We Wish You A Naughty Christmas: A Christmas Collection

by Skye Warren

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Shouldn’t that wait until Christmas?”

  Then I notice the large box in the center of the room. It’s white with a red ribbon. Whatever is inside must be quite large.

  I can’t think of anything that would be in a box like this that would be worth Markus’s time. Either he’s hugely disappointing me, or he’s going to surprise me.

  “Interesting,” I say, “I’ll open it tomorrow.”

  I’d prefer to let it gnaw at me a little. It’s more interesting if I can think through what it might be. It could even be some form of trap rather than a gift, I realize. I like that idea.

  “I’m afraid it’s time sensitive,” Markus says. “You’ll need to open it now. And you’ll need this.”

  He hands me a small vial--smaller than my pinky finger--full of a green liquid.

  He says, “I’m going to take the boat back to the city, you’ll want to be alone for this. Don’t open it until I’m gone. But don’t wait much longer than that, or the surprise will be ruined.”

  It really could be a trap.

  “Alright, Markus, good work.”

  Markus takes the small boat and heads back toward the city. The yacht itself is driven by computer, so there’s no need for someone to sit at the helm. It’s just me and the gift. The trap.

  My adrenaline is already surging, but I wait until Markus is completely out of sight. I give myself some time to think through possibilities, but I can’t think of what it might really be. I’m drawing a blank, and I decide to just unwrap it and see.

  I tug at the ribbon, and it falls to the ground. I grab hold of the top of the box, and pull it off.

  I look down and see a naked woman--almost naked, she’s wrapped in a ribbon that covers her nipples and wraps between her legs. She’s unconscious as well.

  My heart pounds as I take her in. She’s beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. She’s too imperfect--too far from the modern standard of beauty--to be considered beautiful. But her imperfections strike me as just right, just enough to not be bland or boring.

  I worry for a moment that she’s been taken against her will, but I realize Markus wouldn't do that. He’d do many things, but not that. She must have agreed to this, in some capacity. She likely wasn’t given many details, but she must have agreed to be taken and knocked out like this. To be presented to a man as a gift.

  Realizing this, I feel slightly disappointed. As intrigued as I am by this imperfect beauty, if she’s already agreed to be with me, where is the challenge?

  Maybe it was left to her to decide, maybe she’ll resist me. Or maybe she agreed to pretend she didn’t agree at all? Maybe it really is a trap of some kind.

  I look down at the vial, and realize it must be what will wake her.

  Should I wake her while she’s still in the box? No, probably not. It feels wrong to touch her at all while she’s still unconscious, but waking suddenly while curled up and trapped in a box could be very startling for her.

  I reach down and pick her up, lifting her just behind her knees and her back. I won’t touch her anywhere else, not unless she wants me to.

  I lift her light body up and lay her down on the couch. Then I unscrew the vial and hold it just below her nose.

  A few moments pass, and then her body jerks. She gasps, and her big green eyes open wide. She scans left and right, and then those terrified eyes lock onto mine, and she screams.

  Doro

  A horrid, acrid smell burns my nose, and I gasp for air. I open my eyes, but everything is a blurry mess, and I have no idea where I am.

  I struggle to anchor myself, to remember what I was. I was going to work? But I’m not at work.

  My eyes start to focus, and I notice the tall, dark figure looming over me. My eyes focus as I look at him. He sharpens, and I see his dark eyes, his impossibly handsome face, and his smile that is even darker than his eyes. It’s not a real smile, it’s more the hint of a grin, but I get the feeling it’s the most he ever smiles.

  Then, suddenly, I remember being grabbed. I remember being ripped off the street and into an SUV. I remember being injected with something.

  I scream. As I scream, I look down and see that I’m almost entirely naked. Only a small red ribbon is covering me and giving the barest hint of modesty.

  The man reaches toward me, but I recoil away. “Stay the fuck away from me!”

  I jump over the back of the couch and land on my feet, but a spell of dizziness hits me--aftereffects from whatever drug they gave me--and I stumble backward.

