“I…I can finish that.” Her fingers fumbled at the last few buttons, while he moved away from her.
“Right.” His voice was rough as he strode to the door and yanked it open, letting in a blast of frigid air.
He didn’t look to see if she followed, and she had to trot to catch up with his long strides. “What’s Mary Kelly’s desire, and why’re you bringing me along?”
He kept distance between them, not glancing her way. “Mary can tell you her desire. And I brought you along to show you that desires do come true. Maybe not exactly when we want them, but more like when we need them, when it’s right for them.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, does it?”
She cast him a cautious glance. “Not exactly.” She had to know something. “Did you make your desires come true at the right time? Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d had all this when you were a kid?”
He finally looked at her. “Maybe, maybe not. If I’d had all this when I was young, I might not have worked so hard, fought my way up to being a success. My desires were my incentive. What’s your incentive, Jenny?”
She tugged the collar of her coat higher around her ears. “I don’t need an incentive.”
“Wow, what a woman. No dreams, no incentives. Self-motivated to the core.” His glance mocked her. “But wait, there’s a crack in your armor. Your dream about having a fling with some man.”
Only with you, no one else. The truth leaped out and bit her before she could run. She wanted to squirm away from it, deny it, but it held on and tightened its grip. “You’re good at twisting words, Sloan.”
He ignored her comment. “What about happy, Flame? Are you happy with your life?”
“Sure, I’m happy. What’s not to be happy about?” Her words came out in little white puffs of defiance.
“Hey.” He held up his hand. “Just asking.”
Strange, he was still fuming over the plan she’d cooked up with Carole and her assumption he was a doing-what-feels-good kind of guy. Sure, he wasn’t into long-term relationships. And sure, any man would jump at the chance to have a fling with Jenny. So what was he so ticked off about? Damned if he knew.
But no matter how angry he was, he still wanted her to be happy in her life, not just in his bed. And it seemed to be getting more important by the minute. Why? The personal happiness of a woman had never driven his past relationships.
He cast her a sideways glance as she stomped along beside him. Didn’t look like she was thinking happy thoughts right now.
Exhaling a breath of resignation, Sloan reached out and clasped her hand. He was rewarded when she turned to him with a brilliant smile. She certainly had no trouble making him happy.
He kept her hand warm in his all the way to Mary’s house. “Okay, go up, knock on her door, then when she answers, tell her you’re Santa’s helper, and he’s on his way down.”
She blinked. “Santa’s helper? Down? Down where?”
He leaned over and kissed her on the nose. “Down the chimney. See you in a few minutes.”
Sloan turned and strode toward the back of the house, where a ladder awaited him. He hoped to God Mary had had them build that chimney wide enough.
Jenny didn’t give herself a chance to stand and ponder. Climbing the steps to the big old Victorian house, she rang the bell. No matter how crazy this whole thing seemed, she had to admit it was more fun than sitting in front of her computer looking for tax loopholes that Smith Inc. could crawl through.
The small gray-haired woman who opened the door was everyone’s image of a grandmother. She offered Jenny a kind smile. “Yes, dear?”
Jenny waited expectantly for her next words which would obviously be, “Have a cookie.” Nope. No cookie offer.
Okay, she could do this. Jenny opened her mouth and forced the ridiculous words past lips that hadn’t uttered a ridiculous word in years. Until Sloan Mitello rang your bell. “Umm. I’m Santa’s helper, and he’s on his way down.”
The small woman actually clapped her hands, and Jenny muttered a mental Oh boy.
The woman reached out, grasped Jenny’s hand, and dragged her into the house. “Come in, come in, dear. I’m Mary Kelly and this is so exciting.”
Jenny allowed herself to be led into a large living room that looked like it had been lifted from a Currier and Ives print. Large overstuffed chairs, doilies, knickknacks, a gigantic tree decorated with what must be hundreds of balls, and a huge fireplace that was blessedly, at least for Sloan’s sake, unlit.
