The Elf and the Ice Princess (4 page)

Her sweater, or
an identical copy, lay inside. A relieved smile found her lips. She could
actually keep this, since he had ruined her other one. Which meant she could
keep the paper.

She pulled it out
of the package, felt the fabric and her joy burst. No, this wasn’t an identical
copy. This was the real thing—designer—while hers had been a knock-off she’d
picked up for cheap. The blush turned to a burn. “I—I can’t accept this.”

“I ruined
yours—”

“It’s
really okay—”

“Take it.”

She thrust
the garment at him. “This isn’t the same sweater.”

“It’s the
closest I could find. I’m sorry.” He frowned, the first truly downtrodden look
she’d seen on him, and it made her feel even worse.

“No, you don’t
understand.” Carrie held up her other hand to stop his next protest and
reminded herself she’d earned her shame back when she’d let Lora imply the
sweater was expensive. “My sweater was cheap. You don’t owe me this.”

Brett
slowly blinked, long eyelashes making a stark contrast to his pale cheeks as
understanding dawned. But he didn’t say anything.

“So return
it and get your money back. I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but I was
rude, and you don’t owe me anything. I’m sorry.”

To her
surprise, he chuckled. “I have a friend who gets me a heck of a discount. It’s
okay. It’s a gift.”

“No,
really—”

“Yes, really. It
matches your eyes.” He looked away from her, as if his confidence was suddenly
shot, and bent down to gather the fallen paper. “And,” he finally mumbled, “my
number’s in there if you ever want to call me.”

Surprised, she
stood up, trying to come up with a nice way to say no. He stood at the same
time to hand her the wrapping, and they ended up too close, her nose almost
brushing against his chest. That same interest wound through her, his proximity
speeding her pulse and making the air feel thin.

“Sorry.” He
backed up a step.

“Are we, uh, even
attracted to each other?” That didn’t make sense as a protest. He wouldn’t ask
if he wasn’t attracted to her. And, despite her attempts to think otherwise,
his appeal bordered on electromagnetic.

“
I
think so. I
don’t know about you.” He took the step back into her bubble, leaned down and
Carrie found herself kissed by a six-some-odd-foot man in an elf suit.

Bordered
on
electromagnetic? Nuh-uh. Supercharged and sparking. After a moment of shock,
her body softened against his synthetic velvet britches as her fingers curled
into his surprisingly soft hair. The heat of his kiss warmed her inside and
out, bringing her up onto her toes to get closer. He straightened, and she
stretched until he was carrying her weight, pressing her against a body that
was firm and lithe and dangerously masculine beneath the innocent outfit.

When he
pulled back, he didn’t let her go, just kept her clutched up to him. His eyes
had darkened, and he trembled, as if he, too, had been blindsided by that kiss.
Clearing his throat, he shifted uncomfortably, his unsteady breath puffing
gently against her hair. “I thought that might help you decide, so, uh, will
you go out with me now?”

“You taste
like spearmint candy,” she said in awe. He was a Christmas elf. He
would
taste
like mint candy. Like a big, lickable…dammit. Carrie forced the world to steady
around her as she focused on his teeth. Bright and perfectly straight, like a
guy in a dentist’s advertisement. Maybe she should follow Lora’s advice and
start dating around again if kissing a polyester-costumed stranger in the break
room of Santaland—even one as tall, dark and handsome as Brett—had her in a
near swoon. But hot, hot,
hot
damn…

“Does that
mean yes or no?”

Just say no
.
Dating casually was a maybe. A brand new maybe. Anything resembling more than
that was bad, and she was already starting to like this guy. “Uh…” She couldn’t
seem to get any further than that.

“Huh. Okay.”
Brett set her back on her feet and backed away, brushing his palms against his
suit as he pursed his lips and his brain cogs went churning. She was a little
afraid of what he would come up with next. Afraid and big time curious. “We
have an appointment with Santa.”

That zapped
off the lusty haze. “What? Santa?” Surely he was kidding.

No, he wasn’t.
This was Brett who did nothing normal. “I told you we were cutting in line.
Let’s go. Your stuff will be safe here.” Once again he grabbed her hand and
tugged. The opened door sent forth a blast of “Feliz Navidad.”

