by Lily Rede
“No need. But if you must, there’s time. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he reassured her.
The old question drifted through her head – What do you get the man who has everything? Ivy’s mouth watered at the thought of dropping to her knees and giving him a present he’d never forget, but reality poked her unforgivingly – aside from the fact that she’d never tried that and would probably do some damage to a very sensitive part of his body, Rafe most assuredly had some silicone-enhanced supermodel waiting in the wings, dying to pleasure him. This new attraction to her was novel, but Ivy didn’t kid herself – he was way out of her league. The thought was annoying, and Ivy knew her smile was a little strained as she took the box.
However, when she opened it, she couldn’t help the warmth that flooded her.
What a sweet man…
SWEET FUCKING HELL. If she kept smiling at him like that, Rafe was going to do something stupid, like kiss her. Everywhere. But when she opened the little velvet box, everything cool and reserved in her face vanished and she fucking glowed with pleasure at the simple gift.
“It matches your dress,” he said lamely.
“It’s beautiful. It’s such a stupid girl cliché, but I’m a sucker for shiny things.”
Ivy lifted the necklace out of the box – a simple trio of linked diamond snowflakes on a platinum chain. She hesitated for the briefest second and then held it out to him.
“Help me?”
Rafe took the bauble from her and Ivy turned around expectantly, lifting her waist-length white-blond hair out of the way. She usually kept it neatly pinned back, but tonight it was loose, and smelled softly of peppermint and cocoa. Rafe briefly closed his eyes as he inhaled her decadent scent, feeling a little pervy over the juvenile move. He carefully fixed the clasp around her neck, his fingers brushing the softer than soft skin at the back of her neck in the process.
Shit. He had to get away from her.
But then she shocked the hell out of him as she turned around, lightly tracing the snowflakes where they rested above the delicate curve of her breasts. Instead of backing away, retreating into their usual cool business relationship, she stepped forward, leaned up, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you, Rafe. It’s lovely.”
Rafe didn’t even realize that his hands had come up to grip her arms until Ivy froze, startled eyes snapping up to meet his. The simple touch of those satin lips had every molecule in Rafe’s body clamoring for more, screaming MINE. He intended to let her go, he really did. Instead, he pulled her closer, the soft skin of her arms like warm silk under his stroking hands.
I have to taste her. Just once. The words sounded reasonable in his mind, and he lowered his head, but she turned her head at the last second, leaving his lips to brush across a smooth cheek.
“Rafe…” Ivy’s voice was wary, and Rafe tensed, waiting for her to push him away, slap him, or even protest. Nothing. She just stood there, tense, waiting for his next move, and the tiniest seed of suspicion took root in Rafe’s gut. But he didn’t have enough blood in his brain to fully examine it, because most of the blood in his body was currently surging to his dick, urging him to press his hips to hers to assuage the ache.
It would feel so good.
Rafe kept the urge in check – he didn’t want to scare her away. Instead, he kept a safe distance of a few inches between them, but leaned in to nuzzle the soft skin under her jaw, eliciting a tiny gasp from Ivy. She didn’t pull back, but gripped the front of his jacket, as though to anchor herself. Encouraged, Rafe pressed soft kisses down her throat, finding a delicious spot at the base that really needed a gentle scrape of teeth followed by a soothing lick. She tasted as glorious as he thought she would, and his head was filled with the tiny, sexy noises she was trying to hold in, the rush of his own blood, and bells.
“Rafe…Rafe, let me go.” Abruptly Ivy pushed at his shoulders, and Rafe suppressed a growl as she pulled back, reaching across the desk. Jingle bells still pealed loudly, and it took a second for Rafe to realize that they weren’t in his head. He glanced at the phone, which was silent, but Ivy was reaching for a large snowglobe that blinked and swirled.
Ivy looked apologetic…and a little relieved.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s probably my mother.”