Now, how to phrase her question in a diplomatic way. “And what is Santa bringing you to night?”
Mary laughed. “Oh, he’s not bringing me anything tonight. I’m just going to sit on his knee and tell him what I want.”
Jenny forgot about diplomacy. “Sit on his knee?”
Mary’s smile widened. “Let me guess. Santa got you from the Santa’s-Helpers-for-Hire temp ser vice, and he hasn’t had time to fill you in.”
Jenny was past words. She nodded and cast a nervous glance at the chimney. If the scrabbling sounds on the roof were any indication, Santa was about to make a dramatic appearance. And not a minute too soon.
Mary laid a comforting hand on Jenny’s arm. Jenny noted the boulder-sized diamond in Mary’s ring and did some readjusting on her grandmother image. No flour-covered hands fresh from baking Christmas treats for the grandkiddies here.
“I’m not crazy, dear. Sit down, sit down.” She pointed to the nearest chair. Jenny sank into the soft cushion and wondered if Mary would be interested in a trade for a designer couch. “I come from a family that didn’t believe in filling children’s heads with useless dreams. When my friends were standing in line at Wanamaker’s to see Santa, I was being told there was no such person, and you only got in life what you worked for.”
She sat down on the chair’s arm and peered at the chimney where grunts and muttered curses echoed.
Jenny bit her lip to keep from grinning. No ho-ho-ho’s. Maybe Santa shouldn’t have chowed down on that last hoagie.
Mary sighed and glanced back at Jenny. “My parents were good people, but they didn’t understand that everyone needs dreams, even if they’re just small ones.” Standing, Mary moved to the fireplace, knelt down, then peered up the chimney. Satisfied that Santa didn’t need rescuing yet, she came back to Jenny’s chair.
“By the time I was old enough to do what I wanted, I was also too old to sit on Santa’s knee. Clients wouldn’t have much confidence in me if they saw me sitting on Santa’s knee in some mall.” She patted Jenny’s hand. “Their trust is so fragile.”
Jenny was getting more and more concerned. Come on, Sloan. “What do you do?”
“I’m a corporate lawyer.” Mary straightened the doily on the chair’s arm.
Corporate lawyer?
Mary smiled. “My colleagues call me The Shark. A silly title, don’t you think?”
Jenny gulped. “Right. Silly.” Luckily, she was saved from having to make further comment as Santa’s feet, legs, hips, and buns slid from the chimney. Then stopped.
“Where’s the rest of Santa?” Mary sounded aggrieved. Half a Santa would probably be grounds for a breach of contract suit.
Jenny jumped to her feet and hurried to the chimney.
“Ho, ho, ho! Santa’s stuck. Santa’s helper needs to give Santa some help now.” Santa did not sound amused.
Jenny felt she would explode with the effort to hold back her laughter.
“I had that chimney built specifically for Santa. Obviously the company didn’t get the dimensions right. I’ll talk to their lawyers tomorrow.”
Somehow, Jenny felt sorry for the chimney builders. But she didn’t have time to worry about anything right now except getting Sloan out of that chimney.
Wrapping her arms around his hips, she pulled. Nothing. Well, almost nothing.
Her cheek was pressed against his buns. Firm buns. Muscular buns. She could feel them clench. A woman
of experience would rub her cheek against them, maybe even indulge in some appreciative purring. All she could manage was a rise in heat at the point of contact.
“Jenny?” His voice was husky, almost strangled. She hoped the sides of the chimney weren’t pressing on any vital organs.
“What?” A woman of experience would place her lips on one mouthwatering bun and slide her tongue across the rounded contour. Too bad. There would be no Santa bun for Jenny. On the up side, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting rid of the cotton taste.
“How’re you doing, dear?” Mary’s voice sounded anxious.
“Fine. Just fine.” Snuggling her face against his bun, she gave another ineffectual yank. Darn, bun-lust had made her weak.
“Jenny!” Sloan’s voice sounded desperate.
