Chapter 5
S CARLETT
The man is hard to miss.
For one, he’s towering over everybody else––his physique is impressive––and then he’s like a big blob of red with a swagger.
A swagger?
I whip my eyes to Maria, who looks like a mouse shaking in the crossfires of a lion’s eyes.
She nods slowly at the stunned expression blanketing my face.
“Now you know what I mean,” she murmurs before I zip my eyes back to the man in question.
No one is showing him around––everybody seems perfectly fine with him, not thinking twice about him––yet he has no problem locating the little bench in the nook where we placed a Christmas tree in the background so he can sit, offer gifts, and take pictures with the children.
My heart throbs, skipping beats, and the room spins with me.
I lower my hand and press it against Maria’s forearm.
“Who let him in?”
“Have you looked at him? Who do you think dared to stop him?”
A bunch of kids already trail him to the garlands-decorated bench, and they do that for a good reason.
They’ve been waiting for this moment the entire evening.
A pile of festively wrapped gifts coming with holiday cards bearing their names sit under the tree.
I’ve also been waiting for this moment the entire evening.
If all goes well, this will be the highlight of the evening and the only reason we are here.
My eyes hover over the man as we both watch him check the area.
Man, those Santa pants are tight on his sexy ass, and if this is a nineteen-year-old, I need to have my eyes checked. That's not what I'm seeing.
Did he toss his costume into the dryer and use the high-heat setting?
Wait, are those tattoos on his knuckles?
My knees are about to give in.
I bring my hand to my head and press my sweaty forehead into my palm.
Who is this man?
Frantically, I look around.
Where did I leave my purse and my phone? I spin around and make a beeline for the armchair where several employees have left their things.
Maria remains pinned where I left her while I reach inside my bag and pull out my phone. I swiftly find Elisa’s number when some weird voice in my head tells me to wait.
My eyes go to the man again.
What should I be asking Elisa?
If she knows whether Colley’s nineteen-year-old cousin has grown into a thirty-year-old man with a rear that makes me sweat?
Have I ever seen a butt like that?
Not in real life.
The way he swaggers gives me a hot flash.
And he cares about nothing and no one as he stops in front of the bench and drops his fake gift bag to the floor.
A sexy Santa with an attitude?
Sounds like a big improvement––insert snark––from the earlier Santa who’d been picked up for a DUI.
What has the world come to?
I look at him, frozen, his V-shaped back and the width of his shoulders giving me palpitations.
That suit must be itchy in all the wrong places.
The pants mold to his rear and athletic thighs, and I can bet he barely squeezed his goods in.
Luckily, he’s still studying the gifts under the tree. I can’t tell what he’s thinking––his back is still turned to me––but from his laissez-faire attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was contemplating a quick exit.
He looks like someone who hates his job, someone showing up for community service, and I can’t have that.
I don’t know who this man is, but he has found the address, taken the time to put on his Santa suit––albeit with a struggle––and now he's checking the premises, which makes me believe he’s up for the task, however difficult it may prove to be.
I suck in a long breath to calm my nerves, postpone calling Elisa Rivera––I wouldn’t do it unless it was a catastrophic emergency––and move in his direction, phone clutched in my hand, just in case.
SCARLETT
“Hi,” I sing song with my hand outstretched, waiting for the man to react to my sweet voice and turn around.
My neck hurts from keeping my head tipped up, waiting for his gaze.
I’m ready for anything, but little do I know… Little do I know.
The man takes his time mustering a reaction.
Eventually, he does glance over his shoulder, a washed-out, blue-gray gaze tinged with a smidgen of green slashing through me like a scalpel.
Everywhere his gaze goes, firefighters are needed to put out the fire.
It doesn’t matter that he wears a crooked, comical beard. It doesn’t matter that his hair is hidden under his plush Santa cap. It doesn’t even matter that I don’t see his face.
Those gemstone-like eyes, framed by dark lashes and narrowed at me with a severe look that normally would throw me back but now acts like a magnet, making me want to pull even closer, pick up the tip of his beard, peel it off, and see the rest of his face.
“Sorry,” I mumble, my hand hurting. So does my craned neck and every strained muscle in my back. “I’m Ms. Scarlett Beauchamp. Everybody calls me Ms. Scarlett,” I offer the typical introduction I use with kids, parents, and teachers. “And you are?”
His eyes dip slightly, taking a detour across my chest before sliding past my waist and giving me an appraisal look from my hips down.
An electric current flows through my frame.
“Santa,” he grumps, and a sweet smell of mints tinged with a hint of alcohol enters my nostrils.
The smell is not offensive, um… for adults , but kids?
A kernel of tension spins in my chest.
He peeks at my hand but doesn’t do a thing, so I let it drop to my side and step closer to him.
Surprised by my move, he turns around to face me.
I notice his coat doesn’t fit his broad chest, so it’s open at the neck, where an inked pattern of a few words ignites my imagination.
Is he an MMA fighter?
Does he even know where he is?
I push even closer and tip my face up, holding his eyes like they’re my reason to live.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask quietly.
The flicker of a contained smile flashes across his hypnotic gaze.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re not the nineteen year old we were expecting.”
