Jackson let me do the honors of pressing publish. “The e-book will be ready in a matter of hours,” he told me. “Check online as soon as you wake up—it might be live then. And the print books will arrive shortly.” We’d paid for expedited shipping. I still didn’t quite understand who was going to buy our little picture book, but Jackson had already secured permission from Mr. Reynolds to sell it at the table next to Santa’s stage.
The feeling I got from pressing publish was nearly indescribable. The online proofs of the book were gorgeous. I didn’t know if anyone else would like it, but I loved it. It was my dream, and Jackson had made it come true in a matter of days. I don’t know how he’d done it, but I hadn’t noticed even a hint of alcohol on his breath. He’d been one hundred percent focused on our project. And we’d done it.
“Feels pretty fucking great, doesn’t it?”
And suddenly, his smile was infectious. I smiled back. “It sure as hell does.”
He gaped at me for a moment, shocked. “Who knew an elementary school teacher could talk like that?” As a rule, I never cussed.
“Ah, but I’m not just an elementary school teacher anymore.” I stood up and stretched. My neck and shoulders ached from being hunched over the computer for so long.
“That’s right, you’re also an Elf Extraordinaire.”
I grinned. “And an author.”
His smile was the most genuine I’d ever seen, a far cry from his usual smirk. “Yes, you are.”
“Because of you,” I said, turning toward him and looking into his eyes.
“No,” he said. “You’re an author because of you. I just helped you fast track things a bit.”
“A lot,” I said, and now my voice was quieter. Breathier.
His green eyes were darker as he stared down at me. “I’m glad I could help.”
“Can I ask for one more favor?”
“Anything,” he breathed.
“Kiss me,” I said.
His only answer was his lips meeting mine. Sweet. Gentle—at first. But soon a hunger woke inside both of us. Suddenly, I couldn’t get enough of him. Working with him for three days straight—it wasn’t enough. Sitting side by side with him for all that time—it wasn’t enough. And being fully clothed definitely wasn’t enough.
Jackson grabbed me by the waist and set me down on a nearby countertop. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kissed him deeper now that our faces were on the same level. His hands were on my ass, squeezing and kneading my backside as he ravished my neck and my throat.
Frantically, I tore at the white t-shirt he wore. He’d taken off the red coat before, but he still had those ridiculous red trousers on. I couldn’t figure out how they unfastened, so instead I tugged at his shirt. He took his lips off my neck just long enough to whip his shirt up and over his head. He was kissing me again before it even landed in a heap in the corner.
His hand slipped under my little green elf dress and up to my waistband, grasping the edge of the red tights. Half pulling, half tearing, he manhandled them off of me. Shivering with excitement, I held my hands over my head as he made short work of my green tunic and the white shirt underneath. Then I was just in my bra and panties.
Jackson stepped back for a moment and stared at me. I was quite happy to stare right back. It was amazing how much he’d filled out in six years. He’d been a boy then, and now he was a man. A gorgeous man with a broad chest on top of tight abs. And his arms… he looked like he’d spent the last few years in the desert carting around a hundred pounds of equipment—which he very well may have.
He seemed to like what he saw, too. He made a low whistle in the back of his throat. “How is it that you look even more amazing than you did six years ago? But something’s missing.”
I frowned as he moved away. But then he returned a second later clutching something red. He arranged his Santa cap on my head at a rakish angle. “Perfect,” he said, and he moved close to me, my knees on either side of his hips. Then he pulled me against him, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up, hugging me to him. His hard cock pressed against me as I writhed in his arms, rubbing my panties up and down his hard length.
He spun me around and propped me up against a wall, my body pressed between his hard muscles and the wall behind me. Jackson freed a hand and snaked behind me, flicking my bra open. When he saw my bare breasts, he groaned, deep in his throat. “You have no idea how fucking long I’ve been waiting to do this.”
“Me too,” I said, and my moan turned to a squeal as his lips surrounded my nipple. His tongue flicked back and forth across my erect tip and my whole body shivered. I squeezed handfuls of his hair in my fists as he moved to the other nipple. It felt amazing.
And then suddenly it wasn’t enough. I squirmed in his grasp until my feet touched the floor again. Once I was steady, I grasped at the waistline of his red pants, looking for a button or zipper. When I found none, I pulled them down and was rewarded with a delicious sight—gray boxer briefs with a huge bulge in them. Somehow I was pretty sure that that wasn’t fake padding like other parts of his costume were.
This time I was the instigator, rubbing my body against him, grinding my hips against his erection. He had his eyes closed in pleasure as he backed up, letting his pants fall to the floor. But when he felt the desk behind him, he grasped me by the arms and reversed our positions so that I was pressed up against the desk. Still staring at me, he reached out and flipped open a pocket of his camera bag, plucking out a condom. Then he lowered his boxer briefs.
Shocked, I looked at the size of his massive erection. I’m pretty sure I licked my lips in anticipation, too. With trembling fingers, I lowered my panties, and then we were naked together for the first time since prom night.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he said, his voice low and husky.
