Kate closed her eyes and told herself she’d do better the next day. Tomorrow, she would pick herself up, dust herself off, and start looking for a job. Or a realtor, if she decided not to stay in Rhode Island. So many decisions, and all of them would have to wait until her head stopped pounding every time she tried to make one.
Which will be tomorrow.
Or maybe the day after that.
Did it matter? She had enough money from her mother to coast for a bit. She could have gotten alimony from Wayne, but she’d wanted to sever all ties with him. She’d kept the jewelry he’d given her over the years, not because of the value—some of the pieces would have paid a normal person’s rent for a year—but to remind herself to never again be taken in by sparkle.
Kate opened her eyes and took a gulp of her wine. She tossed her cell phone on the coffee table in front of her. It had beeped, announcing a message, but she wasn’t going to listen to it. At best, it was her friend Wendy trying to explain for the fourth time why her having sex with Wayne shouldn’t mean their friendship should end. Kate drained her wine glass and leaned forward to refill it. It might also be Wayne announcing their divorce papers were complete and ready to be signed. She wasn’t in the mood for that conversation, either.
Why am I here? I could be sunning myself in the South of France. I could be drunk in Key Largo. Why did I think coming back to a town where I have no friends and now no family would be a good way to spend the holidays?
What the hell is here that I think I need?
If you’re up there watching me, Mom, look away for the next three weeks. I’m not handling Christmas without you well. I promise to do better next year.
God, I wish I did drugs.
She made a face at her freshly poured second glass of wine. I don’t even like alcohol that much.
She put the glass down on the coffee table and buried her face in her hands. No wonder I couldn’t keep Wayne satisfied—I don’t have a single fun bone in my body. What did he say when I said no to a threesome? A man could have better nights alone with his hand than with me?
I’d like to think I showed him by leaving him alone with that appendage—but I’m pretty sure he’s with Wendy now. She’s too dumb to understand that, thanks to caller ID, I know she’s calling from my old house.
Kate placed kindling in the room’s large marble fireplace and started searching through her purse for the letter she had every intention of burning. I should have fucking thanked Santa for Wendy, too. No, I suppose my poor taste in friends is my own damn fault.
When she didn’t find the letter in her purse, she checked the pockets of her coat. Then she ran outside and scanned the interior of her car.
Oh, fuck me. Tell me I didn’t mail that letter. No. No. I remember deciding not to and putting it in my purse.
Did I drop it? Oh, my God, I dropped it. What if someone reads it? Or, just as bad, mails it? With my luck someone will submit it to an editor of a newspaper just to screw with me. Yep, this town loves me as much as I love it.
I never should have signed it.
Fear over where her letter could have ended up was enough to send Kate back out into the cold to see if it was on the ground near the mailbox. Of course, it wasn’t. That would have been too easy. Too kind.
Too much like anyone’s life but Kate’s.
She returned home, closed all the curtains in her bedroom, and pulled the covers over her head, even though it was still early in the day. Some days were so bad they should end at noon. She fell into a fitful sleep that only left her feeling more tired when she woke early the next morning.
***
Brock carried Kate’s letter with him the entire day. He met with his subcontractors who were halfway through turning an old textile mill into luxury condos. They were right on schedule, and the news put Brock in a very good mood. Next year would be his company’s best.
It was definitely a reason to celebrate. He thought about calling his friends. But many of them had families now and had to ask their spouses for permission to go out during the week. Poor saps.
He could call his parents, but he already had plans to see them over the weekend and too much time with them, even though he loved them, made him a little crazy. Especially because, since their conversation this morning, his father was now hiding out at the main office with him, pointing out every change he’d made in the business.
Everything he considered doing paled in comparison to the one thing he really wanted: Kate Hale.
Every time he read her letter, he came close to charging over to her house and offering to fuck her as many times and in as many ways as she wanted. He didn’t imagine that would go over well. Life tended not to mirror what would work in a porn movie.
Still, he had wanted Kate for as long as he could remember. If he had a nickel for every time he’d masturbated while imagining her sucking his cock, he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.
God, I masturbate too much.
Sex for a man wasn’t as simple as magazines made it sound. At least not for a man living in a small city where most people knew each other. By the time he found out if the woman shaved or not, she was telling her friends they were serious, and he was considered off the market well before he’d decided if he wanted to be.
In theory, he had nothing against relationships. One day, he’d meet a woman he wanted to wake up next to every morning, but for now, all he wanted was what Kate had described: a good old-fashioned, down-and-dirty fucking.
Unlike her, he was more particular about with whom. There was only one woman who could make him hard just by thinking about her. One woman he wanted so much he couldn’t think about anything else.
That night, he read seven how-to articles online about giving a woman the best orgasm of her life. He watched a video about giving better oral sex, and just to be thorough, he read a romance novel his friends had joked portrayed every woman’s fantasy sex.
