by Lili Valente
He rears back, laughing as he trains the flashlight on the chubby white rat sitting on top of my boot.
“Oh my God, get him away! Please!” I squeak, tiptoeing backward until the rat steps daintily off my shoe and onto the carpet. “For the love of all that’s holy, take Tom back to his cage.”
“That isn’t Tom. That’s Meg Ryan. Tillie’s going to be so glad we found her!” He squats down, scooping the plush rat up in his big hands. Meg Ryan chitters in response, seeming pleased to be in Dean’s care.
But then Meg is a girl rat, and I doubt a female of any species has ever been bummed to have Dean Roberts’s hands all over her.
“Down girl,” I whisper to myself as I follow Dean into the main room, where the rats are apparently caged. It isn’t time to start thinking about Dean’s big hands all over anyone. We just started mending fences. We need to take things slow and cautiously consider where we go from here.
If we go anywhere from here, seeing as we live in two different time zones.
But even as the logical part of my brain embraces caution, the part of my heart I placed in the deep freeze the day I left Lover’s Leap—the part that believed first love could become forever love, and that Dean was the only man I’d ever want to share my life with—begins to thaw, melting into a puddle at my sexy Santa’s feet.
Chapter 8
Dean
Twenty minutes later, I’ve tucked Meg Ryan back in her cage, started a fire in the fireplace in the main room, and tracked down bottles of water to go with our snack dinner. I’ve arranged the blankets and pillows by the fire, checked the phone again—still not working—and returned to find Macy constructing a fence of spare firewood around the perimeter of our indoor campsite.
“Just in case,” she says, smiling as she glances up to find me watching her. “I don’t want any more rats sneaking up on me.”
I grin in response. Damn, I’ve missed her smile. “Good idea. I’m sure Tom will show up sooner or later. He likes to be where the food is.”
Macy claps her hands together. “Yes! Food.” She gestures toward two plates set on the edge of the brick fireplace. “I took the liberty of making you a plate. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s perfect.” I step over the Tom barrier, settling cross-legged in front of the fire. “I’m starving.”
“I think you’ll be pleased with the chef’s selection,” she says in a polished voice. “Our special tonight is a ragout of trail mix, topped with chocolate chip granola bar, with a side of salted pecans and a garnish of slightly stale Fritos.”
“Hmmm,” I say, nodding seriously. “They’re always best when they’re slightly stale. My compliments to the chef.” She laughs, and I reach out, squeezing her knee. “You’re good at that. The food presentation.”
She shrugs. “I waited tables in college. Paid my way through four grueling years of nursing school so I could work at a doctor’s office for a grand total of six months before deciding I wanted to get certified to be a massage therapist and meditation teacher instead.”
“I bet you were a good nurse,” I say, popping a pecan into my mouth.
“I was a sad nurse.” Macy collects a combo of nuts and dried fruit, pinching them between her fingers. “I got sympathy pains every time I had to draw blood. I prefer making people suffer on my massage table. At least that pain is helping them feel better. And it’s not real pain, not like jabbing a needle into a three-year-old’s tiny arm.”
I hum around a bite of chocolate chip granola bar. “You always did have a soft heart.”
She sits up straighter. “Do not. I’m tough as nails.”
“Tough as nails on the outside,” I say with a wink. “Squishy heart on the inside.” My smile fades as I think about how deeply that squishy heart must have been hurt all those years ago. “I’m sorry my letters didn’t get through to you, Maze. I feel like an asshole.”
She frowns. “Don’t be crazy. You weren’t the asshole. Aunt Maggie was the asshole.” She runs a hand through her hair with a sigh. “And she probably doesn’t even remember doing it. She was already going downhill when Lynn and I went to live with her. These days, when we visit her at our cousin’s house in San Diego, she only remembers us about half the time. If things get much worse, she may have to go into an assisted living facility.”
