Naughty St. Nick (3 page)

Impossible
.

He constantly crept into her brain. She constantly dealt with the tug-o-war that was her sensible side and the burning desire she had to throw caution to the wind.

Such a dangerous game to play, even if it only a mental one.

Or one now grounded in reality—because Nick strolled toward her.

She caught the glimpse of him in her peripheral vision and her pulse kicked up several notches. He was at her elbow before she could close the lid on her laptop and escape out the side door.

“Hey, Vix.” His deep, sensual voice rolled slowly down her spine like warm honey. Making her squirm in a suddenly hot and bothered way.

He reached for the chair next to her, jerked it around and straddled the seat.

Peering suspiciously at him from under sooty lashes, she simply said, “Nick.”

Simply
? Yeah, right.

Her tone was low and sultry. Belying the tingles that ran rampant through her body. The way they always did when Nick was near.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he commented as he unabashedly took her in, from her plump, dark curls that she’d pulled up on the sides, leaving soft tendrils around her temple, to her blue eyes she always accented with smoky shadow and glam-black mascara, to her glossy lips. His gaze lingered there a moment, making her breath catch, before dropping to her chest, which suddenly rose and fell with her now-shallow breathing.

He seemed reluctant to drag his attention from her breasts, capturing her gaze again, an unapologetic grin on his face and fire in his eyes.

Vixen felt the effects of that scorching look to the depths of her soul. She crossed her legs and pressed her thighs together as a tickle between them ratcheted her pulse even higher. Heat burst on her cheeks and she had to tilt her head away, in hopes of hiding her instant, innate response to Nick.

“You know, you get prettier every day,” he said in is warm, intimate timbre.

Vixen knew better than to let him bait her with flattery. Even if it was incredibly sweet and so sincere-sounding that she truly wanted to believe he wasn’t just mindlessly flirting.

She knew better.

Forcing herself to ignore his compliment entirely, she said, “You haven’t seen me around because I’ve been busy.”
Avoiding you
. She bit back a sigh. It was pretty much a fulltime job. “I’ve been spending time in Bangor. My aunt has a bookstore there, remember? I’ve been filling in for her staff when they go on vacation or have family emergencies. Or when she’s just plain shorthanded.”

Her most recent stint had lasted an entire month. She’d missed North Pole the whole time. And despite knowing that keeping Nick out of her immediate line of vision was for the best—until she
someday
broke free of this ridiculous attraction she felt toward him—she’d yearned for those moments when she’d catch sight of him as much as she’d longed to return to their quirky little town.

But her Aunt Noelle was the only family Vixen had left. She’d lived in North Pole up until Vixen’s mother had passed when Vixen was just sixteen. Noelle had married and now she and her husband were happily settled in Bangor.

“Well, it’s nice to have you back,” Nick said in a quiet, arousing tone. His bedroom voice, she suspected. Definitely one that would make a woman roll over and spread her legs.

Vixen mentally shook the thought from her head and held her moan in check. Nick did things to her—without doing anything at all.

How cruel was the universe, really?

With the to-go cup of coffee in his hand, he gestured toward her computer. “New book?”

“Not exactly. I mean, yes. It’s supposed to be. But so far...” She shrugged a shoulder. “The ideas aren’t exactly flowing.”

He regarded her a few moments, then said, “We’re all lacking the Christmas spirit around here.”

“Kind of unfortunate.” A heavy weight filled her heart at the thought. “Really, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. I feel like...we’ve all just given up.” With a self-deprecating laugh, she added, “Not exactly a surprise. How long could holiday magic last in a town like this, when we were all hit hard with the recession? Lots of people lost hope...faith....”

“Including you?” he asked with a raised brow.

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “Not quite sure what I’m feeling. Just that it hasn’t been the same around here these past few years, and maybe that’s why I can’t come up with anything to write about. For most authors, fiction is fantasy. Make believe. For me, it was typical North Pole stuff that was the norm for all of us in town, and delighted those kids who could only imagine and dream of living in a year-round winter wonderland.”

