“I’m not.” He undid the second button, slowly letting the rest of the buttons slide out of the holes. His dress shirt fell open, revealing a fine sprinkling of hair beneath his white undershirt. He slid his hand beneath the hem of his undershirt and slowly lifted it above a tanned set of six pack abs.
Wow. Who knew that had been hidden beneath a mere shirt. Her fingers itched to touch him, but that would lead to a whole lot of something she wasn’t ready for. “L-Look.” Samantha tried not to stare as he released the T-shirt on a grin and shrugged broad shoulders out of the sleeves of his dress shirt and stood before her, his upper torso nearly bare and absolutely glorious. “I’m not a tease, and I’m not a prude. I’m just not...her.” She tore her gaze away from pectoral muscles she was dying to run her nails over and fisted her hands.
Nathan hesitated for a long moment and finally took a step back, releasing his spellbinding hold on her. Samantha nearly swooned but caught herself, sucking in a cleansing breath of air. He went to a wardrobe closet and pulled out a cashmere sweater--in black, of course--then slipped it over his head, the muscles in his wide back flexing and contracting with each movement. He must have caught her accusing glare, but he just chuckled and dropped his silk shirt in a basket that read dry cleaning for Roz.
“That’s a shame you’re not her, but she still has to pay for her crimes,” he said once he was fully covered, thank God.
Samantha shook off the insane effect he had on her. “She will, I promise, just as soon as the holidays are over.”
“Sorry. You should have thought of that before you decided to break into my shop.” His face turned hard and unreadable once more. “You can go home on Christmas Eve so long as I win the contest.”
He had every right to be mad at her, but she couldn’t get over his unwillingness to compromise and his hot and cold behavior. “Wow, you really are a Scrooge,” slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She tried to cover her harsh words by adding, “Don’t you have anyone you spend Christmas with?”
His face darkened even more, if that was possible, and he ignored her question. “Wally, you can read Ms. Darling her rights,” he hollered out into the store. “Looks like she’s choosing jail after all.”
“Wait,” she yelped, holding her head again as another sharp pain pierced her skull. “I said you were a Scrooge, I didn’t say I was stupid. I’ll stay, and I’ll create a display even grumpy old you will like. I mean, Redemption can’t be worse than jail, right?”
He shrugged. “That remains to be seen.”
“One week you say?” She squared her shoulders, unable to stop her stubborn streak from emerging no matter how freaked out she was over what might happen to her.
Nathan nodded. “Think you can handle it?”
“In my sleep.” She patted her mouth as she faked a yawn.
A spark of something--admiration maybe--flashed in his otherwise unreadable eyes, and his lips tipped up ever so slightly.
“Aha!” She pointed her finger at him, the resulting pain in her head worth his puzzled expression.
“Aha what?” His brow puckered.
“Your face isn’t made of granite after all. I think there just might be some spirit in you yet. Maybe even some Christmas spirit.”
Nathan’s features turned rock hard once again. He spun on his high and mighty heel, holding his expensive-looking watch up in the air as he stormed out, making as much noise as humanly possible and obviously enjoying every minute of it. “Clock’s ticking, Ms. Darling. I suggest you get to work.”
“Ho, ho, flipping, ho, McScroogy. I’m on it.”
Ms. Pit poked her silver head in, gave Samantha a nasty look, followed him out, and slammed the door hard. Samantha grabbed her scalp on a moan, cursing the evil doer. She might have a sentence to serve, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t serve it with the biggest dose of Christmas cheer he’d ever seen. Like she said, she was through with letting men have the upper hand.
Nathan Snow was no exception.
Determination overtook her. Yes indeedy, nice was safe, and naughty was highly overrated, but taking Nathan Snow down a peg was beginning to sound oh so merry.
***
“You did what to Mrs. Claus?” Ellen shrieked in Samantha’s ear.
