Nick (The Kringle Boys Book 1) (4 page)

Phoebe didn’t deign to answer that, fury now rolling through her system like an icy storm, but straightened her clothes as best she could. He just stood there, watching her, his expression unreadable, but they reached for her fallen clipboard at the same time, and the electricity that sparked between them as their fingers brushed had them both scrambling back.

“Phoebe…” Nick began, impatience and frustration in his voice.

BOOM!!!

The explosion rattled the shelves, knocking jars to the ground in shower of candy and shattered glass. Phoebe had no time for comprehension because Nick grabbed her, shielding her from the flying debris with his big body, her face tucked into his chest, protected.

He pulled back, searching her features, heart pounding.

“Are you hurt?”

Candy dust swirled in the air around them.

“You’re bleeding,” said Phoebe shakily, touching his cheek.

He shook his head impatiently, scanning her for signs of injury. Finally satisfied that she was just rattled, he turned back toward the door to the factory floor, the source of the blast, keeping her hand in his as he pulled her through the doors inspect the damage.

“Oh my God,” said Phoebe.

THERE WAS NO WAY this was an accident.

Neither he nor Phoebe said it, but they didn’t have to.

One of the heavy steel floor-to-ceiling containers of magical sugar had exploded, sending the glittery sweet stuff flying. It sparkled in the air, swirled around the heavy machinery, and tinkled like crystal against the windows and ceiling. A razor-sharp, three-foot piece of the container was embedded in the far wall.

“That could have killed someone,” noted Nick.

Next to him, Phoebe was breathing erratically, clutching his hand like her life depended on it, her eyes wide, riveted to the sparkling sugar. She was trembling.

“Phoebe,” said Nick.

“Hmm?”

She turned those luminous blue eyes up to him and stopped at his mouth, licking her lips.

“We need to handle this. No police – they won’t understand.”

The magical sugar was kept carefully contained. It was a necessary ingredient for elf candy, but Nick didn’t want to find out how ordinary humans would react to the powerful substance.

Phoebe hadn’t answered him, her eyes now dreamy and unfocused. Nick gave her a little shake.

In response, the half-elf twined an arm up around his neck, pressing herself to him as her mouth found his, her tongue driving every thought out of his head. Before Nick could react, Phoebe’s other hand slid purposefully down his stomach and into his jeans.

“Fuck!” he gasped against her mouth as soft, sure fingers wrapped around his cock.

Still aching from their previous thwarted encounter, if the thick member could have whimpered, it would have. As it was, Nick groaned, his knees weakening as she squeezed. She got in three hot, mind-blowing strokes before Nick managed to tear himself away. The moan Phoebe made echoed his body’s protest, and Nick suddenly understood – the sugar didn’t just turn her on a little, coaxing her sexuality into the open, but like a drug, it sucked her in, destroying her inhibitions, turning her into the hot little sex fairy of his fantasies.

If a little caramel nearly had her coming apart in his arms, gulps of magical sugar-dusted air had to be wreaking havoc on her system. She was shaking with it, and Nick knew that he could peel her out of her suit and take her right here, and she’d only urge him on.

He couldn’t do it.

He might be a chilly bastard, but he wasn’t about to take advantage of her under the influence of
anything
without her clearheaded consent first
.
And to be honest with himself, it rankled that her current attraction seemed to be entirely sugar-based. Nick pushed that thought aside – he didn’t have time to think about why he suddenly wanted Phoebe Winters to want him for
him
.

Priorities.

He hurried to the red phone on the wall and explained the situation in a few quick sentences to the helpful elf who answered. That taken care of, he turned back to Phoebe, who was standing where he’d left her, barely holding it together. Spokes would be here in ten minutes, and would handle the mess. Nick didn’t waste any time, but scooped Phoebe up against his chest, nearly dropping her as she started to
come
. Phoebe clutched him tight, her body twisting in agonized pleasure, her eyes unfocused.

“What do I do?” demanded Nick.

“Take me…I need you…” moaned Phoebe, and Nick nearly groaned.

“Anything but that, baby,” he insisted, hard as a rock, furious and frustrated and scared for her, and hating every minute of it.

Shit.

“Get me home,” she whimpered.

Grimly, Nick nodded.

“Hang in there, little elf.”