“Some wonderland,” he said with a snort. “And our winter is one endless heat wave.”

“Yeah, I even had to order more short-sleeved shirts because the warm temps are relentless, when we should be wearing sweaters and scarves.”

Nick’s jaw tightened, a hint of disgruntlement crossing his sculpted features. Not a normal expression for the hot-to-trot bad boy.

“Something wrong?” she asked, though she knew to tread lightly. No need to get
too
involved with Nick. “Other than the fact that it feels like we’re in Florida in the middle of December, not Maine?”

“Just have some things on my mind.” He seemed purposely to loosen his jaw. Then he gave her a half-assed grin. The really sexy kind that only lifted one corner of his mouth and left her insides blazing. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Sure. Right.” Her pulse continued to race for no good reason. “Okay.”

Urgh!
What was with the Marilyn Monroe voice?

Get a grip, Vix!

No such luck. Nick took the side exit, disappearing out the door while she still sat breathless and bewildered over the unexpected exchange, and wondering if there would ever come a day when flames didn’t dance over her skin and fire didn’t roar through her veins at the sight of Nick—and the sound of
his
evocative voice.

Likely not.

She went back to staring at her synopsis, giving it a half-hearted attempt because her mind was elsewhere. On Nick, when it absolutely should not be.

Several iced teas and trips to the ladies’ room later, Vixen knew it was time to call it a night. She’d forced the two pages of notes she’d made and wasn’t at all sure if she’d nailed the direction she wanted to take with the book.

It was quiet in the bakery. Just about everyone but the staff had cleared out. It was
too
quiet, because Jenny didn’t play carols over the sound system three hundred and sixty-five days a year the way she used to and that only added to the un-merry atmosphere.

Vixen packed up her laptop and retrieved her wallet to lay out a tip for her friend, though the tea station was basically self-serve. Since she occupied a table for a couple of hours, she always left extra cash—which Jenny fussed over, insisting it wasn’t necessary.

She was about to sling the strap of her bag over her shoulder when, suddenly, the entire bakery was alight with a dazzling golden glow.

“Oh!” She instinctively raised a hand and ducked her head to shield her eyes. When they adjusted, she lowered her hand. The warm holiday glimmer surrounding her reminded Vixen of the oldest tradition in North Pole—the tree-lighting ceremony.

But it’d been cancelled this year and everyone was pretty much boycotting Christmas.

Or were they?

Her head snapped up at the thought—and the way the few people in the bakery rushed to the windows to stare at the spectacle before them in the beloved town square. Not only were the burned-out lights on the grand tree fixed, but all of the clear bulbs seemed to have been replaced with ultra-bright ones that illuminated the entire square and the encompassing streets and building fronts.

“Look at how beautiful that is!” Jenny gasped.

Vixen was stunned into silence. While the others rushed outside to see what was going on, Vixen simply stared at the monstrously tall tree in all its vibrant Christmas glory.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She was out of her chair in a heartbeat and lunging toward the window, planting her hands on the sill and staring out into the sparkling night. Vixen saw two tall, hulking figures—one she immediately recognized despite not seeing his face—sneaking off with the huge star from the tree, neither of which had been lit all year.

“It can’t be...” she mumbled to herself, since the entire store had cleared out, leaving her alone with one curious and confusing thought.

Vixen frowned.

Why would Nick and his accomplice steal the town’s prized star?

Chapter Four

Two nights later, Vixen still hadn’t made any progress on her book, unless you considered writing
Chapter One
progress. She’d eeked out those two words, at least. Thank God she wasn’t under contract and deadline, or she’d be screwed. At the rate she was going, it was debatable whether she’d even have the story done in time to have it published
three
Christmases from now.

Pacing the living room did little to rouse her muse or calm her nerves. Money was tight and she really needed to generate some new royalties.

Determined to push forward, she was about to head back to the dining room table where she’d left her laptop when she heard music.
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
, to be exact.