“That’s tough. But assisted living doesn’t have to be a bad situation. I was at a nursing home this afternoon for a performance. It was a nice place, and those ladies were having the time of their lives. Kept me on my toes, that’s for damned sure.”
“Did they, now?” Macy arches a brow, her lips curving on one side as she points a pecan accusingly in my direction. “Call me crazy, Dean Roberts, but I’m starting to put the pieces of this Santa outfit puzzle together, and they’re making a pretty weird picture. You have anything you want to confess?”
My grin widens. “Sure. I like confession. I was out of town today doing a Santa strip show for an old lady’s birthday party.”
Macy’s jaw drops as she slaps my leg. “No! You were not!”
“I was,” I assure her. “That’s what you were thinking, right?”
“Well, yes.” Her giggle tinkles through the air like music, reminding me why I always loved to make her laugh. “But I didn’t think I was actually right.”
“You were.” I toss another pecan into my mouth. “Beatrice turned eighty-one today and celebrated by slipping a few bills into my boxer briefs. I don’t do the G-string. I figured that was more than the sweet old soul’s heart could handle. And I’m not a G-string kind of guy. I like to leave a little something to the imagination, if you know what I mean.”
Macy laughs harder, her cheeks turning red as she drops her granola bar back onto her plate. “I’m sorry. I just… I keep imagining the scene. What on earth made you decide to take off your clothes for an old woman’s birthday? Was it a dare? Did you lose a bet?”
I roll a casual shoulder. “Just trying to earn a little extra cash. And it’s not just old lady birthday parties, Clayton. I’ve been getting around.” I regale Macy with my exploits from the past few months, making her laugh until she snorts water and I have to wait for her to finish coughing to finish my story. “But sadly, my reign as Sexy Santa of the Rockies is about to come to an end.”
“Oh no.” She waves a hand in front of her flushed face. “How sad. But I guess that’s to be expected now that Christmas is almost here. So, what’s next? Big Bad Easter Bunny?”
I laugh. “Nah, I’m retiring. I’ve saved up enough to pay off the second mortgage Mom took out on the cabin. Without that weighing on her, she’ll have enough coming in from her pension to retire early. Her arthritis is getting bad, and she could use more time off of her feet.”
Macy’s expression softens. “Oh, well then. Of course.”
“Of course, what?” I ask, finishing off the last of our strange, but oddly delicious, meal.
“Of course, you’re stripping to pay off your mother’s mortgage. I should have known it would be something like that.” She smiles fondly. “You’re the stripper with the heart of gold.”
“The stripper with the buns of steel, you mean.”
Her smile takes on a sultry edge. “Well, that too. But it’s still very sweet.”
“It’s not sweet at all, sugarplum.” I stand, toeing aside the pillow I’ve been sitting on and interlacing my fingers behind my head. “It’s the kind of stuff that could get a person on the naughty list.”
I do a slow hip roll that ends in a pelvic thrust, and Macy bursts into laughter so loud it would hurt my feelings if I were the kind of man who cares about making a fool of myself.
But I don’t. I live for belly laughs, especially coming from a woman who I know has fought her way through more than her fair share of dark times. If anyone deserves to laugh it’s Macy, and I intend to get her giggling so hard her stomach will hurt tomorrow.
I complete another slow hip swivel as I begin to croon in my best Elvis voice. “Jingle
bell, jingle bell, jingle bell cock.” I emphasize “cock” with another sharp pelvic thrust, and Macy, who is already hiccupping with laughter, covers her mouth and rocks back and forth as her giggles take control.
I run my hands down my chest, continuing to sing as my hip swivels grow more exaggerated. “What a bright time, it’s the right time, to cock”—thrust—“the night”—thrust—“away.”
“Oh no, stop,” Macy begs breathlessly. “You have to stop.”
“But we’re just getting started.” I shift closer. “Tell me, sweetheart, were you a good girl this year?” I reach down, taking her hand and bringing it to rest on my hip. “Or a bad one?”