And I didn’t know if he meant his cock, or sex, or him, but my answer to all of the above was yes. Moments later I was flat on my back on the desk, my legs spread, and he was poised over me.
“Yes,” I repeated. “Please Jackson. I want this. I want you.”
“I want you too,” he said, and then he took me.
That first thrust was incredible. It rocked me to my core and made me cry out. It was like every nerve-ending in my body woke up at once and cried out for more. And he gave me more, leaning over me, pinning my hands against the desk above my head. And all the while he thrust in and out of me, filling me, claiming me as his own.
My breathing sped up as I squeezed myself around him. Wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer to me. He let go of my wrists and lifted my ankles up, resting them on his shoulders. Now he could go extra deep and every thrust made me cry out. Made me scream.
“Jackson,” I panted, the climax building inside me. “Don’t stop. Please.”
“I won’t,” he said, his voice equally strained. “Not until you explode for me.”
“I’m close,” I said, my breath coming out in short little yelps.
Somehow, he sped up, pushing all the way in me, filling me. Completing me. And then my legs started to tremble, then my arms, and then my whole body was poised on the brink.
“That’s it, Liv. Come for me. Make it a good one. Make it a big one.” With every word he pushed deep inside of me, until suddenly he held himself there, all the way in. And as I felt him erupt, I came too, loudly and violently. I thrashed around so much that he had to pin my legs to my chest, leaning over me. And as he emptied inside of me, the look of bliss on his face matched my own smile and tears as we came together. As we wanted to so many years ago.
We were finally together, and it was the best feeling in the world.
Even better than pushing publish.
“Jackson! They’re here!”
I was five minutes late for my evening elf shift the following Friday because as soon as I left the house, Mom called and told me a package had just arrived. Racing back home, I found a big box full of our books. I’d grabbed a dozen and h
urried back to the car. I decided to wait to look until we both could together. But as I drove, I kept sneaking peeks at the cover. It had one of his beautiful photograph plus our names, side by side at the bottom. It was an amazing feeling.
I could hear voices coming from the Christmas area as I ran through the store, clutching a stack of book in my arms. He must have started without me. I reached the stage and skidded to a halt, my eyes wide.
He had started without me. He had a girl balanced on his thigh, and he was talking to her. Laughing with her. Only it wasn’t a little girl—it was a big girl.
Beatrice Wright.
Her kids sat at their feet, playing with little race cars. Forgotten. Because from where I stood, it looked like Jackson and Beatrice only had eyes for each other.
Jackson
“Only four more days until Christmas, Karla. Think you can be good that long?”
The little girl on my lap stared solemnly up at me, clearly thinking it over. Finally, she nodded. Then she held her little hand out, and I nearly laughed out loud. She wanted to shake on it. I had to admit, some of these kids could be pretty darn cute. I could understand why Liv chose to work with them for a living.
After Karla and I posed for a picture—which I took remotely—there was a brief lull. With a sigh of relief, I went over to check the camera. The last few pictures had turned out well. As long as kids didn’t jostle the tripod, this new system was working.
It just wasn’t much fun.
“Evening, Santa.”
It was Chris. I hadn’t seen him since Thanksgiving. At that point, I’d still been a bit pissed at him for roping me into this job, but I wasn’t anymore. “You here to sit on my lap, you perv?”
He laughed. “You’re not my type.” He looked around. “Where’s Olivia?”
“She stepped out for a moment. Had to go to the little elves’ room. She should be back soon.”
Chris sat on the edge of the stage, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. After a moment, I walked over and sat down next to him.
“What’d you do?” He slanted me a sideways look.
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to look innocent which definitely wasn’t a specialty of mine.
“My old man says that every time he stops by, you say that Olivia has just stepped out.”
I was quiet for a moment, wishing I had a beer. “Is he suspicious?”
“Nope,” Chris said, staring aimlessly at the appliance department across the aisle. “Not him.”
Which meant that Chris was. But he was a good enough guy not to press the point.
“Did your wife like the book?”
“Yeah. She loved it. She especially enjoyed trying to figure out where each photo was shot. You two managed to fit quite a few different parts of Clarksville in there. Those books should be sold at the visitor center.”
“They are, actually.”
My old friend twisted around to look at me. “Really?”
“Yep. They’ve been selling out, too. I keep having to order more.”
“Wow. And Dad says they’ve been selling well here, too.”
“He’s been great—he’s even selling them during the day when I—I mean we—aren’t here. And a lot of the parents who come through the line are buying them as Christmas gifts. It does make a nice present, especially the autographed ones.”
“Yeah, I saw my dad’s signed copy. Funny how Olivia’s handwriting looks a lot like yours.”
“Did you leave a review online yet?” Chris was a good enough friend that he didn’t comment on my blatant attempt to change the subject.
“Yes, I did. And so did Stephanie.”
“Thanks, man.”
We were quiet for a few more minutes. Then Chris spoke. “Want to get a beer after your shift?”
I did. I really did. But I declined.
Chris nodded as he stood up. “You’ve got customers,” he said, nodding at a family of four who were waiting by the tree.
I stood up, too, and Chris clapped me on the back. “Have a Merry Christmas, man.”