That’s right. Magic. Santa. Christmas. I’m an idiot. Feeling tense, horny, and completely unsatisfied on every level, Rafe nodded curtly and started for the door.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes, I promise.” She turned away, and the mood was broken.
Shit. For a heart-stopping moment, Rafe had been ready to do what he’d been trying to avoid all year – seduce his business partner. At least she didn’t parade a boyfriend around. That would be worse. Rafe seethed at the idea of some Wall Street pretty boy or hardworking, wholesome muscle head worshiping at the feet of his snow fairy, kissing and touching her, making her laugh, making her come. Though he hadn’t tested her plump little tits with his hands, didn’t know what color her nipples were, they were his, as was every creamy inch of her body and the sweet, soft pussy between her legs.
Was she bare or was she covered in pretty platinum curls?
Rafe was going to find out, and if that meant curtailing some of his more demanding sexual fantasies, so be it. He would be gentle and careful and respectful if it killed him. Now that he’d tasted her, simply finding someone else wasn’t going to be an option.
Fuck it. I need a drink. And Rafe stepped out into the office party chaos, shutting the door behind him.
IVY BREATHED A SIGH of as the door closed. The sexual tension in the air was thick and cloying, and she hadn’t been able to breathe, much less think with Rafe’s mouth on her skin, as hot and incredible as she’d always imagined. Her pussy was damp and aching, and the feeling of him so close, but so far away was maddening, and scary. She felt guilty at the wave of relief that flooded her when the snowglobe jingled – another minute and he would have realized that she was rapidly reaching a point where she wasn’t going to stop him no matter what he did.
How far would he go?
She banished the enticing thought – something to worry about later – and passed a hand over the swirling snowglobe. Immediately, a bright face with sharp features and pointy ears filled the glass.
“Glitzy! You know you’re not supposed to play with the snowglobe. Mom’s going to kill you.”
The elf ignored her, hopping up and down in excitement. Elves were easily excited.
“It’s a mission!” she squeaked, “Happy Christmas, Ivy!”
“Merry Christmas to you, too. I just talked to Merry an hour ago. Everything’s fine, so what’s up?”
The elf looked around, eyes narrowing.
“Spies everywhere, Miss Ivy. Must be careful.”
Abruptly, she disappeared, and then POP!
The little elf appeared on top of Ivy’s desk, her eyes gleaming at the sight of Ivy’s dress.
“Pretty pretty!” Her sharp eyes honed in on the snowflake necklace. “Pretty sparklies from your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Glitzy.” Ivy avoided the knowing grin and started straightening papers that didn’t need straightening.
“That is why I’m here! Mrs. Claus is plotting!”
Ivy froze. Her mother, though sweet and magical and wonderful and all the usual jolly clichés, could also be shrewd and ruthless when she got an idea in her head.
“Mrs. Claus is thinking it’s time her girls were settled. She wants Kringle-babies.”
Ivy tried not to groan at the triumphant piece of gossip, and kept her cool with monumental effort.
“And exactly how does she plan to match us all up?”
“She is scheming. Miss Holly has already been tricked.”
“Holly? I don’t believe it.” Holly was the sister who stayed the farthest from the family business, and tried to lead as normal a life as possible. But Glitzy was nodding emphatically.
Ivy shook her head in disbelief. Her mother would have made a great military strategist. There was also a prickle of jealousy. She’d never had anyone to bring home for the feast.
“So what does Mom have in store for me?”
Glitzy seemed to struggle with herself, and Ivy sighed. Elves were obsessively loyal to the Kringles, and being torn between them was probably highly stressful for the little creature. She reached into her desk and pulled out a bag of emergency gumdrops, which Glitzy dove into, grateful. The sugar immediately calmed her down.
“Beware the mistletoe.” The warning was issued in grave tones.
“That’s it?” Ivy raised a skeptical eyebrow, “I already know that. There’s no mistletoe here. I made sure.”
