to strangle Nick for his joke about a standing ovation, but with all those faces beaming at her, all she could do was smile and wave.

  “Miss Cassidy has a special wish,” Nick doubled down his douchery. “So, make way for her to come up and sit on Santa’s lap.”

  Before she could protest, Carol felt people push her wheelchair toward the stage.

  “Go, go, go,” everyone chanted. “Make a wish. Make a wish.”

  Carol was helpless in a sea of people who passed her wheelchair forward. What gave people the right to push her to where they wanted her to go?

  She ended up in front of the throne. Nick stood and without asking permission, swept one arm below her legs and another around her waist.

  “I really don’t want to sit on your lap,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “Put me down.”

  “I’ll put you down right on top of my …” He sat back on his throne and set her sideways across his lap. “What do you wish for?”

  The sensation of falling overwhelmed her, and she grabbed onto his shoulders to hold on. “There’s nothing I want from you.”

  “Come on, there’s got to be something.” He turned those dark and delectable eyes on her. The grin was too chiseled and perfectly practiced to seduce.

  “Lots of things, Nick, but you’re not a real Santa, and you can’t make any of my dreams come true.”

  “Try me.” He ran his tongue across the seam of his lips.

  The crowd was quiet, and Carol was afraid everyone could hear what she said. She leaned closer and cupped her hand to his ear, prepared to lobby a string of insults.

  Doing that shifted her weight on his lap and despite the fake belly blocking how close she could get to him, she felt something hard beneath her butt. She had to be imagining it, because no way would he have any reaction to her. Either that, or he was carrying a gun. But whatever he was packing, she had sensation—faint and possibly phantom, something remembered or an illusion of the mind.

  “What do you wish for?” Nick muttered so low she felt rather than heard his voice.

  “Truly? Ask anyone here, and they’d say they would wish their accident never happened. But wishing that is useless and depressing.” She leaned her forehead against the side of his head, touching the fur trim of his Santa’s hat. “Since you have no clue how we feel, and you persist in making jokes about the disabled, I wish you could spend a day following a disabled person around and imagine what your life would be like if you were to be paralyzed.”

  “I’d do that for you.” His voice rasped as he brushed her cheek with what was left of his cotton ball beard. “When do we start?”

  “Not me.” She pushed back from his chest. “Someone else. Maybe one of these kids or you know, be a big brother to them. My sister might know someone. She’s a nurse, or you can ask your brother …”

  Her babbling took on an air of desperation. In no way, shape or form had she suggested that he spend a day with her.

  “I’d rather have you as my tour guide.” He batted his thick eyelashes at her. “I’m betting you can teach me a lot of things.”

  Carol felt her face heat and her pulse pick up. What things was he talking about? And why was it everything he said had a sexual undertone to it? Or was it her hyperactive imagination?

  Heck, she was even feeling his phantom erection under her numb leg. There was no way he would be having a woody in the middle of a crowded bar in front of parents, aides, and children.

  “I doubt I can teach you a thing. I’m a pathetic failure.”

  He tipped her chin up and shook his head. “We’ll see about that. How about another wish? This time for yourself?”

  “I want to be normal. That’s all.”

  “Same here.” His lips turned up, smiling, as he leaned toward her.

  Carol turned away from him, and the kiss he tried to plant on her lips landed on her cheek.

  “Yay! Kiss. Kiss. Kiss,” the children chanted, as Patricia closed out the party.

  Eight

  Carol couldn’t exit the party fast enough. What an embarrassment. Even though everyone had had a good time, and the donated toy bins were full, she was exhausted and mortified that Nick had tried to kiss her on stage in front of everyone.

  No way was she going to the after-party. She needed a hot bath and relaxing music, not more stress and the overabundance of hormones floating in the air from her friends. Let the
able-bodied women hop all over Nick for the after-party, which he had readily agreed to do.

  She helped with the cleanup, shunting toys from the bin to Patricia’s truck and kept as far away from Nick as she could.

  He wasn’t obligated to stick around, but he loved the attention he was getting. Nikki and Leanna were all over him with makeup remover to pick off whatever wisp of cotton was left on his face. He signed autographs and posed with everyone who asked, in whatever position they asked him for. What a man-whore.

