Desparately Seeking Santa

by Red Rose Publishing

  “Already tried while you were attacking the door. No reply,” he said as he shifted to get comfortable. He shot her a look over his shoulder. “It could be worse.”

  “Could it?” Right now, Mandy didn't think so. Lying next to Santa in a sleigh for a bed. Who would believe her?

  “Sure. You could be alone, not good on Christmas Eve.”

  Alone. Even the word had a sad sound.

  Sad and alone on Christmas Eve.

  Mandy screwed her eyes shut, clamping her lips together. She didn’t care. Didn’t want to think about it.

  She lay on her back and stared into the blackness above. She wanted to sleep, to be curled up in her own bed. Instead, she found herself tossing and turning lying beside Santa. A Santa she didn't know. Dear lord, the guy could... Nope she wouldn't think about that.

  She could feel his heat though. Warm and enticing, the slight touch of his hip against hers. She could hear his steady breathing. He was asleep!

  Her mouth made a snapping sound of disgust. She didn't know whether to be pleased, or put out. Here she was in the sexiest Mrs. Santa costume ever, leaving little to the imagination, and he conked out!

  The guy is Santa! What do you expect? A passion pit in a sleigh!

  Chapter Two

  Fingers caressed at Mandy’s breast, firing a heat which spread throughout her body. It held her captive in its warmth, just as a breathless flutter tingled against the curve of her neck. Enjoying the sensation, she snuggled beneath the covers. It was a long time since she had been this hot. This aroused.

  Too long.

  Oh, but it felt good...he felt...

  He? Santa?

  Her eyes flew open and she stiffened.

  She should have pulled away right there and then, swatted Santa's hand from her breast. Should have. But didn't.

  As the caress fanned across her abdomen, her stomach muscles tightened and her eyes closed out the world. The tangle of long forgotten memories, of touch, and taste, of bodies entwined fired every electric sense.

  And damn it, her toes were curling!

  The memories continued, nothing seemingly able to stem their fiery path as they bombarded her brain and body all the while Santa massaged her nipple. It peaked and sent a quiver sprinting down her nerve endings.

  Her mouth curved.

  Delicious. She wanted more. Lots more.

  She arched to him, one leg hooked over his hip while her head tilted back allowing him to trail a teasing path of kisses down the sensual curve of her throat. Mandy’s breath rasped and she delighted as the intensity pooled between them.

  What was happening to her?

  You've woken up, Sleeping Beauty.

  She was...Mrs. Santa. And right here in his sleigh, Mr. Santa was making love to her.

  Dear Lord, was she nuts? Mandy scrambled backwards, only to come up hard against a stack of fake presents piled high behind her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Santa pushed himself upright and from beneath the shroud of fake white brows his eyes danced with a glittering amusement. “You look shocked.”

  “And you’re not? I mean we’re... Lordy, this has to be on the verge of sacrilege.”

  “Or heaven,” he offered.

  No. No. No. Mandy squeezed her eyes tight, blotting out the thought. She needn’t have bothered, he voiced it anyway.

  “I guess you think Santa shouldn’t make out, huh?”

  Her eyes flashed open. “No! I mean...I don’t...” Oh heck, what did she mean? She eyed Santa in his satin suit, the mask and fake beard still disturbingly in place while hers had been discarded some time ago. She could barely see his face shuttered behind his disguise. She wanted to see it. See the man behind the mask, the man who had just made her body sing.

  For the first time since...

  Mandy slammed that thought right back down. “I need to get out of here.”

  “What’s wrong? Why hurry? It’s still dark outside.”

  “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” she rounded on him, the hitch of hysteria in her belly tightening its noose. “This fanta...night,” she corrected quickly, “is taking a curve in the road I wasn’t expecting.”

  One white brow arched. “Shame.”

  Damn! This wasn’t going the way she wanted it to.

  Get it together, Brooks.

  Desperately, she battled to ignore the way the silk dress caressed her skin. Silk on silk. Lush. Sensuous.

  “Santa and his wife give gifts to children,” she said wishing she had a jacket to cover up what shouldn’t be on display. “They don’t make out in the sleigh.”