  He sees me stumbling, and he races toward me. I don’t want him to touch me, but I start to fall as my legs turn to rubber.

  He gets behind me and catches me just before I collapse. My bare skin is pressed up against his silk shirt and his jacket. I can feel the soft fabric of his tie against my back. His strong, hard hands are braced against my belly.

  “Don’t touch me,” I mumble. “You won’t get away with this...the police are going to find you.”

  My voice sounds drowsy, even though I’m furious and trying to scream at him.

  “I’m going to put you back down on the couch,” he says, “Then I won’t touch you again.”

  He scoops me up into his arms--it feels as if it’s effortless to him--and he carries me toward the couch again. He puts me down and lets go as promised.

  “What were you told?” He asks. “And what did you agree to? My name is Kieran. What’s yours?”

  “No one told me anything,” I say. “You fuckers nabbed me off the street. I didn’t agree to this, and I’m not telling you my name, asshole. The police will know I’m missing, and you won’t get away with this…”

  My voice gets weaker as I speak, and it finally gives out.

  He looks down at me with intense eyes, and he fold his hands behind his back. He starts to pace. “You wouldn’t have been taken without permission.”

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what’s going on. You’re a...lying liar.”

  He smirks at me. “Tell me your name.”

  “Doro,” I croak out.

  “Dorothea?”

  “I hate Dorothea...it’s Doro.”

  I don’t know why I told him my name. His tone was commanding, as if disagreeing with him was an impossibility. If he’s trying to break me down, this was the first step. I have to resist.

  “It’s a good name. Tell me what you want.”

  That commanding tone again. What I want? Why does it matter to him what I want?

  “I want you to let me go. Now.”

  “We’re three hours from the coast,” he says. “I’ll turn the boat around now.”

  The coast? The boat? So the odd churning in my stomach isn’t all from the drugs. We’re at sea. It doesn’t look like a boat, it looks like a super expensive apartment. I look at him--his expensive suit and immaculate appearance. He must be rich.

  “You’re going to let me go, just like that?”

  “If you want,” he says. “I can keep you company until we dock.”

  He smiles enough to show some gorgeous and perfectly white teeth.

  “Why would I want that? You kidnapped me. And I want some real clothes!”

  He nods. “I didn’t kidnap you. I’ll make a call and figure out what happened. And I’ll get you some clothes.”

  He disappears, and I suddenly feel horribly alone and naked on the couch.

  I’m wrapped in a fucking ribbon, and I see a big box sitting on the ground. It looks like I was given as some kind of twisted gift? But why? And now that he’s seen me...he’s sending me right back? Did he seriously think anyone who was kidnapped and wrapped in a ribbon covering her nipples and pussy would be all smiles and happy to be gifted like an object?

  I feel my strength coming back to me, so I risk standing up. I don’t collapse this time. I walk toward the window, and when I look through I see that we are indeed on the open sea. Nothing happening makes any sense. I try to put the chain of events together li
ke a puzzle, but none of it fits together.

  If he refused to let me go, then maybe I’d understand it. Yet he seems just as surprised and in the dark as I am.

  I find a blanket in one of the ottomans, and I cover myself with it so that I won’t be naked when he comes back. A man that handsome has never seen me naked.

  “He kidnapped you, Doro, who cares if he’s handsome?” I whisper to myself.

  “What’s that?” He says, walking toward me with what looks like a fancy dress draped over his arm.

  Shit, did he hear me?

  “Nothing,” I say, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “What is that?”

  “A dress,” he says. “My employee must have gotten it for you, but it’s the only thing I have that will fit you.”

  I eye the dress, and it’s so low-cut that I’d prefer the blanket.

  “There are shoes that go with it, but they are not very practical either.”

  “Nothing about this situation is practical.”

  “So your name is not Haley?” He says. “My employee insisted that you knew that you’d be gifted. And that your name is Haley.”