Like Rocky preparing for a big fight, Brock readied himself for this challenge. It wasn’t just about having Kate. He had to make her come so many times she couldn’t remember her name. That would take skill.
When he woke up the next morning, he smiled into the mirror. He’d had the most delicious dream about Kate, and his subconscious had worked out the perfect way to get her into his bed.
You’re a nice guy, Brock, but nice guys have nice sex.
This kind of opportunity comes along once in a lifetime. You need to up your game.
You know what she wants.
Make it happen.
This is not creepy—it’s sexy.
Just do it.
Chapter Three
Early the next morning, Kate carried a large cardboard box into her mother’s bedroom. She told herself that, regardless of what she decided to do with the house, leaving her mother’s room in a shrine-like intact state wasn’t healthy.
She laid the box in the middle of her mother’s bed and took a fortifying deep breath. She held back the tears that threatened to spill. Her mother had never liked tears. Ladies kept their composure.
Kate walked around the room, picking up photos her mother had kept on her bureau and nightstands. She knew people thought her mother had come from money, but the photos told the real story. Even when she smiled, her mother looked tired. She’d raised Kate by herself, determined her daughter would have a better life than she’d had. Her mother hadn’t spoken much of her own childhood or her family. She’d only said that moving far away from them and Kate’s biological father had been a difficult, but necessary, decision.
Growing up, Kate had been very aware of how hard her mother worked to pay for her private school and music lessons. The amount of money she’d left Kate in her will was testament to her determination to provide for her daughter.
Holding up a picture of her mother holding her in her arms and smiling down at her, Kate sat on the corner of her bed. Do you regret the choices you made, Mom? Do you ever wish you’d come home early to take me to
the park or read me bedtime stories instead of working extra hours to pay for my private tutors? In the long run, does it matter if I can speak three languages?
She could almost hear her mother telling her to stop letting her emotions control her and just do what had to be done. Get in. Get out.
I wish I could, Mom. I know holding onto your stuff won’t bring you back. I know you didn’t want me to return to this house, this town. Why do I feel like I need to be here?
Kate placed the photo back on the table and tossed the cardboard box on the floor near the bed. She stood and smoothed the bed sheets before walking out of the room and closing the door quietly behind her.
The doorbell rang and she jumped in surprise. No one visited her house. No one ever had.
Kate rushed to the door and peered out the small windows centered in the door’s upper half. There was no one there. She opened the door, looked around, and was about to retreat inside when she noticed a beautifully decorated gift box lying in the middle of her welcome mat. She picked it up and, unable to see any trace of who might have left it, carried it back into her house.
She placed it on her kitchen table and paced beside it. There was a chance it could be from Wayne. He’d promised to have their final divorce papers to her that week. However, the box was small and rectangular. It would have been an odd shape for such a document.
Plus, wrapping divorce papers in gold paper, then topping them with a big red velvet bow, would be a sick joke. Wayne might be self-absorbed and ruled by the whims of his indiscriminate dick, but he wasn’t cruel. Not that kind of cruel.
If he sent a bomb, it’s a tiny one.
And why would he want to off me when I’m walking away from him without asking for a dime?
Kate weighed the box in her hand. As she moved it, she heard something sliding back and forth inside. Okay, now I have to know.
She ripped off the bow and wrapping paper and opened the white box she found inside. It held a cell phone and a black piece of paper with a note written in gold ink.
Dear Kate,
Your letter has been received and processed. Santa doesn’t grant the type of Christmas wish you requested, but I do.
In the spirit of the holiday, I’ll offer you twelve temptations that will guide you to what you’re craving. In return, you will follow my instructions and tell me every juicy detail of your journey.
We will communicate only through texts.
Temptation number one is right in front of you. Turn on the phone, Kate. I’m the only number in there.
Waiting to hear from you,
Head Elf in charge of the Naughty List
P.S. I’d take you up on the offer to fuck you, but this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I can show you how to get what you want, but you have to be brave enough to turn on the phone.
Kate dropped the letter on the table and stood. This is even sicker than I’d imagined. Some wackjob found my letter and now thinks he can get his jollies this way?
Who in their right mind would turn that phone on?
No one.
Head Elf?
Most likely some perverted old guy found my letter.
Eww.
Or, double ewwww, a horny teenager.
Kate reread the letter. All the spelling was correct, so she crossed off the teenage boy as an option. Still, the possibilities of who had written it were limitless and included some downright disgusting men.
She considered throwing the phone right in the trash.
Giving it to the police.
Or tossing it out her front door to show the author of the letter exactly what she thought of his proposal. That would send a clear message.
Or I could tell him he’s a pig. He’s waiting for a text from me.
She picked up the phone and turned it on. She texted:
You sick bastard. I am going to give this phone and your letter to the police if you ever contact me again.