  “And you know this because?”

  “I...” There it was again. Santa was far too determined. Too tempting. Color fused her cheeks, burning hotter by the second. She bit her lip, annoyed the moment she did as his gaze rested on her lips. Fidgeting, she stiffened her spine. Business. Be professional. “Well, they just don’t, it’s not right, nor do I believe it’s professional,” she said in her best haughty voice.

  “Too naughty for you is it?”

  “Naughty?” Oh Lordy. She’d noticed the emphasis of his words. Why was this happening? “Enough. You...you...red-clad fake. You’re...”

  “Getting under your skin?” he suggested.

  Mandy’s words stalled on her lips.

  “Feels good doesn’t it?” he offered for her.

  Her control edged ever closer to the precipice while the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, along with another part of her anatomy. His eyes slid to her breasts and back up.

  “No! No it definitely does not feel...anything.”

  Liar!

  Santa wiggled his fake brows. “You mean I’m a tad too suggestive?”

  “Damn right. Besides, who are you, anyway?”

  “Santa,” he said spreading his hands out, as if she was silly to ask.

  “Don’t be obtuse. I mean who are you really? I thought Santa was Mr. Shepherd, and he’s nearing ninety and virtually deaf. You are not him,” she said flatly.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am. He wouldn’t...”

  “Feel you up? Being ninety and all.”

  Mandy peered at him, trying to see beneath the camouflage. She failed. The only thing that tugged at any memories was his voice. Okay, so his beard muffled it, but its tone sparked something inside her into overdrive...and alert.

  She was close. Too close. And too excited. Darn it! The man’s touch fired something in her she had stifled for so long she believed it no longer existed.

  But it did. Oh, boy did it ever. Hot. Needy. And definitely urgent. Had it got hot in here and the heating bumped up somehow? She slid the tip of her tongue across her dry lips, teeth scraping over her bottom lip. She caught his gaze and instantly wished she hadn’t. Coolly still eyes followed her every movement, tightening the tension in her belly as they rested on her mouth.

  Santa had kissed her before. Now her brain screamed do it again. Please.

  God, what was she thinking? Doing? Wanting? Begging?

  She jerked backwards and scrambled unceremoniously from the sleigh. On jelly-like legs she stood upright, yanking down her dress that had risen to indecent heights. She lifted her gaze, caught his, and his devilish wink of a white brow.

  “I...I,” she said stumbling over her words, “think we need to get out of here.” She glanced at her watch. It seemed to be working again and had just ticked its way past midnight. “It’s Christmas Day. You must have a home to go to.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “But a guy could get used to this sleigh, especially if Mrs. Santa came back to bed.”

  “Back?” Mandy’s voice screeched into the empty store. “You’ve got to be joking?”

  “You keep asking that. Do I look as if I am?”

  Did he? Mandy’s gaze raked over him. She couldn’t tell anything about him which only increased her frustration. She wanted...

  What?

  To see him. Na
ked. Oh boy. She did. She wanted to see him butt naked.

  Her eyes rolled back as the thought tempted her beyond redemption.

  Shame, Brooks. Shame.

  Her throat thickened and her airways backed up. “You’re staff, Santa,” she corrected tightly. “I don’t play around with co-workers.”

  “Shame,” he repeated, which right now reiterated her own thoughts. “Could be fun.”

  Mandy shot him a scowl, hoping he’d get the idea.

  He slapped a white-gloved hand across his chest. “Some Christmas this is. Rejected on Christmas day.”

  “Get over it.”

  “And high tail it back to the North Pole, is that it?”

  She refused to answer his verbal baiting, though she couldn’t denounce the one chastising thought that drew upon the past all over again.

  Rejection on Christmas day. She’d done that. Had to. And look where it had gotten her. Thinking of a one night stand with Santa.

  Sex. Really hot sex. Talk about desperate!

  Absolutely. Very desperate.

  Just then the store lights flickered brighter and Mandy dropped all thoughts. Well...mostly. She hugged her arms across her chest and turned from this man who ignited exciting things in her when he really shouldn’t and she definitely shouldn’t even think about.