Samantha yanked the phone away from her head as she continued to pack her bags back in her Boston apartment. She’d had to beg Nathan to let her go back and get some of her things. He’d only relented by insisting his driver take her, so he could be sure she wouldn’t skip town. At least she’d convinced the hulk of a bodyguard to wait outside.
“Oh, my God. Those poor elves will never be the same,” Amber interjected. “Honey, the plan was to get you tipsy, not drunk, but you’re such a lightweight. You promised you’d go home. Yes, we wanted you to do something a little crazy to get Mark out of your system for good, because swearing off men forever is plain stupid. We just never expected you to take naughty to a whole new level, and with Tall, Dark and Stuffy, no less.”
Samantha could hear their peals of laughter from a foot away. A three-way with her friends was never a good idea, even if it only involved three phone lines and one connection.
She brought the phone back to her ear. “About that, thanks a lot, guys. I can’t believe you set me up like that. Getting me drunk and then hitting on him, of all people.” Samantha groaned, reliving the horror of waking up on Santa’s lap and discovering what she had done. Mortified only scratched the surface for what she’d felt at that moment. “I am never drinking again. Ever!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ellen said, “that’s what we all say. And for the record, we had no idea Stuffy was The Nathan Studly.”
“Well, he is. And I mean it this time. I am never listening to either one of you again.”
“Hey, we said get closure, not commit B and E.” Amber snorted.
“I told you, I didn’t break anything, I just entered. God, if you could have seen Mr. Snow’s face--first shock, then dismay, and finally pure fury.” Samantha zipped her suitcase closed. “I can’t blame him, really. I mean, he didn’t deserve for all of Redemption to see his front window lit up with those ridiculous Christmas condoms twinkling in the early morning sunshine. Even so, the man has no heart, I tell you.”
“Yeah, but I’ve read the tabloids. I’ll bet he could stuff your stocking quite nicely,” Ellen added.
Samantha could just picture Ellen’s auburn brows wagging away. “I am not going back there to have my stocking stuffed, thank you very much.” She dragged her luggage to the front door of her apartment, turning down the heat and flicking off the lights along the way. “I am going back to right a wrong because it’s the right thing to do, and that’s all. And I’m only staying in the spare room in back of his shop because it’s more convenient. The minute I finish the display, I’ll join my parents in Connecticut.”
“Who are you kidding? You’re going back so you don’t wind up in jail. You know, I could call my brother and have him post bail for you, pronto, so you don’t have to do this at all.”
“Are you kidding. I’ve never been arrested in my life. Going to jail’s not an option.”
“Yeah, you’re right. A cell is not a very merry place to be during the holidays. Certainly no place you want to toe the missile, if you get my meaning, which--no matter what you say--you desperately need.” Amber snickered, her green eyes undoubtedly dancing with delight.
“Told you that you should have stuck around for hunky St. Nicky to jingle your bells. You’d be in a lot less trouble and hell of a lot less uptight right now.”
Samantha’s friends were enjoying themselves immensely over the predicament she was in. They were normally the naughty ones, and she was always nice. Lesson learned. Never, ever listen to Amazons or elves and stay far, far away from the All Powerful Peppermintini.
“It’s mistletoe, and there will be no toeing of anything, ladies. My shoes will remain on at all times,” Samantha said, reminding herself she did not want a man like Na
than Snow in her life, no matter how ruggedly handsome he was or how incredible he’d been in her dreams...or how fantastic he’d looked without his shirt on. She paused, reliving the memory, then shook her head to clear the image.
She wanted a man who would appreciate her for who she was and what she had to give, not for what she could do for him. Since that man didn’t exist, she’d opted for no man at all.
“No toeing the missile or stuffing your stocking?” Ellen sighed. “You sure know how to take the joy right out of Christmas.”
“On the contrary,” Samantha clarified, “I plan to put the joy back into Christmas for one grumpy infamous Mr. Nathan Snow--aka the biggest Scrooge of Redemption Massachusetts.” She set her shoulders. “Who better than me to help him find the spirit of Christmas?”
Amber giggled. “I pity Nathan.”
