by Naima Simone
“Seriously?”
He propped his fists on hips that still managed to look lean underneath an absurdly big red-and-white St. Nick coat. Jesus Christ, it was unfair to humans everywhere that in baggy red pants and black boots, he still managed to look sexy as hell. He’d forgone the white beard, sticking with his own, and any moment now, she was going to tear her gaze away from how the thickness of it highlighted the lush curves of his mouth.
Lumbersexual Santa.
He could make it a thing and sell millions of calendars.
“Yes, seriously,” she grumbled, waving a hand and focusing on how the plastic lid so neatly met the cardboard cup. Safer than staring at him. At least the cup didn’t have her belly twisting in ways that meant nothing good for her moratorium on men. Nor did the seam of the lid entice her to lick it like the seam of his lips did.
Hell.
She needed to pull it together.
“Nessa.” Just her name in that deep, patient tone. She resisted it for all of point-zero-three seconds before lifting her gaze from the cup to him. His gaze narrowed on her.
“What?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is Nessa short for another name? Vanessa? Anastasia?” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Agnes?”
“Have you been drinking?”
He barked out a laugh, that though it held humor, also contained the faintest hint of an edge. She frowned, but he shook his head, smiling.
“Unfortunately, no. So give. What is it? What name do I get to call you that no one else does?”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m just Nessa. My mother’s favorite place in the world was Loch Ness, Scotland, although she never did get to visit. So she named me after it.” First money, then a child, work and responsibilities had prevented her mother from taking the trip. And then, finally, cancer. Nessa promised herself one day she would make the trip for her mother. She dipped her head on the pretext of sipping her beverage, hoping the chocolate would dislodge the thick ball of emotion in her throat.
“Disappoint? No, I don’t think so, Nessie.”
She stared at him, her pulse loud in her ears at his soft tone and gentle words. “Nessie?” She pulled a face, attempting to downplay how the nickname tugged at her belly.
“Yes. The name I get to call you that no one else does. It’s mine.”
Oh God. He had no right to say things like that to her. Men like him—pretty, smooth-talking, charming—possessed an innate talent for fooling people, especially women, into believing they were special. Isaac had been that man with her mother. Nessa had dated a man like that. Had fallen for him.
Had been left by him.
So no, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to swoon like a human heart emoji just because he uttered pretty, meaningless words.
“C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging.” He flicked the ball on the hat she’d yet to yank off her head. “I need a partner in the Santa Run, and I nominate you.”
Her eyes widened, and she held up the hand not wrapped around her coffee cup. “Oh no. That’s not going to happen.”
Why didn’t these people get that she was the resident Scrooge? Give her a cold, dark bedroom, a bowl of gruel and three spirits and she was good to go.
“Nessie.” He still wore that same smile, but his eyes... Something there was off. “Don’t be a Christmas snatcher. You’re here to experience all there is about the holidays in Rose Bend, right? You can’t do it from the sidelines. And I need a partner.” He held up his arm as if to drive home the point that no one was attached to it. “You wouldn’t really leave me alone, would you? I don’t do well alone. God knows all the trouble I could get into...”
His tone was teasing, and she almost fell for it. Almost. If only she could ignore that glint in his eyes. She recognized it. Had glimpsed it in the mirror after Jeremy had packed up and left her.
Desperation.
She frowned. “Well, who do you usually partner up with? Get that sucker, I mean person, to join you.”
He closed his eyes, and the unease that had been crawling around in her chest scratched its way to the surface and roared. Her grip on her cup threatened to spill the contents all over her hand. And when his dense lashes lifted, she shifted closer to him, forgetting the crowd, forgetting the run. Forgetting everything but the man before her with ghosts in his gaze.
“Wolf,” she breathed.
“The person I loved doing this with most isn’t here.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “He hasn’t been in a long time, and I—I’m missing him tonight. I need to be with someone who is going to make me...”
“Forget?”
“No.” He shook his head, lifted a hand toward her face but at the last minute dropped it back to his side. “Not forget. Make me remember why I loved it in the first place.”
Well...damn.
“Fine,” she huffed, tossing her drink into a trash can. And though she called herself foolish in about five different languages—including Elvish—when he smiled, and it reached his eyes, she didn’t change her mind. Even though this thing would leave her looking like a hot mess.
Heading toward the rapidly dwindling pile of Santa costumes, she convinced herself this was for a good cause. It wouldn’t kill her. One event. That’s it. Reaching the box, she picked through the offerings until she found a coat. Her jeans and boots would have to do. And she already had the hat Wolf had dropped on her head.
“This can’t possibly be sanitary,” she grumbled under her breath, slipping on the red-and-white coat and buttoning it up. “I’m just not going to think about the last time it was washed.”
“Good. Don’t. I’m told they wash all of the costumes every year.” Wolf appeared next to her, holding a tie. “But it’s also Cole’s secretary’s job to do it. And everyone knows Marion Lowe makes Scrooge look like Oprah with her favorite things.” He bent his head over hers and whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending goose bumps cascading over her skin. She shivered.