  A call came from across the store. “Hello. Anyone there?”

  “Bob? Is that you?” Hope fired in her chest and she raced towards the muffled voice of one of the store’s security guards. “Thank God. Now we can get out of here.”

  “And end the fun? Not fair.”

  She shot Santa a scathing glare over her shoulder. “Sorry, buster, but the fun has ended. It’s back to business. Besides, don’t you have a sleigh of presents to deliver?”

  “You could come and keep me warm.”

  She couldn’t see if he smiled, the flowing beard and half mask obliterating everything. Almost. Nothing could subdue the timbre of his rich voice. She may not be able to ‘see’ him, but she could hear his smile.

  Determined to give him as good as he gave, she rounded on him, hands on her hips, knowing her décolletage was as provocative as any Victoria’s Secret model. She offered him a teasing smile. “In your dreams.”

  He chuckled at her retort and again it fired something inside her that tugged at memories. “Dreams sweetheart are definitely a fantasy. Shame you want to end the fantasy, but then that’s something history seems to....”

  “There you are. Sorry Santa and...” Bob Harper cut off Santa’s words as he swatted aside a shell-pink teddy from the lingerie department. The company’s security guard stared wide-eyed at her. “Ms. Brooks, is that really you?” He ogled at her lack of coverage, causing Mandy’s blush to strike up again. She dropped her hands to her sides. God help her, she’d be the laughing stock of the lunchroom for weeks in this get up.

  “We didn’t know you were still in the grotto,” Bob explained. “Mr. Maxwell said everything had been cleared.” Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes shifted uneasily from her and then to Santa. “I’m sorry Mr...” Bob stumbled over his words, “Santa,” he corrected, giving her a quick glance.

  Mandy eyed the security guard. What was going on here? The man looked nervous. She edged forward, sidestepping Santa. “Don’t worry about it, we were fine.”

  “Yeah, really cozy,” Santa added from behind her.

  Her jaw clenched and her breath stalled. She counted slowly, unwound her fists and then turned on her ridiculously high heels and glared up at the towering Santa. “Now look here, Mr...Santa,” she said, wagging a single digit at him, “I’ve just about had enough of your bantering, inferring things that...well, which did not happen.”

  “Didn’t they?”

  “No! They most certainly did not. Now, if you’d go with Bob he will escort you from the building. It’s Christmas Day, your job is over here.”

  One bushy white brow arched, and then fell off revealing a slash of black brow, still arched.

  “Mr. Sullivan, if you’ll follow me,” Bob said nervously.

  “Mr. Sul...? Sullivan? Tate?” It all came too fast, too many brain cells racing and slamming into each other while her heart retreated at ripcord speed. She had to ask. Just had to. But she really didn’t want to know the answer.

  Oh, yes you do.

  On a thin voice, her throat so tight she could barely breathe, she faced Santa and asked him. “Tate Sullivan is that you?”

  He reached up and tugged off the remaining fake brow, revealing another dark brow. Mandy’s gut churned. This couldn’t be happening. She didn’t want it to.

  He tugged at his beard too, revealing a strong broad jaw and full mouth that curved upwards, delineating dimples on either side. Oh, dear God. She was sinking fast.

  The remainder of his disguise came off, and then he smiled and she went under; any control she possessed a thing of the past. Her knees wobbled and she swayed precariously. Tate reached out and snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “Hell. If I knew I’d make you swoon, sweetheart.”

  “I did not!” Her retort came out sharp and brittle, but even as she said the words, she knew her denial fell on deaf ears.

  The man smiled. And that smile said it all.

  The noise in her brain continued, in fact the crescendo increased to mega proportions. She trailed the back of her palm across her forehead, one second before her head lolled backwards like that of a rag doll. Someone was holding her. Close. She could smell his aftershave. Sexy. Teasing. She blinked. Once. Twice. Tate! Here? “What happened?” She twisted to get up, but he held fast.

  “You fainted.”

  Her protest was instant. “I don’t faint.”