“No kidding.” Ellen joined her with a laugh. “The poor sap has no idea what he’s in for.”
***
Nathan carried Samantha’s luggage, marveling over how much the woman had packed. He headed to the back room of his shop. She would only be here for a short time, yet she’d brought enough to stay a month. The woman needed to be taught a lesson. She could not get away with behavior like that without suffering the consequences. And she amused the hell out of him, which was a plus this time of year. He hated the holidays and all that it reminded him of.
Forcing those negative thoughts aside, he put his hand on the doorknob and fought back a grin as he swung the door wide. “Here you are. Home sweet home.”
Samantha stepped past him and jerked to a stop in the middle of the room, the beige cotton trousers she’d changed into hugging her curvaceous backside in all the right places. And she’d twisted those sexy blond curls of hers that he longed to wind around his fingers into that fancy professional knot at the back of her head again. But he’d seen her in action. No matter what she said or how she dressed, he didn’t believe she was nearly as prim and proper as she let on. He’d never been able to resist a challenge, especially one wrapped in such a lovely package.
“This can’t be right. This is not a bedroom?” She swung around to face him, a horrified look on her heart-shaped face, her pale blue eyes wide and wary.
“What? There’s a bed.”
“A cot,” she clarified.
“And a bathroom.”
“An open toilet,” her voice rose an octave, her cheeks turning the same shade of pink as her sweater.
“Hey, be glad you’ll be surrounded by four walls instead of bars of steel.”
“You mean sheetrock and wires. These walls aren’t even finished, there’s no carpet, not even a curtain. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful you didn’t press charges, but still ...you can’t be serious.” She swept her arms wide.
“It’s a work in progress, and I’m dead serious. I don’t trust you anywhere but at the store where I can keep a close eye on you.” He took a step forward, letting his gaze run down the length of her and back up again. “Or there’s always my place.”
She stepped back, stumbling a little. “I’ll take my chances with the...rats, thank you very much.” She smirked, the word “other” implied in her hesitation.
He chuckled. If he made things difficult for her, she’d be desperate for his help. And he’d help her straight into his bed, which is exactly where she wanted to be, whether she admitted it or not. He’d satisfy her obviously repressed desire, and maybe, just maybe, Christmas wouldn’t be as lonely this year.
“Hang a sheet. You’ll be fine.” He turned on his heel and strode out with his hands in his pockets, whistling a lively tune, then called over his shoulder, “You’ve got work to do, Ms. Darling, and you can start by cleaning up the mess in the front window.”
“Yes, sir,” she snapped, and the door slammed in place.
Yes, indeed, he thought as a slow grin spread across his face. Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all. He could use a little merry and bright.
***
This was turning out to be the worst Christmas ever. Samantha had seriously underestimated the ease of her task. She’d spent hours cleaning up the mess she’d made and coming up with a new display. After seeing that excuse for a room, she was more determined than ever to finish her sentence early and get the hell out of there. At least the window was closed off by room divider panels from the rest of the store, and so far, Ms. Pit--aka the infamous dry cleaning Roz--had left her alone.
But Nathan kept checking up on Samantha. Never knowing when he would poke his head in was wreaking havoc on her senses. Damn Mark for forcing her into abstinence. Nathan was driving her crazy in more ways than one, but trying to get a man who hated Christmas to like her ideas was nearly impossible.
“I don’t like it,” Nathan said, lending truth to her words yet again.
“Now, there’s a big surprise,” she grumbled, crossing her arms and trying not to grit her teeth. He didn’t look nearly as gorgeous when his stubbornness took over. “What don’t you like this time?”
“I don’t know, it looks...sparse.”
“What do you mean, sparse?”
“Maybe it needs more presents under the tree.” He stood with his hands on his hips and feet shoulder-width apart as he tipped his head and studied the tree from various angles, completely serious.
“You’ve got to be kidding. That’s more than I ever got as a kid.”