A moment later, the phone vibrated to announce an incoming text: Do it. While you’re there, tell them what you wrote to me.
I didn’t write anything to you. I don’t even know who you are.
Yes, you do. I’m the elf in charge of granting naughty Christmas wishes.
Kate rolled her eyes and texted: An elf? Really? Wow, that’s a sexy image.
I told you. This is not about me. But by the end of our time together, you will fuck whoever I tell you to.
Kate dropped the phone, then scrambled to pick it up. I am throwing this phone in the trash, along with your letter. I’m not interested in whatever perverted game you’re playing.
There is nothing perverted about learning how to please yourself, Kate. And nothing’s wrong with wanting to enjoy sex.
Would you stop talking to me like you know me?
I do know you. I’m an elf. We know everyone.
You’re delusional.
And you’re tempted. You’ll receive a present from me every day for the next eleven days, Kate. Text me when you open them, and I’ll tell you what to do.
I’m not doing this.
He didn’t answer.
And even though it made no sense at all, Kate didn’t throw the phone away. She placed it in her purse, threw on her coat, and decided to clear her head by getting out of the house. Too much time alone was definitely affecting her ability to think straight.
***
Brock was getting a coffee to go at Molly’s Café when Kate walked in. She looked around at the full tables like a new student assessing where to sit during lunch. People assumed she was stuck-up because she didn’t smile at them, but he’d always thought she would if they gave her half a chance.
He met her at the door. “Good morning, Kate.”
She jumped in surprise, and her face transformed as she recognized him. “I remember you. Brock Foster, right?” She removed her gloves and tucked them into the pockets of her coat.
His cock jutted in his pants at the memory of their earlier conversation, but Brock carefully kept his expression neutral. “Having breakfast here?”
She looked around again with an almost wistful look on her face. “No, just getting a coffee to go.”
He glanced down at his watch. He was already ten minutes later than he’d planned to be, but there were perks to being his own boss. “I was about to order something myself, but I hate to eat alone.”
She smiled at that. “Me, too.”
“Join me?” he asked spontaneously, not really expecting her to agree.
“Yes, thank you,” she said.
He cursed his persistent hard-on for making it difficult to come up with anything intelligent to say. Instead of speaking, he waved at an empty table and followed her there. Once they were seated, he said, “So, you’re back in town.” Real witty, he thought.
“I am,” she said softly, nervously opening and closing the glossy menu.
“For how long?”
She looked skyward, then toward the door, obviously uncomfortable with his question. “I don’t know. As long as it takes. I have to clean out my mother’s house.”
Brock instantly felt like an ass for sending her the phone and the note. Kate needed a friend more than she needed a fuck. “I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
The waitress came by and asked if they were ready to order. Kate opened her menu, scanned it, then looked up at her with shiny eyes as if she were on the verge of crying. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I want.”
More than anything Brock wanted to reach across the table, take her hand in his, and tell her everything would be okay. Instead he said, “Why don’t you have something you normally wouldn’t? What do you usually say no to because you think it’s too indulgent?”
Kate’s eyes flew to his, and he cursed himself for being too obvious. He waited for her to call him out and ask if he was the pervert who’d sent her the phone, but she didn’t. She shook her head as if shaking off a silly idea, then looked
down at the menu again. “The chocolate pancakes, I guess. With whipped cream. And a cherry.”
Brock almost groaned at the image that put in his head. He knew just where he’d put the cream, and how much he’d enjoy licking it off.
“And what about you, sir?” the waitress asked.
“I want whatever she wants,” he said and kicked himself. “I mean, whatever she ordered. I’ll have that.” The waitress poured coffee for both of them and Brock gulped it down. Calm down. You’re going to blow this. After a quiet moment, Brock said, “That can’t be easy—cleaning out your mom’s house. Do you have someone helping you?”
Kate looked away and shook her head. “No, no one. I’m sure you’ve heard my marriage tanked.”
“I did. The guy must have been an idiot to screw things up with you.”
Kate looked at Brock and smiled. “Thanks. You always were a nice guy, Brock. That’s what I remember most about you.”
Great. Nice. That’s the no-fuck page in every woman’s little black book. If he asked her out right then, Brock had no doubt she’d refuse. He considered himself reasonably attractive. He kept himself in good shape. Dressed well. Women normally chased him. But he wasn’t good enough for Untouchable Kate. The challenge of changing her mind made the game he’d outlined for the next two weeks suddenly feel acceptable again.
For this to work, he’d have to keep up her impression of him as unthreatening. “I have some guys who owe me some extra hours. I can send a couple of them over to pack or move things if you need help.”
She smiled at him again. “That is an extremely generous offer, but one I must refuse. This is something I have to do myself. And I will do it. I just have to get my head sorted out.”
Twelve Days of Temptation Page 2