“Hmm?”
“I can’t come out like this.”
“Why not?” She was having a real hard time concentrating. She’d refocus. In a minute. A woman of experience might gently nip his bun. She considered it.
“Dammit, Jenny, move your hands up.”
She blinked. What did her hands have to do with anything? But obediently, she slid her fingers up to his groin. She widened her eyes at the same time she reluctantly dropped her hands from him. Wow. That certainly refocused her. She knew the many things an experienced woman would do with that. After all, she’d seen Carole’s tape.
“Jenny, get Mary to pull me out.” His words came in gasping breaths as though he’d just finished a race. “By the legs.”
“Sure.” She hadn’t wanted to let go. She’d wanted to fill her hands with him, fill her with him.
She sure hoped Sloan decided she was ready soon. Not only was she ready, she was overripe and on the verge of falling off the vine.
“I…I can’t budge him, Mary. You try.”
Mary nodded. Taking Jenny’s place, she wrapped her arms around Sloan’s legs and yanked. He popped from the chimney like a champagne cork.
Keeping his back to them, he dusted himself off, then grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair. “Ho, ho, ho! Come sit on Santa’s knee, Mary, and tell him what you want for Christmas.”
Dropping into a chair, he plopped the pillow onto his lap, then patted his knee. Mary sat on his knee, then waited expectantly.
“Have you been a good little girl, Mary Kelly?” Sloan’s breathing had returned to normal.
“Oh, yes.” Mary frowned. “Except for maybe that hostile takeover, but that’s not important.”
“Well, tell Santa what you want him to bring.”
Mary’s eyes took on a predatory gleam. “I want a new Lexus. Black. I want a condo in Atlantic City near the casinos and with a water view. I want stock in Dell, Microsoft, and Amazon. Oh, and I need someone good to organize my home.” She blinked. “I’m not being greedy am I, Santa?”
“Santa thinks you deserve those things. I’ll be making my list and checking it twice, Mary, and I’d just bet you’ll have a very merry Christmas.”
A Lexus? Jenny wondered how she could get on Santa’s list.
Mary cast Jenny a sly glance. “Santa, there’s someone else waiting to sit on your lap. I want her to go next.”
“Me?” Jenny glanced behind her. Yep, no one else around. “I don’t want anything for Christmas.”
“Of course you do, dear.” Mary’s gaze sharpened. “This is part of my dream. I want someone else waiting to talk to Santa.”
“Part of your dream, huh?” Jenny glanced at Sloan, who was frantically shaking his head. “Since you put it that way…”
Mary slipped off of Santa’s knee, and Jenny sidled over to stand in front of him. No time like the present to start on this experience thing. If she was going to do it, she might as well do it right.
Jenny tried to control her smile. It wasn’t her regular one. She could tell from the way her lips felt that it was a cat smile. If a cat could smile.
She drew her tongue slowly over her bottom lip and watched Sloan’s eyes widen, then narrow. While he was busy interpreting the meanings of her cat smile and lip licking, she whipped the pillow from his lap and planted herself firmly in its place.
“Oh, my. Look at the time.” Mary bustled toward the doorway. “I have to make a business call. Don’t do anything important without me.”
Jenny didn’t even notice when Mary left. She was too involved with wiggling her bottom deeper into Santa’s lap.
“That might not be the safest position, Flame.” Sloan’s low growl signaled the end of his Santa persona. “Could lead to a growing problem.”
“It already is.” Jenny couldn’t control the breathless sound of her voice.
“Maybe we need to examine our option.”
“Option? Singular? Maybe we need to enlarge our choices.” She couldn’t stop herself from sliding her bottom across his lap.
“I already have.” He moved beneath her, the thrust of his hips strong. “And if you don’t stop rubbing that tempting bottom against me, I’ll exercise my option right now and disgrace the Santa image forever.”
She opened her eyes wide. “And would that be your Option Claus?”
He buried his face against her neck and groaned. “That was awful, Jenny.”
