Naughty St. Nick
NAUGHTY ST. NICK
Secret Santas ~ Holiday Collection
Book Two
Calista Fox
www.twitter.com/calistafoxbooks
NAUGHTY ST. NICK
By Calista Fox
‘Tis the season for Christmas miracles...
Having landed himself on Santa’s Naughty List, Nick Santos is given a chance at redemption. Granted, he’s tasked with some daunting challenges—pimping Santa’s ride
and
fixing the town’s holiday bling in the once year-round Christmas Capital of the World, North Pole, Maine. But playing Secret Santa comes with some unexpected perks, like finally catching the eye of the woman who sparks his deepest desires, Vixen White.
Vixen has no idea what’s come over Nick this holiday season, but his good deeds around town help her to remember the magic of Christmas, long forgotten. And his sexy grin and a searing, stolen kiss under mistletoe have her wishing her dream of being Naughty St. Nick’s one and only will finally come true.
All she has to do...is believe.
NAUGHTY ST. NICK
Copyright 2014 by Calista Fox
Edited by: MARCOMM
Cover art by Kim Killion, The Killion Group Copyright 2014
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Chapter One
As far as hangovers went, Nick Santos woke with one that deserved a “Best in Show” blue ribbon.
Merry fucking Christmas to me
.
No doubt he was in need of some Christmas cheer, but he’d gone way, way overboard last night. And it was only December thirteenth—twelve whole frickin’ days from the Big Holiday Bang.
Not that there was much to cheer about in North Pole, Maine these days. Nor was there any sort of holiday bang of late. It was more of a holiday fizzle.
He sighed as he rolled onto his back, incapable of cracking even one eye open, knowing it’d be bloodshot and blurry as hell. And his head... The incessant throbbing made him feel as though it’d been used as a soccer ball in a world championship game, getting kicked up and down the field with no reprieve in sight. For sure, he’d killed off some brain cells last night.
What had possessed him to get sufficiently sauced with his old high school pals Kris and Rudy was beyond him. Thank God Jenny Bells had stopped into the bar to make a late-night delivery from Sugar Plums, the bakery down the street.
“Soak up some of that alcohol, boys!” she’d said to the poor slobs starving at half-past midnight.
Then she’d taken pity on Nick and his friends and had offered to drive them home. Otherwise, they would have stumbled around the town square, making asses of themselves the way they’d done in their younger years, before Rudy had moved away.
And speaking of home... Was Nick even in his own bed? Had he stayed put when Jenny had dropped him off, or had he made a house call? Lord only knew where he’d ended up in his drunken state—and that dream he’d had! What a doozy it’d been. He’d actually dreamt he was at the North Pole. Not the small town where he’d lived all twenty-five years of his life, but the alleged one, frozen tundra and all. In his reverie, Santa Claus had been miffed at him and had put Nick on his Naughty List.
Oh, yeah...big surprise there.
He snickered and it sent a shockwave of pain down his neck, making him wince. He’d had some wild times in the past, no denying it. In fact, there’d been one extremely memorable night a couple of years ago when he’d done it up right with two girls he’d met at Yule Tide’s—the same bar where he’d gotten schnockered the previous evening with the boys.
The women had been from San Diego or San Jose or maybe even San Francisco. He’d long since forgotten where they’d hailed from and what their names were. But he certainly hadn’t forgotten those decadent hours they’d spent together, naked limbs entwined, various positions explored, lots of moaning and groaning going on.
For sure, that wicked threesome merited him a top spot on Santa’s bad-boy list. Not that he hadn’t deserved the self-indulgence, given the depressed state of affairs in his life and the town, but he could concede the fact that he might have pushed some boundaries in the ecstasy department.
Sadly, it’d been the only high point of the last few years. He easily surmised that living in the Christmas Capital of the World—or at least, it had been until the economy had tanked and their local department store Santa had passed away—was what had made Nick think of Santa in his inebriated state.
He grimaced.
Seriously? Santa Claus?
Shoving aside the bizarre image in his head of the decidedly
not
-so-jolly one wagging a finger at him and making a disappointed
tsking
sound, Nick finally opened his eyes, propped himself up on an elbow and surveyed the room.
Yep, it was his. A hint of relief washed over him. He really hadn’t wanted to discover he’d made a reverse booty call. True, his Little Black Book held the phone numbers of a multitude of single gals in northern Maine and across the western border into Quebec and the eastern one into New Brunswick, but he wasn’t inclined to whip out said book these days.
Truth be told, he hadn’t been the least bit enticed by the handful of available women who’d blatantly hit on him at the bar. The only one Nick longed to spend his nights with was the shapely, raven-haired, sky-blue-eyed temptress, Vixen White—who never bothered to give him the time of day. She was of the
keep to yourself and don’t flirt with the town rowdies
variety. Nick being one of them, of course. Along with Kris and Rudy.
Spending an evening with Vix, as he’d called her since grade school, was an even farther-fetched dream than conversing with North Pole’s icon, Santa Claus himself.
Vix’s granddaddy—the dearly departed department store Santa they’d all loved—had warned her about Nick long ago, he suspected. Nick couldn’t hold a grudge against Mr. White, who’d been right about Nick back then. Though...not recently. Of late, Nick had secretly vowed to give up his carousing ways if Vixen would stop sidestepping him whenever she saw him coming and give him a shot at romancing her. Sometimes, she’d actually cross the street if he headed in her direction.