  “Haley?” I say, “That’s…that’s Doro 2.0”

  “What?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

  “I…” It all starts clicking together for me. They thought I was Doro 2.0, whose name is Haley--which I only vaguely recall from the few times we actually spoke briefly to each other. Doro 2.0--Haley--agreed to be taken and given as a gift like this. This must be the kind of sick game that rich and beautiful people play with each other, and I got all mixed up in the middle of it.

  I take in a deep breath. “There’s a woman in my building. She looks a lot like me, just better. Your guy took the wrong woman.”

  Kieran gives me a long, appraising look, then says, “I doubt she looks better than you.”

  I laugh, and my cheeks burn.

  “Markus, the man who took you, shouldn’t have done this at all. And he should have made 100 percent sure he took the right woman if he did it. The one who agreed to it. I’m terribly sorry that this happened to you--I really am--but...I’m not sorry that you’re here right now.”

  My heart pounds in my chest, and my blood turns to ice. “You...you turned the boat around, right?”

  “Yes,” he says. “You’ll be back in the city in under three hours, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think you should put that dress on and have dinner with me. It will make the time go faster.”

  I open my mouth to disagree, but I find myself just nodding to him.

  “Good,” he says, “I’ll take you to a bedroom, you can get dressed and use the restroom if you’d like.”

  I nod again. I have no idea why I’m going along with any of this. Even though his voice is so soft, it’s commanding and impossible to disagree with.

  He guides me into the bedroom--I walk with the blanket wrapped around me--and I shut the door. I’m finally alone, and I realize I could just play scared and hide here alone until we dock. It’s tempting, but not quite as tempting as Kieran’s voice, and that hungry look in his eyes.

  I can still hear him saying, “I’m not sorry that you’re here right now.”

  That gets me into the dress. It’s blue and beautiful, and I can’t even fathom how much it costs. I’ll be terrified to eat wearing this and risking a $20,000 pasta stain. Then again, I didn’t ask to be here, so even if I ruin the dress, it’s not like he can hold it against me.

  I check myself out in the mirror. I look almost as good as Doro 2.0 now--maybe Doro 1.5--and I find myself looking forward to Kieran’s face when he sees me in it. The shoes are totally impractical like he said, but they make me several inches taller, and they make my legs look awesome.

  A few minutes pass and there’s a knock on the door.

  Open the door, and his mouth drops open as he looks down at me. His dark eyes linger for a moment, and he finally looks back up at me. “It suits you.”

  “Thanks. So what’s for dinner? Hopefully not pasta or anything with red sauce…”

  “Oysters,” he says, “And lobster. Freshly caught.”

  He brings me to an incredibly elegant dining room on the second floor--or second deck? I have no idea about all the special words you use on a boat. The dining room has wrap-around windows that give a full view of the sea. I can see the sun setting down below the horizon. It’s breathtaking.

  “I bet you get a killer view of the city from here when you’re closer to shore,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “I get a view of the city from my office,” Kieran says dismissively. “I use the yacht to get a view of the sea. It ties me to my roots.”

  “You grew up on the coast?”

  He nods, but doesn’t elaborate at all. He’s frustratingly mysterious, but it doesn’t seem intentional. It’s just how he is.

  “Sorry to keep pestering you about this,” I say, “But it’s not every day that I get kidnapped. Are you going to fire this guy?”

  Kieran smirks at me, then grabs me by the arm. I’m surprised that he’s touching me, but pleasantly surprised. His strong grip feels good, and he begins guiding me toward a table full of decadent-looking seafood. There are two glasses of white wine, and an open bottle.

  “If you want me to fire him,” Kieran says. “I will. Now sit.”

  I obey.

  “What is his job? Do you have him listed on payroll as ‘fumbling kidnapper?’ I just don’t get it.”

  Kieran lifts his wineglass, then looks at me expectantly.

  I pick mine up and lock eyes with him. He clinks his glass against mine and says, “To fortunate accidents.”