  He was hot and he knew it. All the fawning women only added to his big head, and she wasn’t talking just about the one between his legs.

  Everything about Nick rubbed Carol the wrong way. Thankfully, the Toy Drive was over, and she would not need to hire another Santa for the rest of the year.

  “The party went well,” her brother, Ken, said as he helped stack the last load of toys into Patricia’s truck. “Were you okay with the way Nick forced you to sit on his lap?”

  “I didn’t have much choice, did I?” Carol shrugged. One of her pet peeves was people moving her wheelchair around as if she were a potted plant. “He played to the crowd and everyone ate it up.”

  “He did call you gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a phony.” Carol’s voice was tight. “Playing Mr. Charming to get into everyone’s panties. Look at him. He’s got half the Bumblebees eating out of his hand, and the Wheelympics director has asked him to strip at an adult-only benefit party.”

  “Anyway, you did well with the Toy Drive. At least you saved money with the coupon.”

  “Yep, and the children had a great time. Nikki took tons of pictures for the website and social media.” Carol turned her wheelchair toward the parking lot. “Too bad Nick is in almost all of the pictures.”

  “You really hate that guy, don’t you?” Ken chuckled. “Were you upset with me when I worked for Bad Boys for Hire?”

  “Of course not.” Carol reached out to grab her brother’s arm. “You were doing it to help women feel good about themselves. You helped them socialize and go out on dates, and you were always respectful.”

  “You make me sound like a boy scout.” Ken waited while she unlocked her van.

  Because she had a manual wheelchair, she didn’t need a lift for the three-hundred pound electric wheelchairs those with less movement needed.

  Fortunately, Marisa had already left with Jason, who’d said he wasn’t feeling well, so Carol didn’t have to feel guilty about her relative ease of getting in and out of cars.

  “You are a wonderful catch. Jolie is lucky to have you.” Carol easily transferred herself from her wheelchair to the driver’s seat. She pressed the switch to open the van’s side door, then reached around and hoisted her chair into the van.

  Several men walking by gave Ken a dirty look, as if he should have helped her load her wheelchair. One shouted at him, “Hey, the lady could have used your help, musclehead.”

  “Did it ever occur to you I like doing things for myself?” Carol fixed the guy with a glare.

  “Forget about them,” Ken said after the men crossed the street. “You used to let me help you.”

  “Yeah, I did, but that was while I thought things were temporary. Now that I know I’ll never walk again, and there aren’t any miracles, I’m buckled down to taking care of myself. It’s going to be this way for the rest of my life.” She pressed the button to close the sliding door. “Want a ride home?”

  “Nah, I’m staying for the after-party. Have to keep an eye on my wife.” Ken winked and tossed his blond hair from his eyes.

  “Good thinking. Don’t let that big bad Nick Wolff get his grubby paws anywhere near her.”

  “Wow, you really do hate him.” Ken put his hands over his hips and tossed a look in the direction of the crowd gathered around Nick. “What did you whisper in his ear?”

  “Something stupid. I doubt he’d follow through.” Carol glared at the bad boy who’d stripped off his Santa jacket by now. “Look at him enjoying all of them grabbing and pawing all over him.”

  “You hate him so much, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re hiding something else.”

  “He’s not my type.” Carol slammed the door and started the ignition. She backed the van away from her brother, not bothering to wave goodbye.

  Why was he teasing her?

  Ken, of all people, should have understood. He’d been there shortly after her accident. Let her cry on his shoulder. Picked up the pieces and helped her through rehab. He carried her on his back to hike up Half Dome and introduced her to piggyback surfing.

  He was her rock and the sweetest man in the world. Certainly he would never foist his precious sister on a beast like Nick Wolff.

  “Take me, all of me.” She threw her head back dramatically, and ripped her blouse open, sending a spray of tiny white buttons. Lithely, she unzipped her jeans and wiggled them down over her hips, doing a little tease as she moved one hand up to her breast and the other down between her legs.

