Desparately Seeking Santa Read online

  “I am. So why don’t you share the sleigh with me?”

  Chapter Four

  Simple. Easy.

  That’s what he’d thought it would be.

  How wrong could he be? Bloody wrong! He had thought it would be like a business deal. He was good at that. Actually, he was darn good at it; his business portfolio a supreme testament to it.

  Stretched out in the sleigh, still dressed in the Santa suit he’d used as a disguise, Tate silently lambasted himself for his stupidity.

  Even from this distance he could smell her and it tested his willpower, while heightening the ache in his groin.

  Shit! He was playing a game he reminded himself. Seeking his prey, testing the waters.

  Yeah, but trouble is smart guy, in business usually the other participant WANTS to play. Does Mandy?

  Tate didn’t even need to verbalize that question. She didn’t. Not a hope in hell.

  He folded his arms beneath his head and stared up into the darkness. He remembered the moment he’d seen her for the first time in five years. The first time when it wasn’t a nightmare full of pain and hurt and shattered hopes. Her blonde hair had been held back in a tight chignon and instantly he wanted to unpin it. He’d spent hours dreaming of trailing his fingers through her long golden strands.

  Once, she had laughed at his pathetic jokes, loved him with her caresses. He remembered her eyes the most. Blue eyes that weren’t just blue, but changed from the softest cornflower shining full of laughter, only to darken to the deepest sapphire at the moment his body filled hers and he brought her the ultimate pleasure.

  Those memories had held him captive for so long. But today, his memories seemed to have disappeared, replaced by the Mandy of today. The efficient, circumspect woman, driven to achieve.

  But then, wasn’t he too?

  “Simple, my foot,” he cursed into the emptiness above.

  “You talking to yourself, Tate Sullivan? You know what they say it’s a sign of?”

  “Yeah, well don’t get the straight jacket out yet, sweetheart,” he countered. But she was right. Madness had a hold of him. He must been nuts to think he could do this. Come back and play the game of revenge. It was meant to be sweet.

  Hell no.

  And why? Reality. That’s why. Reality had stuck him big time. Death sure had a lot to answer for.

  Night drifted at a minutely slow crawl. The power hadn’t come back and the temperature in the store dropped by the second. “Mandy, unless you intend freezing your sweet butt off, you need to get in here.” He meant it as an invitation, but somehow it didn’t come out right. Shit, he was screwing things up.

  That’s because, buddy, you want to do some screwing.

  Oh, yeah. His body ached in all the right places. But then, it always did where Mandy was concerned. Nothing had changed there. Not a damned thing.

  And that’s a problem...because?

  “Are you ordering me? It’s a long time since I took orders. Or have you become your mother?”

  “My mother? What’s she got to do with this?”

  Mandy said nothing for more than a few seconds, then her clipped tone reached across to him. “More than you probably realized.”

  Tate’s brow creased. Darn if he knew what she talked about, but right now his mother in all her southern glory was the furthest thing from his mind. “You coming, or what?”

  He heard her movements first, and his breathing stalled in his chest.

  “Yeah, yeah, keep your boxers on.”

  He wanted to say, no way, baby. He wanted to remove hers, and fast. He had from the moment he’d seen her again. It had hit him like a thunderbolt, completely out of the blue, but then coming back home after five years, he had thought he was over being dumped at the altar. He’d made a new life. Created his success. He was a rich man with businesses stretching across the nation. His new business had brought him home.

  You reckon, smart guy. Come on, own up. It wasn’t the only thing. Remember, payback?

  Then she was there, right beside the sleigh, her shadowy shape tiny in the giant darkness. He shifted sideways, and she climbed in, drawing her blankets with her.

  Tate allowed himself to breathe.

  See, simple really. Just like business.

  He turned on his side and stared at her. She lay on her back, staring up at nothingness. “You comfortable?”

  “Sort of.” She shivered and tugged the blankets about her. “The temperature’s dropped.”

  “No power, no heat, unfortunately. And I don’t think the store owner would appreciate a campfire in the middle of the lingerie department.”