If she turned her head just the barest inch, his full lips would graze the curve of her ear, and she would finally know the texture of his mouth. Firm? Soft? A paradoxical and sensually delightful combination of both? As if her body cast its vote for the last option, her nipples beaded.
God, if she wasn’t careful, she could become obsessed with Wolf Dennison’s mouth.
And never was she so happy for this damn costume.
Clearing her throat, she bent her head and focused on finishing buttoning up the coat. “So what you’re telling me is there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’m wearing someone’s sweat from last year.”
He shrugged, wrapping the binding around her right and his left arms. “But it’s Christmas sweat, so I think there’s magic in it.”
Nessa snickered. “Like Christmas snow?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a knowing smirk. “Exactly.” He quickly knotted the tie and pulled on it, testing its tautness. “Now you can’t escape me,” he murmured.
Her foolish stomach plummeted south, culminating in a throb between her legs. And her even more foolish heart pounded against her rib cage.
Exercise. That’s what she needed to work out this inconvenient lust. Fortunately, she had a whole obstacle course waiting on her. Like a flame couldn’t burn without oxygen, if she couldn’t breathe, this annoying need couldn’t pour through her veins.
“Let’s get this started,” she said, striding toward his family. Since their arms were connected, he had little choice but to fall in beside her.
“Easy there.” He chuckled, and it sounded too dark, too wicked to her overly sensitive ears. “You sound like you’re headed to an execution instead of a fun holiday fundraiser.”
She could debate his definition of fun but that would require looking at him again. More specifically, looking at the chiseled planes and flawless angles that made up the masculine
perfection of his face. The carnal mouth that she’d bet her best pair of sneakers could deliver on the promises it hinted at. The wide, wide shoulders that looked like they could take a denting from fingernails...
Yeah, no looking at him again.
“Yes!” Leontyne held up her free hand high when they neared his family’s group. “You got her to join in. Good job, Wolf!”
Wolf slapped his palm to hers.
“Nessa?” Ivy frowned at her. “I thought you weren’t going to do the Santa Run. Why’d you change your mind?”
“Because I’m that good, Mozart,” Wolf bragged, polishing his knuckles over his chest. Then he shrugged. “That, and I bet Sydney and Cole that if they beat us, they could shave my beard and the other side of your sister’s head.”
Nessa gasped. “You. Did. Not.” She whipped around to face his brother and sister-in-law, who had joined them. “He. Did. Not.”
Cole grinned. “A bet’s a bet. And we take them seriously in this family.”
“And what happens if we win?” she demanded.
“They have to attend the next town council meeting as Mr. and Mrs. Claus,” Wolf said, the smile he shot back at Cole positively evil.
That didn’t seem like even odds. Tugging on their bound arms, she growled at him, “We better win this damn thing.”
“Language,” Ivy singsonged behind them.
“Good evening, everyone,” a feminine voice boomed. Nessa glanced to her left, and a pretty blonde woman stood on a short makeshift platform on the sidewalk, a bullhorn in hand. “Welcome to our annual Santa Run!” The crowd cheered and whistled, and once it died down, she continued. “Thank you all for participating in our fundraiser. This year, the proceeds will benefit This Is Home, our own youth home, and Hope from the Heart, an organization that supports local hospitals in giving children and their families a wonderful Christmas. So, on behalf of the organizers and myself, thank you for your pledges and your generosity.”
Nessa shook her head, moved in spite of herself, as once more thunderous applause filled the air. As someone who worked in the hospital during the holidays, she understood how sad it could be for kids to be there instead of at home, with their own tree and gifts, surrounded by not just their parents and siblings but extended family. To bring cheer to them and the knowledge that they weren’t forgotten was priceless.
“Now, let’s get this year’s Santa Run started!” the woman announced. “Here are the rules. The run starts at the yellow line or Sunnyside Grille. You’re competing to beat your pledge time. You must complete the entire obstacle course—no skipping—and cross the finish line at The Glen, where your time will be recorded by the official timekeeper. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”
With a cheeky grin to cap off her Hunger Games salute, she climbed down off the platform.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Am I volunteering as tribute with this?” Nessa asked Wolf as everyone started counting down from five.
“Of course not.” Wolf patted her hand. “Now, stay focused and watch out for Cher. She looks like she’s above getting her hands dirty but she’ll push her own brothers off the balance beam to get ahead.”
“Taught her well, have you?” Nessa muttered.
“Damn right I have.”
Just as she snickered, the crowd shouted, “One!” and the mass of Santas raced for the beginning of the obstacle course. Nessa might’ve been ambivalent about participating in the event, but once it started, her competitive spirit kicked in and she sprinted forward along with everyone else.
Her height and long legs allowed her to keep stride with Wolf’s even longer stride, and they hit the bouncy castle at the same time. She had every intention of stepping into the pool of balls. And with a sane partner, that might’ve happened. But she was bound to Wolf Dennison. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he launched them into the castle with a loud whoop. A shriek she would’ve never thought herself capable of emitting escaped her as her ass hit the balls.