A joyful laugh—uncharacteristic of late—escaped her parted lips. Like so many other things in town, there hadn’t been carolers for years, and it was good to finally hear them again. She rushed to the front door and yanked it open, excited by the prospect of finding Christmas revelers crowded onto her tiny front porch. But when she stepped outside, there was no one in sight.

Her brow furrowed. The music still drifted on the warm breeze, all cheery and upbeat and rock-n-rollish. It was the Bruce Springsteen version she’d always loved. And it sounded as though it came from across the street. But that was impossible. Nick’s house, which he’d bought from his parents not long after Vixen’s granddad had died and they’d moved south, sat directly across from hers, and these days, he was no more an ambassador of the holidays than anyone else in town.

In fact, he’d absconded with North Pole’s cherished star—a landmark in its own right— under the cloak of darkness.

Well...not exactly. Technically, it hadn’t been the cloak of darkness. When she’d seen Nick scurrying off with the star, the bright lights from the Christmas tree had been blazing like a ball of fire on a hot summer day. So in reality, he hadn’t snuck off. Then again...he hadn’t yet returned the star, either.

“What are you up to, Nick?” she murmured.

While the thought festered in her mind, the object of her never-ending desire popped his head up from behind one of her shrubs, which was covered with a web of Christmas lights that had died a slow death over the past couple of years. The bulbs had started to flicker a while back. Then they’d taken turns flashing erratically before they’d slowed to a hypnotic pulsing that made one drowsy if they stared at them for more than a minute or two. Finally, they’d given up altogether, and every single one of them had decided to take a permanent hiatus at the exact same time.

Vixen hadn’t been inclined to resuscitate the twinkle lights. It was too costly to maintain them and, in all honesty, what was the point?

“Hey there, Vix,” Nick said. “Thought you’d be at Sugar Plums tonight.”

As was always the case when she laid eyes on her tall, hot and hunky neighbor, she let out a quiet sigh of appreciation. Then she tried to compose herself, tried to remember how dangerous it was to be so excited whenever she saw him. Especially with that edgy
I’m too hot for
your
own good
vibe he had going on that screamed
heartbreaker
.

Yes, he’d broken his fair share. Perhaps hers as well, in a sense, since she’d secretly pined for him since the third or fourth grade. Back then, he’d been known as Little St. Nick, because he’d always gone around town after school or on the weekends and helped the residents with various tasks. He’d washed cars, mowed lawns, painted fences and so on.

When Mrs. Ivy’s arthritis flared up, Nick would prune the award-winning rose bushes she grew in her greenhouse. She’d give him several stems for his trouble—apparently, Nick had refused to accept payment for his good deeds.

One bloom would go to his mother, one would go to their teacher and the other two or three would secretly be placed on the desks of the girls he favored at any given moment. Usually a different girl each time, but never, ever Vixen.

She knew of his secret gift giving because her mother had been their teacher the first year he’d started handing out the roses.

Admittedly, Vixen had always longed for one of her own. It seemed just about every day she’d raced to school, hoping and praying along the way that
that
day would be the day she found a rose on her desk.

It had never happened.

The somber thought helped her to collect herself. She said, in answer to his question, “I wasn’t in the mood to write.” Turning the tables on him, she asked, “What are you doing in my front yard?”

His grin was as vibrant as the now-glittery lights in her lawn. “Your nativity set was looking a bit dreary. All the bulbs burned out.”

“Yeah, they lost the good fight about two weeks ago.”

He frowned. His brow dipped as he said, in a surprisingly contemplative tone, “More than half the lights in North Pole are out.”

Vixen looked up and down their street, making a sudden discovery. “But they’re all working on our block now.” That had not been the case yesterday. “And the tree in the square... Hey, did you fix all of the lights on our street?”

He seemed to debate whether he wanted to tell her the truth or not. Finally, he caved and said, “Let’s keep that between the two of us, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes on him, once again posing the million-dollar question. “What are you up to, Nick?”

He gave a casual shrug of one broad shoulder. Though he feigned nonchalance, there was a look of contrition on his ruggedly handsome face. “Something I should have done long ago.”