“I’m just as good at this, if not better,” he says, a wolfish wink accompanying his words, a smile hidden behind his beard.
I bet he wasn’t talking about playing Santa.
Should I be offended or flattered?
He’s not exactly hitting on me.
He’s just cheeky.
“Have you done this before?” I ask, not peeling my eyes from his.
He’s the one who pulls closer this time, and I feel his heated, sweet breath across my lips.
My nostrils flare as I inhale the mix of sweetness, unmistakable whiskey aroma, and a drop of aftershave or spicy cologne. I hope no one’s watching because from afar, we might look like we’re about to kiss.
“What are we talking here?”
His words come in small bursts, a heavy undertone to his husky voice.
I never thought a raspy and whiskey-like voice like his could turn me on so badly, but from my tense thighs clenching against my pulsing heat to my hard nipples and the quiver in my knees, I learn something different.
I haven’t had sex in months.
I had planned to do it when the divorce was final. I wanted to give myself a well-deserved treat and also to push out all that tension, but I never had the opportunity.
And then, my half-hearted attempts to log into one of those dating sites and find someone for a quickie have remained fruitless.
It didn’t help that I’m more of a stable relationship kind of girl, even when it sucks.
I’d choose predictability and familiarity over adventure and suspense every single time if given the choice.
That’s why I didn’t get laid.
That’s why I haven’t thought about getting laid.
But I’m thinking about it right now.
Hearing his voice is like being summoned to his bed.
I narrow my gaze, giving him a faint smile and one of my sultriest looks that worked in the past when I wanted the merchandise from the highest shelf in a store.
“We were talking about your job. As we can see, we have gathered here tonight to celebrate Christmas, and the kids can’t wait to get their gifts.
They want to take pictures with you and have something to talk about later when they recollect these moments.
And while I can live with your sweet, minty breath,” I say very didactically, “it’s not a good smell for them. Let alone their parents.”
His eyes move to the room before returning to me. It’s like the moon stares back at me.
“No adult will come close to me tonight, except for you perhaps… Miss…”
I don’t know whether he hasn’t caught my name or he’s fucking with me, but I indulge him.
“Scarlett. You can call me Scarlett. No one can pronounce my last name anyway.”
“Miss Scarlett, “he insists, keeping his distance. “You stand nearby to guide me. If you behave, I behave, and at the end of the night, you can thank me with a blowjob.”
Uh… What?? Did he just say that to me?
My mouth drops open, and my brain is fried, but other than that, I’m carved in stone.
For a second, I’m thinking I haven’t heard him right, but when he nudges me to the side so he can sit on the bench, which, by the way, seems small in comparison to the man in front of me, his touch sends a jolt of freshly made hell through me.
He surely did.
“Mouth closed, darling, or the parents might think you’re ready now for that blowjob.”
It takes me a few seconds to pull my mouth closed, square my shoulders, and keep my head high.
“You may be used to bossing people around, but you will not boss me around. If you stay, you need to do a good job. And please look decent for the kids,” I say, running my eyes over his front.
“May I?” I say, pointing to his neckline. “It looks like the buttons are misaligned.”
“Knock yourself out,” the answer comes.
They aren’t misaligned.
It’s just that he secured only a few and left the top and the bottom open.
My fingers move over the neckline while I struggle with the top button, his eyes igniting bushfires on my face.
I try to ignore them, but it’s like trying to ignore the stars at the highest point in the starry sky.
It’s impossible not to look. The naughty light in his eyes makes me suspect a smirk tilts his lips as I’m not making much progress.
Eventually, I leave it open before running my fingers down the buttons.
“Easy with those fingers,” he says, and I lift my gaze. “You might be in for a big surprise.”
He looks down his nose at me, daring me to lower my touch.
I stop above his belt, but then I notice that the bottom is still not secured, and I can peek at his tattooed abs through his open coat.
“Can we do something about that?”
“Do your thing. You’re not bothering me. But it won’t work. I tried. That’s why I was late.”
I pull at the sides and try to button down his jacket.
No luck.
Plus, the moment he makes the slightest move, the buttons threaten to pop. I leave it as is and work with his long beard to hide the display of skin.
His body is rock hard, and I refuse to look down.
I truly don’t want to do it, but even so, my eyes get snagged by the big bulge moving in his pants.
“It’s only a semi. And it’s only half because of you.”
“What’s responsible for the other half?” I murmur, playing along, not flinching.
“Being pissed gets me hard.”
He winks at me again.
Half annoyed, half not-so-annoyed.
“Okay, Mr. Santa. You need to watch your language when you talk to the kids.”
He shakes his head impatiently, about to argue with me.
“I’m not talking to anyone besides you. This is how this thing will go down.
You hand me those packages, one by one, and tell me their names and a thing or two about theirpersonalities so I can make it special.
They stand next to me for pictures. And that’s that.
We move quickly since I don’t have the entire evening. All right?”
I look at him, speechless.
“Okay,” I finally say, and then my eyes slide down. “You need to lose your semi, though, or there won’t be any work for you tonight.”
He slides down, places his empty sack of gifts on his lap, and signals to a table.
“Bring me a cold bottle of water and give me five minutes. And then, we’ll be dispensing gifts.”