Cackling like a maniac, he pulled her up for air, and they hustled for the other side.
“Get the lead out, Hunt,” Wolf barked. “Cole and Sydney are gaining on us.”
She glanced to her right, and seeing his brother and sister-in-law neck and neck with them lit a fire under her ball-stung ass. That and she could practically feel the buzz of the clippers over her scalp.
Clambering up the other side of the castle, she and Wolf broke for the next obstacle—the balance beam.
“You go first.” He waited just long enough for the person in front of her to start across before hoisting her up onto the narrow, padded plank of wood. “Hold your arm out, and I’ll be right beside you.”
Slowly—and awkwardly—they shuffled across the beam, side by side.
“Your face and Patience’s butt are going to be a matching pair once that thing you call a beard comes off, Wolfgang!” Cole heckled.
Wolf rocked on the beam, and Nessa stopped, quickly balancing them both before they tumbled off and would have to start over.
She slid a glance at him out of the corner of her eyes. “If you fall, I will make sure everyone knows you cried when Jack died.”
Wolf glared at her. “You wouldn’t.”
“In. A. Fucking. Heartbeat.”
A menacing rumble rolled out of him. “Get moving, Hunt.” She did as ordered, and as soon as she cleared the beam and he jumped down behind her, he jabbed a finger at her. “I take back what I said about Cher. You fight dirty.”
“Growl at me later. When I still have all my hair.”
They ran for the next obstacle, where they accepted a spoon and a red plastic ball. It took them three attempts and a ton more curses before they made it across the line with the ball in the spoon. The only silver lining? It took Cole and Sydney four.
“We got ’em!” Wolf crowed as they charged toward the tire course.
Nessa laughed, but it ended on another undignified scream as he bent, put his shoulder to her stomach and hiked her over his shoulder in one smooth motion. Jesus, had he been a fireman in another life? He didn’t even break stride as he sped through the tires, knees nearly jacking up to his stomach, some weird but hot combination of linebacker and ballerina.
Breathless with laughter and lust, she blinked up at him as he gently set her back on her feet and tugged her forward. Shaking her head, she raced after him, The Glen in view. A glance behind her revealed Cole and Sydney were finishing up on the tire course.
“They’re gaining on us,” she rasped to Wolf. And dammit, she had a stitch in her side. This was what she got for skipping the elliptical.
“Don’t you give up now, Nessa. Mohawk, woman. Mohawk.”
“Dammit,” she muttered. And pouring her last bit of energy into it, she made a mad dash for the mini-climbing wall and the finish line.
With a lot of help from Wolf, she scrambled over the wall and they charged across the finish line. Seconds later, Sydney and Cole dashed behind them. Wolf whooped loud and long. And if she’d had any breath left, she would’ve cheered, too.
“We did it!” Wolf swiftly untied their arms, then picked her up and swung her around as if she weighed six pounds instead of one hundred and sixty. He placed a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. “My heroine. You saved my beard.”
Shock pummeled her, and when he set her down on her feet and moved off to tease his brother, she couldn’t move. Could only stand there, trembling fingers brushing the tingling spot where his mouth had pressed to her skin. Just a simple kiss on the cheek and yet, she burned. Flames licked the underside of her skin, and she wondered how no one noticed she was on fire.
A hard, low breath shuddered out of her.
At least she had an answer to her question.
Firm and soft.
His mouth was a sexy and dangerous combination of both.
And God, how she wished she didn’t know.
Nine
NESSA DESCENDED THE stairs of the inn the next morning, already craving that first hit of coffee. Her stomach emitted an annoyed grumble, but she ignored it. Soon enough she would be grabbing a muffin or whatever baked good Moe Dennison always seemed to have out for guests. It would have to do, as she’d missed breakfast.
Deliberately.
After last night, the Santa Run and the kiss on the cheek, she’d fallen on the side of prudence and returned to Kinsale Inn instead of going to the reception with everyone else.
Okay, fine.
She’d run.
She’d pulled one of the oldest tricks in the books, claimed a headache, asked Leontyne if Ivy could ride back to the inn with her and the twins and drove back. All the while avoiding Wolf. Because at that moment, avoiding him hadn’t been a choice; it’d been self-preservation. Last night, lured by that flash of pain in his eyes, she’d made the colossal mistake of letting her guard down.
Jesus. Had she learned nothing?
Let yourself be vulnerable—even the slightest bit—and people took advantage. They hurt you. They abandoned you. Isaac. Jeremy.
Even her mother.
Evelyn probably believed she’d been doing Nessa a favor by telling her the truth about her biological father. But she’d only stripped Nessa of her identity, of the only father figure she’d known, even as unreliable in her life as he’d been. Leaving her more alone and adrift than she’d been before.
Yes, she’d only known Wolf a matter of days—hours really—but the fact that she’d already slipped in her personal vow not to allow him too close... It didn’t speak well of her control around him. Which meant she’d just have to stay out of his way until the reasons why she’d come to this town were firmly entrenched in her head and soul.
Isaac’s last wish for his daughter to spend the holiday here.