“Oh, Santa, I’m sorry,” she says, fighting to get the words out through her laughter. “I was bad. So, so bad.”
I scowl in mock anger as I pull her to her feet and draw her into a swaying dance in front of the fire. “That’s too bad. You know what happens to bad girls when they sit on Santa’s lap don’t you?”
“They get spanked?” she asks, eyes glittering.
I bite my lip. “It almost looks like you would enjoy that, Miss Macy.”
“I might, Sexy Santa.” She answers my hip swivel with one of her own. “But I think I’d like to watch you finish your routine first.”
“Then sit down, babycakes.” I step back, going to work on the buttons of my coat, holding Macy’s gaze as she settles onto her pillow. “Cause I’m about to blow your mind.”
“Oh good,” she whispers. “I’m ready.”
I peel off the coat slowly, deliberately, not minding the lack of musical accompaniment. It’s hotter like this, with no sound but the crackle and pop of the fire and the rush of Macy’s breath as I toss the coat away, flexing the muscles I’ve worked hard to keep sculpted this Christmas season.
Keeping my eyes locked on Macy’s flushed face as long as possible, I turn, granting her a view from the back as I continue the bump and grind. “Careful,” I warn. “Don’t look directly at the ass for too long, angel. Its awesomeness has been known to induce temporary blindness.”
Macy sighs. “Like the sun.”
I grin over my shoulder as I reach for the top of my rip-away pants. “Exactly like the sun.”
“But what a way to go temporarily blind.” She nibbles her bottom lip, her attention riveted to my backside, the heat in her expression making me unexpectedly…thicker.
It’s something that has never happened before, not a single time in all the hours I’ve spent bumping and grinding my way around the Christmas trees of the North Colorado Rockies.
But it’s happening now. Boy, is it happening…
Soon I’m sporting a semi and getting harder with every passing second. The moment I rip away my pants, there will be no hiding it. Macy will see that I’m rocking a Yule log for her that won’t quit, and this won’t be funny anymore.
Erections ruin the fun. Introducing real desire into something that’s supposed to be a tease is a major no-no in the friendly neighborhood Santa Stripper’s playbook.
“What’s wrong?” Macy asks. “You stopped wiggling, Sexy Santa.”
“Yeah, well…maybe Sexy Santa should take a time out.”
“No!” Her bottom lip pushes into a cute-as-fuck pout that does nothing to help the Yule log situation. “I want to see it all. If I’m going to get spanked for being on the naughty list, I at least want to stuff a dollar down your pants first.”
“I’m afraid my pants are unfit for polite company right now,” I confess over my shoulder, hoping to hide my condition until I can get myself under control.
Understanding flits across her features, followed closely by a wicked smile that hits me directly in the balls, making the tension fisting there even worse. When Macy crawls off her pillow, headed my way, the situation becomes downright critical.
“What are you doing, Macy?” I ask, my voice tight.
“I’m coming to see how unfit for polite company you are, Dean.”
“Don’t you mean Sexy Santa?”
“No, I mean Dean.” She crawls around to my side. “I’ve never had any fantasies about kissing Santa naked by a fire.” She lifts her gaze to mine, her lips parting and a hint of that vulnerable girl I used to know flickering in her eyes. “But I’ve had a few of those about you.”
“Jesus, Maze,” I murmur, my heart lurching. “I’ve had so many fantasies about you.”
“Then let’s start making a few into reality.” Her hands fall to her waist. A moment later she tugs her soft blue sweater over her head, revealing a black lace bra and the creamy tops of her beautiful breasts, the ones I’ve never been able to get out of my head.
Or my heart.
And then she presses a kiss to my bare stomach, a sweet, sexy kiss that is “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you” and “I want you” all wrapped up together and tied with a red holiday bow, and I’m overcome by a rush of gratitude.
I kneel beside her, cupping her face reverently in my hands. “I never thought I’d get to kiss you again.”
She rests her hands on my chest, right above my rapidly beating heart. “Guess it’s our lucky day, after all.”