She breathed out, the sexual tension broken for the moment. “I guess I need to tell you what I want for Christmas.”
“Hey, Santa’s my name and gifts are my game. Let’s hear it.”
Okay, she wouldn’t be greedy. She’d only ask for a few things. Nothing big or expensive. She did need a new couch.
“I want…a horse and some chocolate syrup.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sloan was attuned to her every breath, every movement as they walked back to his house. She probably regretted her impulsive wishes already, but it was too late. Much too late.
The snow muffled their steps, but nothing could muffle the pounding of his heart, the surge of blood gathering in one strategic area, the desire that built with every white puff of breath he breathed into the cold air.
First things first. Reaching out, he took her hand into his. He felt the slight tremble of her fingers.
He said nothing, allowing the warmth to creep back into her hand, allowing the trembling to still. She had to sense the need that churned in him, that urged him to lay her down in the snowy bank beside that old maple tree and make love to her until the snow turned to steam.
“So, do you do those things often, Sloan?”
She wiggled her fingers in his hand, and he tightened his grasp. No escape, Flame.
“I never do those things. My assistants take care of the warm fuzzies. But Mary’s a friend and lives close by, so I made an exception. I just do the interesting stuff.” Ask me what the interesting stuff is.
She didn’t ask. “Those were some pretty big promises you made to Mary. Won’t she be disappointed on Christmas morning?”
He smiled. “Mary has four ex-husbands. All CEO’s of major companies. You want to talk about power behind the throne? Let’s just say each of them will ante up to keep Mary happy.”
“How’d you meet Mary?”
“Through one of her ex-husbands. Even shiftless wanderers make friends once in a while.”
She cast him a sharp glance. “You’ll never forget what I said, will you?”
He smiled. “Not unless you give me a reason to.”
She seemed lost in thought as they approached his house. He admired the blaze of light. His neighbors’ puny efforts at tasteful holiday decorations paled in comparison.
“You know, I bet your house gives the airport fits.”
He exhaled sharply. “Okay, I’ll bite.”
She slanted him a teasing grin. “How many planes have tried to land in your backyard because they thought they’d spotted the runway lights?”
He abandoned her hand and slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “What can I say? I’m a man of large appetites. I like bright lights, big houses, and warm women.”
She molded herself clo
ser to his side, and he tightened his grip. Funny how perspectives changed over the years. In high school, she’d been a pal. A little too serious most of the time. A little too disapproving of him.
Now? She’d never be just a pal to him again, not with the sizzle and spark that leaped between them. He was busy deciding how to explore all that sizzle and spark when he looked up to see Ridley waiting at the door. Not a good sign.
“Thought you were gone for the night, Ridley.”
“Someone has to maintain your site, sir.” He carefully pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped a smudge of dirt from his face.
Jenny looked puzzled. “I didn’t know you helped Sloan with his website, Ridley.”
“I was not speaking of a website, madam.” Dismissing Jenny, he turned back to Sloan. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you have in mind, sir, but making frequent trips to add water to it will, of course, count as overtime.”
“Right. Overtime.”
“You water Sloan’s plants for him?”
“Hardly, madam.” Ridley lifted his chin into the air and moved past Jenny.
Sloan watched Ridley climb into his car, then turned back to answer Jenny’s obvious next question.
“What was he talking about, Sloan?”
Sloan rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the tension. “Who knows.”
“You’re lying. You always rubbed the back of your neck when you were lying.”
Sloan dropped his hand. “Let’s go in the garden room entrance.”
“Why? What was Ridley talking about? What’re you trying to hide? And why’re we going in this entrance?”
Sloan turned his back to her barrage of questions as he unlocked the door, then turned around to face her.
“Why’d Ridley have dirt on his face? I don’t—”
Wordlessly, he scooped her up in his arms, kicked open the door, stepped into the darkened room, kicked the door shut, then dropped her into his ornamental-pond-turned-mud-puddle.