  Her chest heaved and she licked her lips as she thrust herself at the hard, muscular male body poised over her. His breath sizzled as she unlatched her bra. Dark, lustful eyes narrowed when she exposed her breasts. With a muttered oath, he lowered his lips and latched onto her erect nipple, sucking and devouring her with gusto.

  She moaned and writhed as he tortured her, one hand caressing and massaging her breast while the other slipped between her legs.

  His talented lips and tongue nipped and laved at her breasts, alternating between them, and the sweet sensations washing over her had her clit plump and throbbing.

  Greedily, she kicked her jeans off and spread her legs, as he moved up to claim her lips. His beard stubble rough against her skin, he devoured her mouth while thrusting his hard-on against her soaking wet panties.

  Her hands were all over him, touching, feeling, exploring him from his muscular back to the ridges of his abdominals down to his lower belly.

  Deftly, she unbuttoned his jeans and slipped her hands home to glory. His cock leaped, eager for her grasp, and she stroked him until he moaned with a deep rumbling purr.

  With a roar, he got up on his knees and lowered his jeans, then lay back against the headboard, his dark, sultry eyes boring straight at her.

  He ripped her panties and flung them aside, then stroked his cock, inviting her to straddle him.

  She held herself over him briefly as he teased her clit with the wet tip of his cock. She was so hungry, so in need that it pained her. With a luscious, long slide, she lowered herself, feeling each exquisite inch.

  She cried out as his giant rod impaled her, filling her with its glorious pressure. Pushing her breasts in his face, she rocked and she rolled, rubbing her clit against his pubic bone.

  He mouthed her breast, rolling and playing with them with his large hands while his hips jerked in rhythm to her riding. Every nerve in her body sang at the delicious contact, and the sounds of slapping, squishing, and sucking accompanied her panting breath.

  Ecstatic ripples of pleasure built and built as she moved the head of his cock over the bundle of nerves deep inside. Her clit sang with joy and rapture, and she felt her internal muscles pulse as a sheet of icy hot tingles spread from her core, heralding the coming orgasm.

  Her thighs ached as she bounced, up and down, up and down, furiously climbing to the peak.

  His rough hands grabbed her hips, fingers digging in. He slammed himself into her, grunting and thrusting, sending her spiraling into the stratosphere.

  Almost there, she reached for her climax, but then …

  Snap.

  Everything shut off, and she collapsed, falling back on her arms, her legs sprawled numb and useless, and nothing, but absolutely nothing existed below her waist.

  She saw, rather than felt, the man pull his dick from her dead body. His eyes avoided her as he zipped up his jeans and pulled on his shirt.

  Silently, he turned his back and sauntered off, his steps thudding on the dried la
ke bed, cracked and thirsty, disappearing into a whirlwind of dust and ashes.

  Tears flooded Carol’s eyes as she opened them, her arms flailing on her bed, searching for the body who’d only a moment ago had been hot, hard, and desirous of her.

  “Nick, you bastard,” she cried out. “You fucking bastard.”

  The image of his lips curled with disgust and the evasive eyes as he withdrew himself was seared into her mind. How dare he pull out? How dare he leave her high and dry? How dare he invade her dreams?

  Turning over, she buried her face in her pillow and let the tears bathe them as they did every morning when the pale light of dawn seeped through her dreams, awakening her to her dreaded, lonely fate.

  Nine

  Throughout the next week, while Carol tried to concentrate on work, Nick foisted himself on her night and day.

  There were the constant text messages asking her when he could follow her around for a day.

  Emails.

  Voice mails.

  He even dropped by her work while she was in the middle of a conference call with her team of software developers.

  The answer was always, “No, no, no, and no.”

  It was not Carol’s job to educate every ignorant bozo about disability and get him to join the cause for a cure.

  Nope. She was not some sort of ambassador on wheels—especially not to the likes of him—a physically perfect male specimen at the top of his virility and health.

  Carol signed off a video conference and typed up the action items they had agreed to. Her team had a deadline before Christmas, and she couldn’t afford to waste time teaching the unteachable.

  She wheeled herself from the conference room and headed for the breakroom to fill her water bottle. Along the way, she passed the receptionist’s area.

  “Hey, Cassidy,” someone called from behind. “You keeping secrets from me?”