“I guess so,” I whisper. And then I kiss her, mating my lips to hers, tasting salt and chocolate and the fresh, fearless, familiar taste of Macy. Her tongue dances against mine, playful and seductive, but with an assurance she didn’t possess when we were younger. She kisses like a woman who knows what she wants and how she wants it, and damn if it isn’t hot as hell.
Young Macy rocked my world, but grown-up Macy is a sexy storm sweeping into my life, leveling everything in her path, leaving me forever changed.
“Damn, woman,” I growl against her lips. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Ditto,” she says with a shudder. “I want you, Dean. So much.”
“Me, too,” I say, my pulse spiking sharply. “But are you sure? We don’t have to rush into anything. I’m happy to wait as long as you want.”
She pulls back far enough to pin me with a steady look. “I’m sure. And I think we’ve both waited long enough, don’t you?”
“Too long,” I agree as we roll onto the floor by the fire, silently thanking God for icy roads and falling trees and avalanches.
It might have taken multiple near-death experiences to get Macy into my arms, but now that I have her back where she belongs, I don’t ever want to let her go.
“This can’t be a one-time thing,” I breathe, stealing kisses as we fumble with the rest of their clothes. “A one-night stand with you would kill me.”
“No, it won’t. I’m clean. And I’m on the pill.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I capture her wrists, pinning them to the floor above her head, making sure I have her complete attention. “I mean that I never got over you, Macy Clayton. Not really. All of those feelings are still there. And if we do this…”
She nods, the teasing light fading from her eyes. “I know. It feels like…” She pulls in a deeper breath. “I know we’re older and different in so many ways, but it feels the same, Dean. Exactly the same.”
“I’m not different.” I thread my fingers through hers. “Maybe I should be, but I haven’t really changed.”
“I haven’t, either.” She tips her head back, bringing her lips closer to mine. “Does that mean we’re failing at growing up?”
I smile. “No, I think it means we were too grown-up when we were kids. I know you were. You were raising Lynn when you were still a kid yourself.”
“And you were paying your mom’s medical bills when you were fourteen,” she says, her gaze softening. “So maybe now we should take it easy, huh? Make up for all those years of serious living by just having fun together and seeing where it leads?”
“As long as it leads to me getting to touch you like this again.” I shift until my hips are settled between her thighs. My cock pulses against the crotch of her panties through my boxers, and I silently wish I had the power to dissolve fabric with my
thoughts.
Macy bites her lip, her lashes fluttering as I rock against her. “This feels like a dream. I’ve missed you so much.”
“You, too.” I kiss the place where her heart beats fast in her throat. “You feel even better than I remembered.”
“Perfect,” she echoes with a sigh. “Like that night I came through your window. So hot, even with our clothes still on. Do you remember?”
“I remember everything about you,” I whisper. “And tonight, we’re going to make some new memories. Memories that don’t involve clothes.”
She shivers in response, excitement and a hint of nerves flashing in her smile as she says, “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”
Chapter 9
Macy
I learned the futility of making plans when I was still too young to fully understand the concept of time.
But even when how far Friday was from Monday was still a murky concept in my four-year-old mind, I realized there was no sense in planning to buy new shoes or get ice cream “later,” when you never knew if there was going to be money left in Dad’s wallet by the time “later” arrived.
The mountains taught me about the flimsiness of human will, too.
Yes, I could make a date to squeeze in one last camping trip before the first frost, but if it decided to snow on Labor Day, I was screwed. Ditto with icy roads keeping me home from work, school dances being called off due to blizzard conditions, and that time the river park had to be closed before the freshman picnic due to an influx of angry, and possibly rabid, beavers.
Things like that drive Lynn crazy, but I’m a roll-with-the-punches kind of girl. Sure there are occasions when a change of schedule is a bummer. But sometimes a client cancelation means I get to bust out of the office two hours early and hit the beach for some volleyball.
This time, my sister getting called in to work at the last minute led to this…