Nick (The Kringle Boys Book 1) (2 page)

Spokes grinned and scampered around the back of the giant cauldron. After a moment, it shuddered and ground to a halt. Nick rubbed his forehead, feeling an encroaching headache as the ooze spread over his feet in a sticky, slow-moving blob. This would take all night to clean up, and given that most of his staff was tipsily cavorting in the next room, he may as well start looking for a shovel.

“Oh dear, Mr. Kringle,” said a soft voice from the doorway, “Does this sort of thing happen often?”

Nick looked up. For a second, he couldn’t make sense of the woman who stared at the mess in fascinated horror, stepping up on a nearby box to avoid getting the goo on her delicate little boot-clad feet. She was unmistakably part elf, though taller than her North Pole counterparts. Everything about her was a blend of unbearably cute and lusciously naughty. She had a curvy little figure a pin-up would envy, poured into a no-nonsense suit, her coat draped neatly over her arm, and riotous shoulder-length blond ringlets that refused to be confined by pins. Her eyes were a warm ocean blue over a cute little nose and a rosebud mouth designed to make a man think of sex.

Hell, everything about her screamed sex. Nick felt an unwelcome surge of lust.

This was the supervisor?

He tried to think of something to say, something professional and reassuring, but all that came out was, “You’re late.”

She frowned at him, raising a pert eyebrow. She eyed the pink spreading across the floor with something that looked like revulsion.

“My apologies.”

She held a hand out to him to shake from her perch on the box as he squelched his way over through six inches of sugary pink ooze.

“Phoebe Winters, Mr. Kringle.”

Even on the box, she barely came up to eye level, and Nick was shocked as her warm hand touched his. Everything about this woman was wound tight – she was probably as frigid as his father’s icicle palace – but her skin was as soft as marshmallows, and she smelled faintly of warm ginger. She extricated her hand quickly and edged back as far as the box would allow.

“Perhaps we should reschedule. You seem a bit…busy.”

She cocked her head toward the sound of the party.

“The annual holiday party. I was told it’s tradition. Luckily my predecessor left detailed notes. Parties aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Mr. Berry was an excellent manager. He’s already got the new Ottawa factory running ahead of schedule.”

The reprimand was implicit, and Nick’s mouth tightened.

“We’re on schedule. Almost. Let me give you the tour.”

Phoebe nodded tightly and began looking around for a safe descent from her perch, seemingly horrified by the ocean of sticky sugar. Without thinking, Nick reached for her, gripping her by the waist and lifting her off her box. The breathless little squeak she made was bad enough, the sound like a curious finger up the length of his dick, but the momentary press of her body and the fingernails that dug into his shoulders were worse. For the space of a heartbeat, her luscious tits snuggled against his chest, her hands clutched him tight, and her mouth dropped open in a little gasp. It wasn’t hard to imagine her digging her fingers into his naked skin, that same wide-eyed breathlessness as he fed his cock into her heat, a slow, tight inch at a time.

Unnerved, Nick swung her around to set her on the floor outside the doorway, well away from the pink stuff. He was relieved to let her go, but his palms tingled from where he’d touched her.

This is your boss, idiot
, he reminded himself, and scrambled to regroup.

“Can I offer you something? Candy?”

Phoebe paled and shook her head hard enough to set her curls bouncing.

“No, thank you. I don’t eat candy.”

An elf who doesn’t eat candy?

Nick frowned.

“Well then, let’s get started.”

He steered her toward the elevators.

“Don’t you have to deal with…that?”

The ooze was now spreading across the lobby floor toward the closed candy shop at the front of the factory. Nick sighed and squelched back to give a few quick instructions to Spokes, who nodded, unfazed, and headed off to the party to find a few not-entirely-drunk assistants to start the cleanup process.

Nick frowned at Phoebe as they stepped into the elevator and he hit the button for the top floor. She smoothed her suit subconsciously, and Nick sent a stern mental warning to his cock, which took immediate interest at the sight of her hands sliding down all those edible curves.