  “Right now, I couldn’t care a less what the new owner thought. I’m freezing.”

  Tate shifted closer and pulled her to him. Face to face. Touching oh so slightly. He felt her stiffen. “What are you doing?”

  “Warming you up.” And damn it, it was warming him up too, in more ways than one. But then that particular part of his anatomy was on fire anyway. Hell, he was ready to roll.

  She felt good in his arms. Really good. She fit perfectly, but then she always fit him—every part of him. He brushed his hands down her arms, fingers inadvertently sliding a tad too far and coming in contact with the curve of her hip. Her breath stole across his neck, warm and tantalizing. Erotic.

  Tate smiled. So far so good. She wasn’t adverse to him. He’d counted on that, because he sure as hell knew he wasn’t. His body had been on fire for weeks.

  He prided himself on being the ultimate planner before he executed a deal. But nothing had prepared him for this deal. And this one wasn’t quite in the bag—yet.

  The minutes ticked by, long and slow with every second heightening his arousal. Hell, he was ready to explode. Finally, Mandy began to relax and with a deep sigh, she turned from him. He wanted to stop her. Pull her back. But he needn’t have worried, she simply eased back into the curve of him and he wrapped her in his arms and held her to him. He inhaled her scent. Musky. Rich and fragrant and very tempting.

  Tempting, hell. His control snapped. Temptation won the game.

  He was doing it again.

  With a touch so soft she thought at first she’d imagined it, dreamed it, Tate’s fingers gently kneaded her flesh, exciting her as he stroked across the flat of her belly. Mandy’s instincts warred with every hint of emotion, versus feelings and reality. She squeezed her eyes closed instead and reveled in his touch.

  It had been so long, and yet it felt like yesterday had become today. Nothing had changed. But truth was everything had changed.

  Did it matter?

  Tate Sullivan arrived out of nowhere. A Santa, for Pete’s sake!

  Don’t get caught, your promotion is in the bag.

  Who was she arguing with? Herself! Her reasoning sounded pompous. Just like Tate’s mother.

  No! She wasn’t like her. A woman who held herself above others.

  Tate’s fingers moved across her abdomen and upwards and her breath stalled behind her ribs. He cupped her breast and her throat thickened, her body tensing, delighting. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Oh, Lordy it felt good. It stirred a need in her she’d forgotten.

  Abandoned, you mean!

  Her eyes blinked open, speared by total darkness. They were in their very own cavern, closed off from the world, everything eerily silent. Secret.

  He caressed one nipple through her satin dress, brushing it hard with his thumb. She reacted instantly, a mewling sound of pleasure slipping from her lips as she pressed against him, her bottom squirming against his hardness.

  Oh yes, he was hard. Very definitely. She could feel him, strong and urgent, pulsing against the cleft of her buttocks. A shudder rippled through her and centered on her womanhood. She hooked a leg back slightly over his.

  It was an invitation. Pure and simple. Though she realized with a private smile of pleasure, there was nothing pure about the thoughts cascading through her mind. They were hot. Erotic. And definitely downright dirty. />
  Heat scalded every part of her skin. Heat—and lust.

  “You like?” His voice was thick, full of unspoken sensuality.

  Oh, definitely. She couldn’t speak. She nodded. Her dry lips parted a fraction. She wanted to kiss Tate. Kiss him senseless. But he kissed her first, lips nuzzling a path along her neck, tongue slicking over her electrified skin.

  Dear God would this be enough? Ever?

  Never in a million years.

  Then she was on her back and he was kissing her. Her eyelids. Her cheek...and at last, her lips. Kisses a girl dreamed of, wanted. Kisses she needed. His lips on hers. Beautiful. Full. Powerful.

  She reached up and linked her arms around his neck, fingers glorying in his hair, and the texture of his skin at the nape of his neck.

  Her body opened for him as his hand sought the hem of her dress, edging beneath it to her panties.

  There was no going back. No holding back. She couldn’t if she wanted to...and besides, she didn’t.