He turned to her and stroked his heavy five o’clock shadow. “Seriously?” He looked genuinely surprised. “Huh.”
“The spirit of Christmas is not about how many presents you have under the tree.”
“Oh, right. I knew that.” He frowned, and she suspected he didn’t know any such thing. “A light dawned in his eyes, and he held up a finger, nodding. “Okay, okay. I think I’ve got it.” He resumed rubbing his chiseled jaw, staring at the tree once more. “Maybe we don’t need more gifts, maybe we need nicer gifts. Or bigger ones. I wouldn’t want the town to think I was cheap.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “I’m positive the town knows you’re not cheap. You drive a BMW and wear a Rolex, for God’s sake.”
He went on as though not hearing her at all. “And the tree is all wrong. You took off half my ornaments.”
“You have an artificial monstrosity with enough ornaments to decorate the massive beauty in Rockefeller Center. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Your trimmings are all black and white. Very cold and modern, yet you’re ornaments are priceless antiques. Not exactly a good combination. Not to mention Mr. and Mrs. C and the elves suggest an old fashion Christmas. Personally, I’d go for a more traditional approach.”
“I happen to like modern.”
“Said the antique store owner.”
He shot her a smirk over his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“Apparently, I don’t.” She tapped her foot to the beat of her rapidly rising pulse.
He lifted a shoulder and rubbed his hands together. “Look I just want this store to succeed. I have my reasons.”
Her foot stilled. She had no idea why he wanted this particular store to succeed so badly, but she did know one thing for sure. “My God they really did a number on you.”
A deep V formed in the center of his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Your parents.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His features turned granite once more.
Samantha gentled her tone, the same way she did whenever she was trying to sell a difficult client on an ad campaign. “Christmas is about the spirit of giving, not about how much you can get. People know you have beautiful things in your store. The reason they don’t shop here is because you never give anything. Not even a discount. Not even a smile. I hate to say it, but you’re not very pleasant to be around, you know.”
His gaze pierced hers, and a chill froze her in place as the seconds ticked by. “You’ve got spunk, Ms. Darling. Very few people have the guts to speak to me the way you do.” His eyes l
it with a spark of something Samantha couldn’t quite identify, warming her to the core.
She shook off the disturbing sensation and straightened her spine. “Yes, well, I don’t intimidate easily, Mr. Snow.”
“I can see that.” The corner of his mouth twitched then grew serious. “But life isn’t always pleasant. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be. I don’t have time to worry about what others think of me. I have a chain of stores to run, millions to invest, and a whole fleet of employees to manage. Forgive me if I offend people. We can’t all be gobs of twinkling tinsel, thank God,” he muttered, the mysterious spark gone.
His voice lowered as he repeated for the millionth time, “I am not a Scrooge.”
“Well you sure aren’t jolly ole St. Nick, either.” That was for sure. “And I know all about life not being pleasant, but I for one am through wallowing in my own self-pity. Maybe you should do the same.”
He scowled and opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.
“I’m just saying if you want this particular store to improve, then winning this contest isn’t enough. You need a plan.”
“I take it you have something in mind?”
“I might have an idea or two, but it involves you letting me be in charge, be the top dog, so to speak.”
His lids lowered halfway, and his lips tipped up ever so slightly. He hesitated a beat and then said, “By all means, Boss, the top’s all yours.”
Chapter Three
“You are insufferable,” Samantha said, struggling to erase the image he’d just planted in her mind.
“I try.”
“Do me a favor.” She glared at him. “Don’t.”
“Fine.” He chuckled. “But just so you know this store holds a sentimental value for me.” His face softened. “It’s my baby of sorts. Giving up on it is not an option. So, how do I get the people in this town to see me in a new light, oh fairy godmother?”
“You could lose the sarcasm for one.” She poked him in his chest--his very hard, very defined chest--and her finger tingled in memory of what it looked like unclothed. “Uh, and um,” she fisted her hand and dropped it to her side, “then you work on changing your image. Getting the town to see you differently.”
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