“I can’t say anything more.” The elf looked distressed, and Ivy patted her soothingly on the head.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry, Glitzy, and thank you for the warning, but it really isn’t necessary. I know better than to step into a doorway without looking up first.”
Glitzy looked relieved.
“Why don’t you head home and join the party? I know Merry put together something really fun for all of you after all your hard work.”
“We are filling the catapult with candy snow!”
“Nice. Have a bite for me.” She kissed the elf on the cheek, and with a wave and another POP! Glitzy was gone, taking the last of the gumdrops with her.
Beware the mistletoe, indeed. Ivy felt a prickle of unease. Despite her careful plans, the thought of the plant always left her uneasy. It was a closely guarded family secret, but all of the Kringle girls shared the same magical…allergy…to the festive sprig. When caught under the mistletoe, no Kringle girl could step away or defy a direct order from the person who caught her until she’d been kissed on the lips. As teenagers, the sisters routinely used the magical irritation to cause trouble for each other on the rare dates they managed to score – especially Noelle – but made sure to intervene before things got out of hand or the secret was discovered. It had been years since Ivy had been trapped, but she remembered the helpless feeling quite well – not fun.
The sounds of the party filtered in, and Ivy suddenly laughed, shaking off the grim mood brought on by anxiety over Rafe and Glitzy’s cryptic message. It was Christmas Eve, and she’d done a kickass job this year. It was time to celebrate. She straightened her dress, smoothed her hair, and stepped out into the noisy office.
RAFE KNEW THE MINUTE Ivy joined the party. Even if her glittery green dress and that distinctive white-blond hair didn’t immediately draw the eye, there was an elegance about her that set her apart. He ignored the chatter of the half-drunk Head of Accounting he’d been talking to as he tracked her progress across the room, nearly snarling as Aubern, the weasely prick, brought her a drink and tried to coax her to the dance floor.
Touch her and die, man. The thought swirled in his head, and Rafe clutched the icy glass in his hand. After the surprisingly erotic moment in Ivy’s office, Rafe had switched from eggnog to scotch, feeling the need for something stronger. Unfortunately, he had no urge to get drunk and forget his problems. He eyed the little snowflakes winking on Ivy’s chest and had a notion that forgetting was not going to be one of his options.
He watched, brooding, as Ivy flitted from group to group, wishing coworkers a Merry Christmas, clinking glasses and shaking hands, looking like a fucking fairy come to life. All she needed were the wings and a magic wand.
Rafe tensed as Gary Stans beelined toward Ivy. Competitive and obnoxious, Stans was smart as a whip and great with numbers, but a Class A asshole most of the time, mistaking moderate good looks for charm and personality. The women in the office had gotten very good at leaving whatever room he was entering. Stans toed the line so closely that Rafe had considered firing him, but with the chaos of the last few weeks, couldn’t afford to be a man down.
His eyes narrowed as Stans took Ivy’s drink, set it down, and started crowding her toward the dance floor. She was clearly amused, but a little uncomfortable, placing a hand on his fucking chest to hold him off. No one noticed them in the crowd of partygoers.
Except Rafe.
Shit.
He was already moving when he saw Ivy stop short as though pulled by some unseen force. Stans was grinning and pointing upward. Above them was a makeshift sprig of poorly tied mistletoe. The horror on Ivy’s face would have been almost comical if Rafe had sense that she was faking it. Instead, all he felt was anxiety and rage at Stans for putting her in such an awkward position in front of her coworkers.
Rafe pushed through the crowd, unable to hear Stans’ atrocious attempts to flirt, but getting a clear view as the man slid a hand around Ivy’s waist and pulled her tight against him. Though she was stiff and unhappy, Ivy permitted the contact, and didn’t pull back. Stans took that for encouragement. Rafe took it as a sign that Stans was about to lose a limb.
“Come on, princess, kiss me like you mean it.” The words oozed from Stans lips and Rafe was sure this was the moment Ivy was going to knee him in the balls or stomp his foot with one of those killer stilettos, but instead she flung her arms around Stans’ neck and kissed the hell out of him.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?