“You too.”
“And whatever you did, I hope she forgives you for it.”
That made two of us.
Olivia
The loud rap on the door startled both my mother and me. It was Christmas Eve, and I was upstairs helping her get ready to go church later tonight. We were both moving rather slowly, my mom because that’s the only way she moved nowadays, and me because I’d eaten too much of the roasted turkey we’d made for dinner. We’d gone all out even though we couldn’t really afford it. But it was Christmas Eve.
Besides, eventually I’d be receiving some money from the book. The teachers at school had all bought copies from Reynold’s or online, and they said that it seemed to be selling well. I supposed that Jackson had ordered more copies besides the ones I’d dropped that night I saw him with Beatrice.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think of that. It had been such so awful that for a while, it had pushed all thoughts of the book out of my mind. Then a few days ago, I’d picked up one of the leftover copies and leafed through it, but it was just too painful to see the photos. To know that Jackson had taken them, and that we’d been happy then. We’d been a team—or at least I thought we had been. Apparently it hadn’t meant anything to him at all.
“Olivia?”
“What?” I glanced up at my mom and blinked rapidly. I hadn’t even realized that moisture had built up under my lower lashes.
“There’s someone at the door.”
Oh. Right. “I’ll go check.”
“If it’s carolers, will you come get me? I’d love to hear them.”
Once downstairs, I opened the door. Looked at the figure outside. And tried to close it again. However, he wedged one booted foot against the frame so it didn’t shut.
“Who is it?” Mom called from upstairs.
I glared at the man in front of me. For some reason, I didn’t even want to say his name. It might make me start tearing up again. “It’s… Santa.”
Jackson grinned at that. He was wearing jeans, a scuffed-up leather jacket, and a gray scarf around his neck, but on top of his head was a Santa cap.
After a brief hesitation, Mom said, “Are you going to invite him in?”
Jackson stared at me, one eyebrow cocked. Keeping my hand on the door, I turned and called up the stairs. “That won’t be necessary.”
Again, a hesitation. The Mom said, “Tell Jackson Merry Christmas from me.”
Jackson stuck his head in the door, making me take a step back. “You too, Mrs. Sanders.”
Annoyed, I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back. And tried not to notice the way his firm muscles felt under touch.
Finally, he addressed me. “If you’re not going to let me in, can you come out here?” He nodded to the right where our old porch swing still hung. Involuntarily, I thought of all the evenings I’d spent sitting there with him during high school. Talking about anything and everything—except the stuff that really mattered. “Please,” he added.
“All right.” I grabbed my coat off the hook behind the door, and Jackson reached along the wall, flipping the porch light on. Every time he reminded me how well he used to know me, it made the pain worse. Because even though we’d been best friends—and even though we’d been coworkers and co-authors more recently—it didn’t mean the same thing to him that it did to me.
Outside it was cold, and I hastily buttoned up my coat. Jackson started to reach for my arm, but I stepped out of his grasp, and went and sat on the far end of the porch swing. After a moment, he joined me there, but he didn’t say anything.
He was quiet so long that I looked over, half expecting to see him taking a drink from a pocket flask, but he was just sitting there, watching me. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.
At last he spoke. “So… the book is doing well.”
I nodded, and then figured that in the spirit of Christmas, I should probab
ly say more than that. “That’s what the teachers at school said.”
“Haven’t you been following its progress online?”
When I did nothing but shrug, he whipped out his phone. After swiping and typing for a few moments, he held out the glowing screen to me. “Take a look.”
I took the phone form him and squinted. The screen showed the Amazon listing for our book. Peering closer, I gasped. “It has 97 reviews?”
“With a 4.8 out of 5-star rating.”
“Oh my god. 97 reviews? So it’s sold a hundred copies?”
He laughed. “Far more than that. Every shipment I’ve ordered has sold out in a matter of days. And Reynold’s customers are telling their friends, who are ordering them online.”
I nodded to show I was listening, but most of my focus was on the reviews. “Wow, people said such nice things. I remember this woman—she brought those twin girls to visit us, remember? I can’t believe they all took the time to write a review.”
“What can I say, people love your book.”
My book? Slowly, I put down the phone. No matter how much he’d hurt me, I had to give credit where credit was due. “It’s our book. There wouldn’t be a book without your photos. And your knowledge of self-publishing.”
He smiled. “None of it would’ve happened without your ideas. Without the dozens of elf stories you made up for kids. We may have published quickly, but you did years of field-testing.”
His words filled me with warmth, but I had to remind myself that he was just being kind. That it didn’t mean anything.
“Thanks,” I said, and I handed Jackson his phone back.
He took it, but didn’t put it away. Instead, he scooted closer to me until there were only a few inches between us. He tapped at the screen and held it out to me. “Take a look at that.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the Amazon category for Children’s Christmas stories. Our book is #37.”
“It is?” I grabbed the phone and stared at the screen. There it was, right next to a Christmas book I remembered reading as a child. “I can’t believe it.”
Bad Boy Santa: A Second Chance Christmas Romance Page 5