  “Where you belong.”

  For a moment, Mandy didn’t register Tate’s muffled words, and then they wove their way through the miasma that had become her sex-starved brain.

  Belong? Yes! He belonged there. Beside her. Touching her. The rasp of his zipper sliding down fired her excitement. It raced through every single fiber of her while her blood heated past boiling point with a sexual urgency of its very own.

  Her lips parted and Tate slipped his tongue between them, teasing a path across hers.

  Heaven must feel this way. She uttered a soft sigh and lifted her hips to his, felt his arousal, bold and blatant as it thrust against her center.

  “You’re wet.”

  Mandy choked back a gasp. She was. She could feel that too. Feel the slickness pooling. He pulled her panties down and she shifted slightly so that they slid easily giving him access.

  His fingers brushed across her wetness and a delicious shudder rippled to the tips of her toes. They curled.

  Dear God, she’d forgotten what he could do to her.

  No you haven’t.

  True. She remembered his touch; every delightful, teasing memory of how it felt to be in Tate’s arms, have him tease her till her body sung. Just as he was doing right now. She could no more say no, than marry the Pope.

  Mandy dipped her head into the curve of his neck, inhaling his cologne. Spicy. Exotic. A heady mixture of east and west. But mostly it was simply him. Tate. All male pleasure wrapped in one sensual package. Tate Sullivan turned her on. She burned for him.

  Sliding her lips across his skin, she began to dot kisses across his neck, his jaw, tasting him. And he tasted so very good.

  “Christmas has come all at once,” he rasped.

  “Yep. Santa’s been good this year,” she agreed with a smile as the tip of her tongue flicked across his lips.

  With infinite skill he lifted her from their Santa bed and slid the zip down on her dress and slipped it off her shoulders, exposing her lacy bra. The chill of the unheated store fanned across her sensitive skin pebbling her nipples. Not even the flimsy concoction from one of the store’s designer brands could hide the obvious.

  Tate gasped, eyes hooded and heavy with desire raked over her. His sensual mouth curved slightly and one ebony brow arched. “You’re all woman.” He dropped his head to her breasts, razing his tongue between them.

  Dear Lord she couldn’t wait. She wanted him. Now. Inside her.

  His mouth circled one sensitive nipple, drawing it in. Heaven was encapsulated in that one action.

  Lifting her hips, she angled so she could feel more of him, the press of his erection. Wanting it. She locked her legs around his hips and held on.

  But Tate didn’t take the hint. How blatant did she have to be? Instead, he pulled back slightly. Sweat beaded his forehead and she brushed the tips of her fingers across it, only to have him grasp her wrist, holding it high. Mandy knew this was the precise moment when she should pull back and move away. Stop this foolishness. Instead, she said nothing.

  But she knew that even in the darkness Tate watched her every move. The way he held his head slightly tilted to the right. He’d always done that when he watched her. She pulled her hand from his and wiped the tip of her sweat-coated fingers across her very parched lips.

  “Tempting,” he rasped.

  “Tasty,” she countered.

  In one swift movement, Tate Sullivan, the man she had loved for so long, and yet had walked away from on their wedding day, entered her fully, eliciting a gasp from her well-kissed mouth that echoed around their sanctuary.

  It had been a long time.

  Way too long.

  Together entwined, Tate plunged into her, over and over, as they rode a burgeoning crest. He held her, never letting go. Lordy it felt good. He fit perfectly, slick, full, and drove hard while his hands caressed and cupped her buttocks, forcing her ever closer.

  She wanted all of him.

  She got it.

  He sought her lips, taking, teasing, his tongue dancing a ritualistic provocation she welcomed. Then it came. Exactly as she remembered...and had never forgotten. Not really.

  The orgasm rolled over her. Full throttle. Words stilled on the tip of her tongue, caught up in the myriad of sensations building in every part of her. “I want...”

  “What?”