  “Sure did. In fact as far as swooning goes, it was rather spectacular.”

  “Swooning? Would you stop talking in riddles, and how about some twenty-first century speak to boot.”

  “Ooh, temper tantrums. You’ve changed, Mandy. You were so meek and mild, until...”

  She held up a silencing hand. “Don’t say another word. Shut it, Tate.” She couldn’t do this. Not so close to him. Not now, after all these years and certainly not on Christmas Day. Mandy struggled for leverage, realizing the moment she moved it wasn’t the floor she’d fallen onto, but lay in the sleigh again.

  “How did I?”

  “Did you get in there?” Tate finished for her.

  “Do you have to do that?”

  “Just shows how in sync we are, sweetheart.”

  “And don’t sweetheart me,” she ground out.

  He held his hands up in front of him in mock surrender, his mouth curving into a lopsided grin.

  No! No! No! No grins allowed. No pre-empting her words. Not that. She couldn’t handle that. Not now. She wasn’t like before, not the girl she had been.

  Tate had always anticipated her words. In fact, they had always known what the other was thinking. Mostly. Except for one occasion. Then, Tate knew nothing. Not until the end.

  “You fainted when I pulled my beard off. Sorry about that,” he said giving her another sheepish grin, bringing back far too many memories and making them real. “You pitched into my arms, which I must say was rather nice.”

  Mandy clenched her hands at her side. Open. Shut. Open. Shut tighter. “Be quiet,” she snapped beneath her breath. “Just tell the story, Tate,” she warned.

  “So I lay you in the sleigh.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Did you expect more?”

  Do you want more?

  Mandy rested against the wooden platform that had been fashioned as Santa’s seat and rubbed the side of her head. It ached mercilessly. A day that started pre-dawn as she helped staff display Christmas product had seriously deteriorated from that moment. Broken stock, crying children, and then forced to dress as Santa’s partner in crime only to be locked in with said fake Santa.

  If only she’d known. She eyed Tate. He didn’t seem perturbed at all. Typical. He’d never shown his emot
ions then either.

  Then! Mandy blocked that thought. She wouldn’t think about that day.

  Tough call, Brooks, considering today is THE day, albeit five years later.

  Pulling her gaze from the man who had once captured her heart wholly and totally, she turned around to speak to Bob. But they were once again alone. “Where’s Bob? He was here a moment ago.”

  Tate’s sheepish grin evaporated.

  “Tate?” she warned.

  “I sent him home.”

  “Are you mad? Tate you had no right to do that, now we’re stuck here again. Call him back, call him.” God help her. Stuck in an empty store with a bunch of plastic dummies and the man who was once her whole life.

  “No.” He said it quietly, almost a whisper. Mandy didn’t believe her ears.

  “No? Now look here, Tate Sullivan, what the heck is going on? You can’t do that.”

  He offered her a disinterested shrug, a recalcitrant curl falling across his wide brow. How she had loved his hair, the thrill of running her fingers through it. Feeling him. Holding him.

  Stop! Get back on track.

  “No use in getting all cranky.”

  Mandy gritted her teeth, counting silently. “But...but we’re alone,” she said realizing she was stating the obvious.

  “And you’re worried thinking I might jump your bones.” His eyes roamed her length, an action she would have said came straight out of an historical romance. But it did the job, eliciting a heat that burned right through her. She fidgeted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny; aware her nipples peaked beneath their scant covering. His grin broadened and she bristled with annoyance.

  “Don’t be disgusting, Tate Sullivan.”

  “You never used to think it disgusting. Actually I remember a time when we couldn’t get enough of each other. Do you remember, Mandy?”

  Did she? Yes, damn it. She did. She remembered it all. The loving, the touching, kissing. Him holding her. God how she remembered it. Wanted it for weeks, months...years after it was over.

  Still wanted it.

  No I don’t! I don’t.

  Mandy refused to answer him and scrambled from the sleigh. Wobbling on her heels, she straightened and stood in front of Tate. “I’ll go and get my bag from the office and phone him. Hopefully he’ll come right back and we can escape this nightmare.”