“You’re staring.”

“I’ve never met an elf who didn’t like candy,” said Nick.

“I’m only half-elf,” replied Phoebe nervously, “My father was human.”

“I’ve never met a half-elf who didn’t like candy,” said Nick, not missing a beat.

“Well, now you have.”

FORTY MINUTES LATER, PHOEBE exited the factory, her palms damp, her body trembling like a leaf. It had been all she could do to stay focused as Nick showed her room after room of facilities for making taffy, licorice, gumdrops, gummies, and chocolate – a dizzying array of sugary goodness, all the while smelling of strawberry goo and something spicy and woodsy that made her mouth dry with lust. She couldn’t be more on edge if he’d stripped her naked, tied her up, and spent the last half hour teasing her with his mouth, keeping her on the edge of ecstasy. The visual made her groan and lean against the factory wall to compose herself.

“All that
candy
,” she murmured to herself, tortured.

It was more than the candy,
whispered her practical side, and Phoebe groaned again.

Nick Kringle was
not
what she expected.

She’d seen a picture of Jack Frost once – a wiry, grasping man, all harsh edges and cruelty and ice. Nick Kringle was something else. Tall and strong, with thick black hair over a divinely carved face, deft, elegant hands, and a rock hard body that wasn’t cold in the slightest.
Oh no.
When he’d lifted her off the box to the floor, letting her press against him, all she’d felt was solid muscle and heat. She’d thanked God that her suit was thick enough that he couldn’t see how her nipples tightened for him.

Phoebe reminded herself that Nick was a cold man. She could see it in those steel blue eyes and assured herself that it was his chilly arrogance and that made her shiver, though that was a lie – her panties were soaked. Nick had shown her around the factory, surly and terse, bristling at her questions about the rash of accidents that had plagued the factory since he took over.

“Are you sure these are accidents?” she asked.

“Just what are you implying?” responded Nick, scowling.

“There are a lot of people in the world who would be very interested in seeing Santa fail, and everyone knows that elves can’t manage without their magical candy.”

“You do.”

“I’m the exception.”

At least the factory was in relatively good shape. Barring the accidents, everything was reasonably on schedule, and Phoebe had been pleased that the precautions to ensure no magical candy mixed with the regular brand were strictly adhered to – the results of a mix-up could be disastrous. That Nick didn’t want her there was obvious, but she’d done her best to sound knowledgeable and professional, and he’d just have to deal.

Still, it wouldn’t kill him to smile once in a while.

Phoebe had finished her tour and scheduled time to go over the books tomorrow. Nick had only nodded as she sketched out her plans to make the factory more of a community-oriented business. Though the North Pole brand was immensely popular, the humans were wary of the magical addition to their neighborhood, and hadn’t accepted the presence of the factory. The new addition of the candy shop up front was designed to give locals a glimpse into the Candyworks, and let the staff of elves and half-elves interact with the customers.

Phoebe slumped against the factory wall, letting her eyes fall closed. Clearly, there was something wrong with her. She shouldn’t be attracted to Nick Kringle. First, she had a job to do, and second, he wasn’t her type. Phoebe snorted at that – she wasn’t even sure she had a type. She’d rarely been attracted to the elf-boys she grew up with, and was usually too wary of human men taking advantage of her little addiction. She’d had a few perfectly nice relationships, but personally felt that no one she’d been with could quite live up to her favorite vibrator and a bag of caramels.

“Miss Winters?”

The voice was cultivated, with a slight British accent. Phoebe pried her eyes open.

The man was tall, blond, and wearing a coat that even Phoebe, with her lack of knowledge about human brands, recognized as being truly expensive. He had cool grey eyes, but his smile was warm as he stepped forward to offer her a hand.

“Arthur Canning. I’m – ”

“I know who you are, Mr. Canning,” said Phoebe straightening to take his hand.