He had no idea what that was all about, because on those rare occasions when he caught her off guard, she was always a bit breathless, with a distinct sparkle in her big blue eyes. He didn’t know if she even realized it, but Nick never missed stuff like that—especially when it came to Vixen White.
Still... He’d apparently dug too deep a hole for himself to ever climb out and win her over. Once he’d graduated high school and had started working as a sleigh mechanic, fixing up the old-fashioned horse-drawn ones that pulled the kids and the tourists around town on wintry days and nights, he’d nailed his coffin shut.
Naughty Nick the Sleigh Mechanic. Yeah, that’d win over Traditional Good-Girl Vixen.
Not
.
The frustrating part was that he wasn’t just a mechanic. He’d parlayed his extensive knowledge into designing elaborate sleighs that sold-out in showrooms all over the world. He still helped to maintain them occasionally. But, mostly, he was known for his designs now, rather than his tune-up capabilities. Though, he was still called upon from time to time. Even Santa wanted him to hop-up the Christmas sleigh and—
Whoa!
Nick bolted upright in bed—and his head nearly exploded from the exertion.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelped as a thousand needles pricked the backs of his eyes, making them water. The pressure in his head burst wide open, sending pain shooting in all directions. He dropped back to the mattress, his head cradled in a fluffy down pillow.
“Urgh,” he mumbled miserably. “What kind of a dumbass are you?”
When the throbbing dimmed to a somewhat tolerable degree, he tried to sit up again. Slowly. Carefully.
Okay, good. Take it easy, man.
He gently swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His chin dropped to his chest.
Lord have mercy.
His bare feet pressed to the hardwood floor. Either he or Jenny had removed his dusty tan suede boots and socks, though he wasn’t sure which one had done it. No matter. He was glad to be free of them, because it was hotter than hell in his room and he was sweltering with the rest of his clothes still on.
A heat wave at Christmastime in North Pole, Maine was about the silliest damn thing he’d ever heard of—aside from that ridiculous dream about Santa.
Christ, what had they been drinking at Yule Tide’s? Some beers, yes. A few shots. Rudy was buying, so what the hell, right? Then, just before Jenny had come into the bar, they’d been served some sort of rich, frothy cocktail that had actually tasted like Christmas, garnished with a peppermint stick. After that...well, things had gotten hazy.
And, obviously, they’d stayed that way.
Despite his hangover, Nick let out a soft chuckle at how absurd his subconscious mind could be. Santa asking him to install a state-of-the-art GPS system in the dashboard of the sleigh, along with 4G phone and data service, an iPad and high-def speakers so he could crank the Christmas tunes...? What a hoot!
Clearly, the warm weather, the ill effects of the economy on the town that used to be crawling with tourists this time of year and was now at an immobilized standstill, and the loss of Mr. White three years ago had kicked his imagination into high gear.
Wait’ll the guys get a load of this!
Gingerly making his way down the hall, he stopped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then went to the kitchen and hit the brew button on the coffeemaker he’d set up before he’d left the house and had tied one on with Kris and Rudy. He impatiently tapped his toe as the coffee started to drizzle into the carafe.
When he had a decent amount collected in the glass container, he lifted it from the burner and poured the desperately needed caffeine into his favorite
Got Sleigh?
mug.
He padded over to the credenza against the far wall, where he’d left yesterday’s mail. With bills and coffee in hand, he shuffled lazily to the round, glass-top table in the breakfast nook. The blinds were partially open and he averted his gaze from the bright sun streaming through.
But out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of vibrant red and a distinctly familiar shape in his backyard...
He spewed his first sip of coffee, the liquid flying from his gaping mouth and covering the smoky tabletop in tiny droplets. He set the mug down and slowly turned his head.
Holy fucking reindeer shit
.
There sat Santa’s sleigh.
Chapter Two
Come on, girlfriend, think of something clever to write. Think of Frosty and elves and big fat, fluffy snowflakes. Think of something cheery and brilliant!
The exuberant voice inside her head made Vixen White cringe. She didn’t feel the least bit cheery, brilliant or exuberant.
She stared at the blank page in front of her, willing her mind to come up with
anything
for her latest book. She desperately needed inspiration and thought she’d find it—the way she had many, many moons ago—at Sugar Plums. The bakery sat on the south side of the town square, along Prancer Street and opposite Always Christmas department store where her grandfather had played Santa in his year-round village.
Always Christmas, my foot.
She reached for her iced tea. She should be sipping hot cocoa or a hot toddy while enjoying her pastries and racking her brain. But, no. It was much too toasty for a hot anything, even in the evenings, which was so bizarre this time of year. Global warming seemed to have specifically targeted the once-festive town of North Pole and hung on with a vengeance.
As for the pastries... Well, she could say her good friend Jenny Bells, who managed the bakery Rudy’s family owned, clearly lacked inspiration as well, because there was an ingredient or two missing from what was supposed to be Sugar Plums’ most famous Christmas cookie. It hadn’t been baked with love the way it’d always been in the past, that was for damn sure.