  We each take a sip, and it tastes good. I’m not a wine expert--I don’t know anything about wine, really--but this tastes good. It probably costs several thousand a bottle, and to me it tastes just “good.”

  “Markus keeps me on my toes,” Kieran says. “He’s had me kidnapped a few times. He’s usually good at what he does, but this was rather pedestrian, I admit.”

  I nearly spit out my drink. “Pedestrian? Kidnapping a woman, stuffing her in a gift box, and wrapping her up with a neat little bow is pedestrian to you?”

  He laughs. “Well, considering he grabbed you off the street and you had no idea it was coming, that was unexpected. But he shouldn’t have done it, so say the word, and he’s gone.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. I’ll decide later.”

  I bite into the lobster, and it’s incredibly fresh and amazing. It’s buttery, and I can taste the sea as it hits my taste buds. Nothing like Red Lobster, which is usually the only lobster my budget can handle.

  I’m definitely starting to feel that this is, in fact, a “fortunate accident” and that making Kieran fire his creepy kidnapper guy might be a bit much.

  “So what would you have done?” I ask. “If it had been her.”

  He stops eating and looks at me seriously. “I suppose I’d have slept with her.”

  His gaze peers into me, and I suddenly feel horribly uncomfortable...and excited.

  “You’re not even going to lie about it to me?” I ask.

  He takes a sip of his wine. “What’s the point in lying? I don’t have time for lies.”

  “So if you had unwrapped the pretty version of me,” I say, “You’d have slept with her. But since it was boring old me, it’s just polite dinner?”

  He grins at me, looking down at my chest. “Dinner is just to start. And please stop insulting yourself--it’s unattractive.”

  I scoff at him. “So you’re outright calling me unattractive now? Your gimmick of always telling the truth is going to wear really thin at this rate.”

  He reaches across the table and grabs hold of my wrist. I feel I should pull away, but I stay frozen as my cheeks burn hot.

  “Doro,” he says, his dark eyes locking with mine. “You’re beautiful, but when you insult yourself, the lack of confidence and self-deprecation is unattractive. Do you understand?�
��

  His hand squeezes my wrist, but I look down to avoid his gaze. “How would you know anything about what it’s like? There’s such a double standard between people like me and people like you. It’s easy to be confident when everyone is forced to like you…”

  I bite my tongue. I realize I shouldn’t have said that. I was thinking of Kate, and all the people like her and Kieran who live an easier version of real life. But I shouldn’t have said that out loud to him.

  “I forced you to like me?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t let go of my wrist.

  “Who said I even like you?” I snap back at him, pulling my hand away.

  “You don’t have to say it. Your eyes, your red cheeks, the way you lean toward me. I know you like me. Did I force that?”

  Egotistical asshole. He’s right, but fuck him for saying it outright.

  I dodge the question. “I still think the double standard is real. Let’s pretend you were some homeless guy with a gnarly beard, and I woke up in a cardboard box in the alley you sleep in. Imagine if you told me ‘Sorry, my buddy T-Bone kidnapped you for me, want to share this Big Mac I found in the garbage?’ Do you think I’d seriously entertain the idea?”

  Kieran shrugs. “It sounds to me like you’re the one biased against the homeless. I actually fund a few shelters here in--”

  “Look,” I cut in. “That’s not the point. It doesn’t matter what you personally feel or do, the fact is that rich people like you can get away with stuff that regular people like me could never even consider. We have to live life inside the lines.”

  “When you go home for Christmas,” Kieran says, swirling his wine glass. “What is it like?”

  “Well,” I say, “I have to rush there and back and fly during the worst travel days, since my rich boss doesn’t give us any real time off. And forget using vacation days during that time, that’s for management--”

  “What is it like once you’re home?”

  “I don’t know. It’s good. My family is happy to see me, and I get to visit old friends. It’s like...everyone is coming home for that one time every year, and there’s just that kind of magic feeling in the air. It’s probably how things feel for you all the time--that feeling like everything is just right in the world and going your way.”