Arthur Canning owned a chain of wildly popular gourmet food stores and was widely regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors in the city under forty. Those cool eyes flicked over her, so rapidly she almost missed it, and Phoebe was surprised to find her cheeks heating uncomfortably.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your new position and wish you the best for the upcoming season.”

“How did you – ”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Miss Winters. When Mr. Berry relocated, I was surprised to hear that Santa intended to keep the factory open.”

“Oh, Santa would never close the Manhattan branch.” said Phoebe.

“Yes, of course. My flagship store is just across the street there, and I could never part with it either. I’m looking forward to seeing you take the Candyworks to new heights.”

“Thank you.”

He stepped closer, and Phoebe felt a prickle of unease.

“I know this is a bit presumptuous, Miss Winters, but may I buy you a drink?”

Phoebe scrambled for a response. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was make small talk.

“What? Oh, that’s…
sweet
…but I really shouldn’t. I’m still unpacking boxes and my apartment is a wreck. Rain check?”

“Of course. I’ll hold you to it.”

He handed her his card, bowed slightly, and continued down the street, leaving Phoebe staring after him as he was swallowed up by the swell of pedestrians.

He was totally flirting with you. That’s the kind of man you
should
be dating.

There must be something wrong with her, Phoebe mused, absently turning the card in her hands. Arthur Canning was handsome, charming, and if the gossip rags were right, a powerful businessman and a true gentleman, but all Phoebe had felt when he stepped close was awkwardness.

We need to work on what you’re attracted to
, she warned her libido, and absently wondered if the sugar withdrawal was scrambling her sensors.

Arthur Canning did nothing for her, but one whiff of Nick’s clean spice and pine scent and she was ready to drop to her knees and beg.

IT TOOK NEARLY AN hour and a whole bar of soap to scrub the gooey pink stuff off. By the time he and the staff had finished shoveling, it was in Nick’s hair, on his skin, and all over his clothes. The scalding shower was worth it. It had taken Nick some time to get used to
hot
showers, but he decided that he liked them – they gave him time to finally relax and think about the arrival of the prissy Miss Phoebe Winters.

She thinks you’re an idiot.

That was the general impression he’d gotten. In the space of forty minutes, Phoebe had fired question after question at him, about production, about efficiency, about the staff. She’d lectured him on the importance of not mixing magical with non-magical candy,
duh
, and was so tense she looked like the lightest brush of a finger would have her splintering into a million pieces. If Nick had still had his magic, he might consider having some fun with the uptight little half-elf. As it was, he just wanted to get her out of his hair and get on with his life. It didn’t matter that she was smart, efficient, or that some of her ideas were…
well, pretty fucking good
. Nick didn’t need her.

He didn’t need anyone, particularly not a frigid babysitter.

You’re one to talk
, scoffed his subconscious, and Nick’s mouth tightened, even as the thoughts bombarded him,
You’re practically an icicle. Besides, you know nothing about her. Maybe under that suit, she’s a hot little sex fairy.

The idea had heat jolting through him, hotter than the water. After several lifetimes of snow and ice, the concept of heat was novel, strange. It unnerved Nick that while he still loved the cold, the blistering ice of winter, there was something about warmth that called to him. The image of Phoebe as a hot little sex fairy stuck in his brain as he absently rinsed goo and bubbles from his hair for the third time.

Was her hourglass shape as curvy and luscious as it seemed? Were her nipples a cotton candy pink and just as sweet? Did she keep her pussy shrouded in delicate blonde curls or bare?

Nick groaned, sliding a hand down to wrap around his cock, which was hard and aching and
hot.
Before, he’d been perfectly content with the voluptuous snow nymphs who cavorted naked in the snow, their nipples chilly, their pussies delightfully tight, wrapping his cock in a perfect, icy grip. Orgasm was a chilled rush. This
heat
was foreign to Nick, no matter that without his magic, he seemed to need it almost as much as any human. The first time he’d jerked off after losing his magic, he’d nearly had a panic attack. Now, thinking about Phoebe Winters, Nick’s mouth went slack, his hand slowly moving over his flesh in a tight grip as fantasy took hold.