“Santa is
for kids!” she squeaked then dazedly waved at the multitude they met outside.

Brett
dragged her through the line, past all the children waiting to tell Santa what
impossible crap they wanted this year. Most families seemed to consist of a mom
and two sugared-up children, but one family stopped her mid-stride.

A blond man and
an auburn-haired woman with two perfectly dressed youngsters ignored the chaos
around them to engage in a cheerful debate over what reindeer ate. The elder
daughter laughed, the sound of a blissful childhood clear and perfect in the
lilting cadence. Carrie dug in her heels, yanking Brett to a halt.

She hated
Christmas, hated all the materialism and hypocrisy of it, but suddenly she
wanted to cry because she would never be there, like that beautiful family,
with children of her own in red and green plaid, making up wild lies of elves
and flying deer.

The doctors had
given her a list of procedures, each more invasive and expensive than the last
that
might
determine what was wrong with her. That
might
fix it. But she’d seen
the truth in their eyes. There wasn’t much hope, just a lot more money to be
made off a couple who could afford it. She was never going to have a baby. “I
can’t—I can’t do—”

Brett
stepped close to whisper, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t—I
don’t
want
to do this.” She snuffled and batted the tears back with fluttering
eyelids. “Why would you take me to Santa? We’re adults.”

His smile stayed
strong, but empathy replaced the silliness. He looked at the children around
them, and she could see him thinking carefully over his word choices. “You
looked like you needed cheering. Something fun and nostalgic. But I didn’t mean
to make you sad.”

Of course he
didn’t. Why would taking her to Santa make her sad? Annoyed, maybe, but
sadness? That was just her history hanging on her. “You didn’t make me sad.
It’s not Santa.”

Was nostalgic fun
the reason he was here? Seeing him not drunk, he seemed quite intelligent,
perfectly capable of other work. Yeah, the economy sucked, but surely he could
get a job as a temp or at a grocery store or
something
. Yet here he was,
entertaining kids at the mall.

That wrapping
paper must be getting to her because a little part of her wanted to visit Santa
with Brett, try to see the experience through his happy view.

A tiny hand was
inserted into hers. She looked down to find Brett had squatted to get eye-level
with a gangly five-year-old girl in a Rudolph sweatshirt. His voice was low and
serious, mock full of awe as he intoned, “Lady Britney, may I introduce the
Princess Carolina from the land of Yule.”

Carolina?
She
supposed it sounded more princess-y. Just-plain-Carrie looked from the elf to
the kid. He jerked his head like she should say something to play a part in his
“Happy Yuletide” skit.

She clenched her
jaw. This was not her job, but the kid looked up at her with wide eyes, full of
faith that she would do something amazing. Carrie liked children, but she
wasn’t like him, engaging and imaginative where she could just make stuff up on
the fly.

But she followed
his example, squatting down to eye level. Did princesses squat? Probably not.
She was already messing up. Whatever. She forced her mouth into a smile that
she hoped matched the girl’s idea of a princess. “So very pleased to meet you,
Lady Britney.” Better than nothing, she supposed.

The pigtailed
brunette bowed low over her hand and looked back up eagerly. “Are you a real
princess?”

Carrie
couldn’t stifle a sick-sounding laugh. But before she had to answer, Brett
chimed in, thank God. “Of course she is! You must forgive Her Highness. She is
shy. But I have a special favor to ask of you.”

As Carrie stood
back up, she caught the gaze of the mother and shrugged, receiving a tired
smile and a shrug in return. Britney nodded her head seriously.

“I must ask
if I can take the princess in to see Santa next. She is being recalled to Yule
but has a special message to impart before she returns. You’re next in line,
though, and Princess Carolina won’t enter before you without your permission.
Will you let her in?”

Carrie went
wide-eyed to the mother. “I’m sorry, I—”

The door leading
to Santa opened, and two kids tumbled out with their mother just behind. She
looked harried, but the kids yammered about toys with delighted looks on their
faces. That mom was even smiling, despite her obvious need for a stiff drink.