Rafe saw red, a haze of fury nearly blinding him for a moment. He blinked to clear it, but the image was seared into his brain – cool and collected Ivy kissing that jerkoff like she was planning to pull him to the ground and have her way with him on the dance floor. Stans’ tongue was busily exploring Ivy’s mouth while his hands slid down to squeeze her ass.
Rafe didn’t think. He didn’t consider or analyze or debate. He just ignored the whoops and catcalls from his tipsy employees and grimly accepted that he would relish firing the fucking bastard that touched his woman. With one swift move, he grabbed Ivy around the waist, ripped her from Stans’ grip, and propelled her toward his office.
“Hey, man, get your own girl!” The words and tone grated.
Oh yeah, he was so fired. Stans would be lucky if Rafe didn’t punch him in the mouth a few dozen times for good measure.
Right now, however, Rafe didn’t care what happened to Stans. He had a bigger problem – a blonde fairy woman who was currently looking at him with a mixture of fear, relief, frustration, and gratitude. He shoved her into his office, locking the door behind them. In the low light, she looked uncharacteristically mussed – her dress was a little crooked, her lips swollen, her hair slightly tousled. She looked like a woman who had been well and thoroughly kissed.
And that pissed him off.
Because it wasn’t me. Fuck.
IVY WAS RELIEVED AND furious. It was an interesting combination. She was still shivering in revulsion at the magically forced kiss she’d pressed on Gary Stans – everything inside her had been dying to pull away from his groping hands, his intruding tongue, and the rude press of his cock against her stomach, but she’d been trapped, compelled by the fucking magical plant.
If that’s what passion is like, I think I’ll pass. The thought flitted through her head that her almost innocent moment with Rafe earlier in the evening had been a gazillion times more erotic than Stans’ hands on her ass.
“You want to explain that little scene out there?” Rafe’s voice could cut glass, but Ivy was still seething over the whole situation.
“Me? I expressly said there would be no mistletoe allowed in these offices at any time!”
“And what, mistletoe turns you into a raging nymphomaniac who can’t keep her hands off her coworkers?” Ivy thought she saw a flash of guilt in Rafe’s eyes at the harsh words, but his fists were clenched and every muscle in his body was tight and angry.
“Who I kiss is absolutely none of your business.”
Rafe had no response to that, or at least none that he was planning to share with her. He snapped his mouth closed, his lips settling into a grim line.
“It’s inappropriate,” he
finally bit out.
Ivy shook her head. His attitude was domineering and pushy and not the least bit attractive, but she realized she was going to have to tell him the truth, if only to avoid future incidents.
“My sisters and I are –well, allergic is probably the best way to describe it – to mistletoe. It’s a huge secret, and I’m only telling you because we’re partners and I trust you to keep the information safe. When a Kringle girl gets caught under the mistletoe, she can’t step away until the person who trapped her kisses her on the mouth. Even worse, we’re put in thrall…anything they ask us to do, we have to do.”
Rafe looked stunned.
“But that’s insane.”
“That’s magic,” Ivy shrugged, “We used to use it to play pranks on each other when we were younger, but we had to be careful that it didn’t get out of hand.”
The powerful man in front of her actually paled.
“Did it ever? Get out of hand?” His voice was a harsh growl.
“No,” she reassured him softly, “But can you imagine having your free will taken away from you? Being forced to be affectionate toward someone you have absolutely no interest in? Letting them do whatever they want to you because you literally can’t say no?”
“It’s wrong,” Rafe breathed, “And you’re not a person who likes to give up control.”
The last was delivered with an oddly wistful note in his voice, and Ivy considered him.
“I don’t mind the idea of using it to have a little fun with someone I care about. But being groped by Gary Stans is not my idea of a good time. He’s totally fired, by the way.”
“Way ahead of you.”