She unbuttoned the suit, one button at a time, revealing creamy, round breasts, the nipples furled into tight little lickable berries. She plumped them, her delicate hands overflowing.

“Now, Mr. Kringle,” she said, backing toward the desk in his office, “Now that you’re naked and quite hard, I’ve been asked to evaluate your performance. You may demonstrate your oral skills by sucking my nipples.”

He moved to comply, sinking to his knees to take one perfect bud into his mouth, licking and nipping, dizzy from her taste, alternating between the two luscious mounds until she was panting.

“Adequate,” she breathed, pulling away to shrug out of her jacket and turning to bend over the desk, her tiny skirt tugging tightly across her nicely rounded ass.

She pulled the skirt up to reveal a pleasing lack of panties and spread her legs as wide as they would go on stiletto heels, her pussy plump and wet, shrouded in neatly trimmed golden curls.

“I’ve noticed that your cock is far larger than regulation size, Mr. Kringle. Let’s see if you know how to handle it.”

Nick stepped forward between her thighs, enjoying her shudder and his own as he ran the fat crown through her drenched folds. He teased her clit, provoking a moan and a blue glare over one shoulder.

“Did I not make myself clear, Nick? I want you to stuff my pussy with cock. Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to do as you’re told and fuck me?”

With a growl, Nick found her opening, grabbed her hips, and slammed into liquid heat with one heavy thrust. She screamed as she came, writhing on the desk as her pussy milked him with incredible, blissful pulses.

“Adequate?” he grinned, and started fucking her in earnest.

With a low cry, Nick exploded, ecstasy wracking his body, hard jets of come splattering his hand and abs before rinsing away down the drain. He teetered, the pleasure shocking in its intensity. He’d never felt anything like it.

Clearly, Phoebe Winters was dangerous to his sanity, in more ways than one, and he’d do well to stay far, far away. Determined, he reached for the faucet and gritted his teeth against the icy blast.

BY THE NEXT MORNING, Phoebe felt that she had a handle on herself. She’d given herself a stern talking to, resisted the urge to buy a mammoth bag of gumdrops, and worn out the batteries in her vibrator, trying to burn away the fantasy of Nick’s eyes glowing icy blue fire as he fucked her with a fat cherry sucker, licking up the sweetness as it melted and sliding two sticky sweet fingers into her mouth with a terse demand that she
suck.

You’d think a few orgasms would do the trick,
fumed Phoebe, stalking toward the Candyworks door, and then,
God, I want some chocolate.

She stepped into the lobby, pleased to see the staff busily preparing to open the candy shop. Phoebe hoped it would draw in the curious and help the locals see that they had nothing to fear from a little elven magic. Nodding pleasantly to the workers, she made her way up to Nick’s office.

“Pleasant and professional, Winters,” she reminded herself, pushing the door open.

She’d never had a problem being nice before – it was inherent in elf DNA – but Nick Kringle put her on edge, and terse politeness seemed to be her only defense. She was going to find her niceness again if it killed her. And him, too.

The sight of the office had every charitable thought fleeing from Phoebe’s head.

What a disaster.

Paper everywhere, boxes of inventory, unopened mail, and a computer that might have been new and popular somewhere during the Jurassic Era. Nick looked up from his desk and frowned before deliberately smoothing the expression from his face.

“Good morning, Ms. Winters,” he said.

“If we’re going to be working together, you may as well call me Phoebe,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips, trying to banish the remembered fantasy of him between her thighs, his mouth shiny with cherry and her juices, eyes hungry as he lapped her up.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then nodded.

“Nick,” he conceded.

“What happened here?”