Within three minutes, they were in a cab. Ten minutes later – ten long minutes during which time he tried to coax an address out of her and she tried to undress him in the back of the car – Nick kicked the door of her apartment closed behind them, took a minute to assess the neat one-bedroom, which was surprisingly unfussy for an elf, and set her down in the master bedroom. He let her go and she started to reach for him, but with monumental self-control, changed direction. She rolled over to find the nightstand, pulling a large vibrator from a drawer.

It was almost as big as he was.

Mouth dry, dick throbbing, Nick backed away.

“Don’t worry about the factory,” he said inanely as she jerked at her suit buttons.

He bumped up against the doorframe as Phoebe tossed the jacket away, closing his eyes as she wiggled out of her skirt, leaving her in nothing but stockings, a prim white shirt, and sexy little panties that curved around her luscious hips.

I have to get out of here.

He couldn’t watch, and she seemed to have forgotten that he was there.

Nick closed the door between them, but not before catching one unforgettable glimpse of Phoebe Winters, half-undressed and sprawled on the bed, tugging the clinging white satin to the side to run the thick toy along the plump, pink folds between her thighs.

Sweet fuck.

The buzz of the vibrator and a soft moan of pleasure had Nick bolting for the apartment door. He’d done the right thing, brought her home without taking her up any of her sugar-fueled offers, but one more minute and he was going to break one of the only rules he had and convince her to replace the fake cock she was sighing over with a very thick, very hard, very
real
substitute.

PHOEBE CONVINCED HERSELF THAT taking the day off to buy a dress was a perfectly justifiable course of action. After all, tonight was the annual Confectionary Ball, where all of the artisan bakers, restaurateurs, and candy makers in the city congregated to toast the holidays and not-so-subtly one-up each other over cocktails.

I’m a representative of the North Pole. I have to look good.

That, and she needed a little more time to contain the epic mortification that paralyzed her every time she thought about the previous night. Even now, in an upscale department store dressing room in her underwear, Phoebe flashed hot and cold, thinking about how she’d thrown herself at Nick Kringle.

Thinking about his tongue in her mouth and his luscious cock in her hand.

“Oh God,” she groaned, crumpling the blue silk sheath dress she had just peeled off.

Phoebe had forced herself to call him this morning to check on the factory. He was clipped on the phone, but she was relieved to hear that Spokes had taken care of things and that Nick had launched a full scale investigation into what had happened. Nick was scrupulously polite – of
course
she should take the day off. There was a long silence as Phoebe scrambled for a non-humiliating way to express herself and get off the phone as quickly as possible.

“Are you…feeling better?” Nick finally asked, gruff but oddly tentative.

“Yes. Thank you,” managed Phoebe, clearing her throat, “And thank you for getting me home.”

“You’re welcome.”

“The elves are doing a great job of cleaning up the sugar, so it should be…safe…for you by this afternoon.”

“I appreciate it,” she squeaked, and hurriedly said goodbye before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

Phoebe tossed the blue silk aside and reached for a strawberry red dress on a hanger, the satin-edged crinoline rustling cheerfully as she tugged it on. She gritted her teeth at the sensation of the lining sliding over her curves. She wasn’t the mindless sex addict of the night before, but her skin was still sensitive beyond reason. And her pussy…Though she was exhausted, the soreness was already passing, thanks to her fabulous quick-healing elf genes, but Phoebe had a pretty good idea that one wasn’t supposed to subject one’s pussy to hours and hours of mindless self-pleasure. Her vibrator would never be the same.

Most of the night was a little hazy. Phoebe remembered Nick taunting her with caramel goodness and a sexy, wicked charm that she had no idea he possessed. She remembered the taste of his skin mixing with the warm sweetness of candy, and the thrilling feel of his muscled body crushed tight to hers. She remembered an argument. Then there was an explosion, and suddenly the air was filled with the most mouthwatering, impossibly irresistible sugary magic that turned her libido up to eleven, consuming her with the need to fuse herself to Nick Kringle until he satisfied her greedy, mindless craving for male flesh. Sugar made her hot, but it was usually a general horniness, not this specific, laser-focused
want
she’d felt last night.

He’d felt
so
good, his mouth a carnal delight, his cock so big and wondrously hard and hot in her grip. He’d scooped her up, taken her home, and…left.