  “You.” The single word burst from her lips as her toes tingled, curled tight and her body arched to his. Waves of delicious passion rolled over her one after the other, washing her in frenzy of unrestrained desire she thought she no longer felt.

  Fool!

  Tate’s lips sought hers and he kissed her. Again. A beautiful acknowledgement of everything that was, and had been.

  It had always been like this. Nothing had changed. Tears built behind her lashes, threatening to burst as the beauty of their coming together took her to a place she hadn’t visited in so many years. Her orgasm broke, and her body spasmed against his, Tate following seconds later with a burst of pleasure tying them together.

  Mandy sank back, pulling him against her. She felt the thunder of his heartbeat, the coiled tension slowly ebb as her own heartbeat thudded a tattoo behind her ribs.

  Heaven was made of these moments. But despite the glory of the moment, a niggling question wormed it way through her pleasure-wracked body.

  What had she done?

  Opened a can of worms, that’s what.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “We’ve just had sex and you want food,” Tate responded with a hint of mirth. He held her to him, his body spooning hers. It was a lovely feeling. Being held. Being...loved.

  No that wasn’t it. They’d just had sex, that’s all, she reminded herself.

  “Well, don’t they say that the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach?”

  “Whose heart are we talking about here?”

  Mandy hesitated. Yeah, whose?

  She held herself in check. “Not mine,” she reiterated far more smoothly than she believed possible. She wasn’t in line for love. Too much to do. Her promotion waited with her name on it. But right now, she reasoned as her stomach gurgled for a second time, food tempted more. She pushed the flat of her palm on her belly. “Food, Tate.”

  Laughing, he pulled her up to her feet. She came up hard against him. “You sure know how to douse a man’s libido. And here I was thinking of a repeat performance while all you can think of is food. Doesn’t bode well for a guy’s confidence.”

  She poked the tip of her finger into his chest; his very broad, muscled and naked chest. “You, Tate Sullivan have no issues with confidence.”

  He offered her a lop-sided grin. “Aw shucks. I hoped to play the sympathy vote.”

  “Well you can forget that, won’t work. Now feed me.”

  Tate peered across the department shop floor. He shrugged. “Where to?”

  Mandy pointed towards the rear of the store. “There’s a café, past housewares,” she instructed.

  “Great
.” Tate took her hand in his, an automatic gesture that both surprised her, and shocked her. Shocked, because it seemed so natural, so right. And because she didn’t pull away.

  Hell, woman, you’ve just made love with him and you worry about holding his hand!

  He guided her through the darkness, passed the exotic lingerie once more, the brush of the silks and satins and frothy bits of lace across her still electrified skin intensified every part of her. Feelings, touch, smell, taste and sound. Everything heightened, every part of her so very aware and particularly of the man now dressed only in his Santa trousers, aware of his size and the memory so impinged on her body of him being inside her, fitting perfectly.

  She also couldn’t help but be aware of her scantily clad body. The dress had been ditched. Santa’s shirt now resided on her shoulders. And she loved it. Loved the smell of it, the feel of it. Because it smelled of Tate.

  Wearing the shirt seemed so sensual. Erotic.

  In the canteen a long counter graced one wall, stylish chairs and tables filling the center of the room, while the back wall lead to a conservatory. She walked straight behind the counter. “The chef usually stores leftovers back here,” she said. She made a beeline for the fridge in the kitchen and opened it. With no power the internal light of course didn’t turn on. “It’s going to be a bit of a hit and miss I’m afraid,” she said over her shoulder to Tate.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. The man stood right behind her. A flood of heat washed across her senses, firing a flurry of electrical impulses that chased up and down her spine.

  “Anything’s fine.”

  What are you doing, Brooks?

  Truth? She didn’t have a clue.

  Pushing unanswered questions away, she turned from Tate and reached into the refrigerator and grabbed hold of the first thing she could. She passed it to Tate. “Could be some leftover turkey. I know chef had turkey sandwiches on the menu yesterday.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Loaded with turkey and some slices of cheese and breads, they turned tail and headed back towards the grotto.

  “Wait.”