Unlike the mom
Brett was cutting in front of, who looked about ready to strangle him with the
Christmas lights. But Britney nodded vigorously.

Brett pushed
Carrie into Santa’s lair, proclaiming a debonair, “Thank you, Lady Britney!”
before the door shut behind them.

Inside,
Carrie turned to him, incensed. Still, she whispered in fear of her words
carrying past the door to “Lady” Britney. “You just lied to a child, and that
mom’s going to kill you!”

Undaunted by her
ire, he propelled her toward Santa’s throne as he leaned in conspiratorially.
“I overheard her mother lie to her that
this
was the
real Santa
for the sake of
the child’s complacency. At least I gave Britney a good story to tell her
friends.”

“Her friends will
make fun of her because she was duped.”

“Her
friends still believe in princesses.”

Carrie
gritted her teeth and squeezed out, “Princesses are real. Princesses from Yule
who visit fake Santas with secret messages are not.”

“You can be
a real grinch, you know that?”

“It’s been
pointed out to me. I’m happy this way.”

“Happy? Is
that the right word?” For a moment, his gaze seemed to stare right into her
soul and all the bleakness it contained.

It took all her
willpower to keep her face from crumbling. Why was everyone suddenly pointing
out her sadness? It made her feel stripped bare of not just clothes but skin,
her nerves raw and available for people to poke at.

It had been so
much harder to hide since the decorations came out. Each one reminded her of
how perfect the extensive Christmas décor in her and Lincoln’s house had looked
as she’d packed her things. Her body had ached almost as much as her heart; it
was stupid to do that kind of work so soon after the—after what had happened.
But everyone she’d normally call had been out of town, and it wasn’t right to
take them away from their families at Christmas. She couldn’t stand being in
that big house with Lincoln gone. Couldn’t stand the thought of coming back to
empty it out. So she’d packed alone and left every holiday decoration out for
somebody else to handle. She hadn’t put a damn one up in her own place since.

But this insolent
stranger had no right to know that.

He glanced down,
then back at her, his expression remorseful. Could he see how much he’d hurt
her? “I apologize.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers
gentle. “The better to see your disdain for my lumbering doltishness.”

“Doltishness?”
Somehow a smile, small but genuine, flickered across her face. “I don’t think
I’ve ever heard that used in a sentence.”

“I do things a
little differently than most people.” He seemed proud of that.

“I’m picking up
on that.”

He squeezed her
shoulder. “What is it
you
want for Christmas? You had an armful of presents for
other people.” He motioned at Santa.

“What?” She
glanced around, suddenly remembering she was standing in front of a grinning
man drowning in fake beard. The red from his ruddy cheeks extended to his nose.
Santa just might be drunk. “I’m not sitting in his lap.”

“Why not?”

She folded her
arms. “
You
sit in his lap.”

With a
challenging tilt to his chin, Brett plopped himself down on Santa’s right leg.

Carrie gaped.
Seriously? What was wrong with this guy?

Santa laughed a
booming Kriss Kringle chuckle and yanked Carrie onto his other leg. “And what do
you want for Christmas, young lady?”

“Out of
here.” Did she? She laughed nervously as she tried to glare at Santa and then
Brett. The camera elf snapped a photo. Him she could easily glare at, so she
did. He smirked back.

Brett sent the
camera a mock salute. “Thanks, Andy. I’m trying to cheer her up, not piss her
off.”

Fine. What the
hell. He’d dragged her here; might as well tell Santa her Christmas list.
Instead of flipping off the camera, she turned to face Saint Nick. “I want a
fabulous dress for the Austin Arts fundraiser that will make my ex-husband’s
jaw drop and his man parts strain at the mere sight of me.” She batted her eyes
at Brett. “That good enough for you?”

Brett’s
eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to the benefit at Lincoln Bryant’s?”

Carrie was
so surprised she dropped her folded arms. “You know about that?”

“I’ll…be
there.”

“Heh. What
are you, a part-time bartender to boot?”

“Bar…” A
slow grin spread across his face. “Yeah. I work for the bar.”

Santa
guffawed, peppermint schnapps breath tainting the air. Yup. Drunk. “Little elf,
little elf, see what you can do for this girl.”