Phoebe frowned at her reflection in the mirror.

Nick Kringle wanted her. He’d made that abundantly clear. He wanted her for hot, meaningless, probably kinky sex. Her clit throbbed and her toes curled just thinking about it. He could have taken advantage of her six ways to Sunday last night, and she would have encouraged him to do exactly that, but instead she had a memory of him settling her on the bed and backing away.

She flashed hot again.

It was very possible she’d started stripping before he left the room.

Why didn’t he fuck me?

Was it possible she’d horrified the attraction right out of him? She should count herself lucky. She had more important things to worry about, like the factory. And sabotage. But she couldn’t shake the suspicion that she’d misjudged Jack Frost’s middle son. Maybe…just maybe…Nick Kringle wasn’t the complete bastard the world assumed he was.

It was too much to consider right now. If she hurried through her list, she’d have time for a much-needed nap before it was time to get ready. Grabbing her phone, she made a quick call, pleased when an elf answered Nick’s office phone – he’d taken her advice to have someone sort out the nightmare that was his desk. Leaving a message to have Nick stop by her apartment after work, she hung up, relieved that he hadn’t answered himself. She wasn’t ready to talk to him again just yet.

Phoebe smoothed the dress over her hips, adjusting the tiny straps, pleased with the way the full skirt swished as she twisted to see the back. She still had to hunt up a tuxedo for Nick, and probably wrestle him into it, but at least she could assure herself that they would make Santa proud.

Ten minutes later, Phoebe left the dress department, the red frock carefully wrapped in plastic, and headed toward Men’s Formalwear. She still needed shoes, but Nick’s tuxedo was an imperative. He’d probably forgotten all about the event tonight, and she had a feeling he was not going to go willingly. She’d ambush him when he got to her place tonight.

Phoebe stepped off the escalator and ran smack into Arthur Canning.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed as her dress and his boxes went flying.

“Ms. Winters! What a pleasant surprise. No, no. Stay there. Allow me.”

He quickly retrieved her dress and collected his parcels.

“Did I break anything?”

Arthur grinned, all easy charm.

“It’s mostly sweaters, so I doubt it. Just a little Christmas shopping.”

“How nice. I haven’t started.”

Phoebe realized with a start that this would be her first Christmas alone away from the North Pole – there was no way she could abandon the factory during the most important time of the year. Elves all felt like extended family, of course, but Phoebe felt a sudden pang of homesickness for her goofy, noisy blood relations.

Arthur handed her the dress bag with a little bow.

“Thank you.”

“A dress for the Confectionary Ball?” he asked.

“How did you know?”

“I doubt you’d miss the event of the season.”

“We’ll be there.”

Arthur’s eyebrow raised, his gray eyes lighting with interest.

“You and Mr. Kringle?”

Phoebe nodded.

“Impressive. He’s turned down every one of my invitations to lunch. I was beginning to think he was a hermit.”

“He’s just…adjusting…to city life. He comes from a pretty isolated location.”

“Well, if you can convince him to attend, I’d be extremely grateful. I make it a point to meet regularly with the competition.”

“Competition?

“We’ve just opened our first artisan candy department in the store, and I’m hoping to expand nationwide within the year. Nothing on your level, of course. I doubt Santa would consider me a threat.”

Aside from Jack Frost, Santa never felt threatened by anyone.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Phoebe.

Arthur took her hand.

“I very much hope you’ll save me a dance this evening.”

Phoebe had no idea why his closeness made her so uneasy, but she swallowed it down.

“Of course, I look forward to it.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you tonight.”

With a pleased smile, he turned to go, but suddenly turned back.

“Phoebe, I think we might have a lot in common. I would like to get to know you better, but I don’t want to step on any toes. Do you…are you involved with anyone?”

Phoebe thought of Nick, of the heat of his mouth and the hard grip of his hands.

“Not at the moment,” she said.

NICK HAD NEVER JOGGED before, but it seemed to be the way humans burned off the day’s stress, and it gave him an excuse to spend a few hours outside in his icy natural habitat. He quickly realized that he enjoyed the sensation, the blood pounding through his system, the cold air in his lungs as lights twinkled over the darkening city. Though he no longer had his magic, he had discovered after two weeks of homelessness that he wasn’t precisely human either – it might make him a little uncomfortable, but he could still withstand a hell of a lot from the elements. As he pounded the pavement along the river, he wondered if it would be worth it to hunt up a witch to restore his stolen powers. It would probably cost a pretty penny.

The phone in Nick’s pocket beeped, reminding him that Phoebe had asked him to stop by. As if he could forget. The last time he’d seen her, she was caught in the throes of lust, about to pleasure herself whether he was in the room or not. For a moment, Nick indulged himself in the fantasy of Phoebe answering the door in a prim shirt, silky stockings, and nothing else. Maybe he could teach her a few new tricks for that vibrator. He’d thought up a few good ones while he was jerking off last night.

“Shit, I should have just fucked her and gotten it over with,” he muttered to himself, surly, as his cock pulsed in agreement.

Being all noble and not-scumbag-esque was a real pain in the ass.

He’d taken advantage of her absence today to ask the elves about his new supervisor. Lucky for him, elves were gossipy little things, and had no trouble telling him everything they knew about the curious blonde half-elf. Her father was one of Santa’s sleigh engineers, and had married an elf. Phoebe was well-liked in North Pole Village, but in the last few years had started turning down invitations left and right. She’d become introverted and cautious.

I’ll bet I know why
.

Sugar-based uncontrollable arousal in a village where no one left the house without a pocketful of candy had probably been hellish on Phoebe. Nick was surprised to feel a pang of sympathy, unsettled by the sensation. From all accounts, Phoebe was more than the curvy little termagant who seemed determined to blow his mind and his temper at the same time. She was sweet and helpful, determined and loyal. Somewhere under all of that prissiness, she actually had a sense of humor, if the rumors were true. Nick was dubious about that one. Not having much experience with one himself, he wasn’t sure he’d recognize it if he saw it.

Nick had hoped that learning more about her would remind him that she was an uptight, judgmental little elf, but instead, now he had a sneaking suspicion that he was growing to like her…
and
she made his mouth water.

He’d managed to cool down by the time he reached her apartment building, the lust swamped by an unaccountable case of nerves. Nick looked down at his wardrobe – a long-sleeved tee, sweats, and sneakers – and frowned. Whatever. He didn’t plan on staying long.

She probably just wants to apologize.

Their phone call this morning had been stilted at best. If apologizing was what she wanted to do, fine. He’d listen to her apology, offer a satisfactory response, and hopefully they could forget the whole thing. The last thing he needed was more awkwardness and rejection.
And heat and moans of pleasure and softest skin under his hands and lips.
Especially that. It was time to get back to normal.

Because if they didn’t, he was going to go out of his mind.

Nick knocked, feeling his stomach tightening. Light footsteps, and then she opened the door to her apartment and completely knocked the air out of his lungs.

Phoebe was dressed up in a strawberry red satin dress that cupped her stunning breasts before molding lovingly to the curve of her waist and spilling out in a wave of shimmering crimson over a froth of red netting. Her feet were encased in heels that made her legs look fantastically long despite her height. She looked good enough to eat.

“Oh good,” she said, relieved, stepping aside to let him in, “I was worried you’d be late.”

Feeling like he was missing something, Nick stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Phoebe opened a nearby closet and pulled out a tuxedo wrapped in plastic.

“You can use my shower. Here, this should fit.”

Nick took the tuxedo, staring at it with a horrible sense of foreboding.

“Nick?” said Phoebe, her blue eyes steady on his, “The Confectionary Ball? Tonight?”

Shit, he’d forgotten all about it. The thought of all that schmoozing made his skin crawl. He struggled to say something that would come out better than,
Hell, no.

“No fucking way.”

Not better, Kringle.

Phoebe frowned, her spine stiffening, and gone was the voluptuous goddess in red, replaced by no-nonsense, don’t-mess-with-me Phoebe Winters, his boss and the bane of his existence.

“You promised to go to these things.”

“I did not. I agreed. I’m un-agreeing.”

“You have a responsibility to—”

“I have a responsibility to keep the factory running, to get the orders out on time, and to keep the elves at North Pole Village full of candy. That’s it.”

Phoebe huffed, and then visibly pulled herself together. Her fury was tangible.