Nick (The Kringle Boys Book 1) (6 page)

But when Nick moved to scoop her into his arms to hasten the move to the bedroom, she seemed to come to herself. Shaking her curls until they bounced, Phoebe evaded his hands and hopped off the counter.

“You’d better hurry or we’re going to be late.”

She grabbed the tuxedo from where he’d tossed it on a nearby stool and handed it to him, but for a moment, Nick could only gawk at her.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“We had a deal. You come to the party and play nice, and I let you…go down on me.”

She blushed as she said it, but held his gaze.

We had a deal.

Nick could have kicked himself. Her uninhibited response had scrambled his brain, leaving him hard and aching. He’d assumed that a few screaming orgasms would leave Phoebe pliable and amenable to spending the rest of the night wrapped around his body like a voluptuous little octopus, but
apparently not.
He tried to think of something appropriately scathing to say.

“You’re just going to leave me like this?”

Okay, whiny.

Phoebe blushed hotter.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Nick schooled his features with considerable effort, and shrugged. Leaning down, he scooped her panties off the floor.

“Give me those,” said Phoebe, holding out a hand.

Nick couldn’t help the grin, and twirled the scrap of black lace nothing on the end of his finger.

“I don’t think so. If you’re not going to help me out, I’ll need a little inspiration to take care of things.”

He looked down at his rigid cock and heard her little squeak as her eyes followed his direction. The throbbing member, pleased at being the object of her attention, swelled even bigger under her gaze. Greatly cheered by the look on her face, Nick pocketed her panties and sauntered toward her bedroom to find the shower and a date with his right hand, tugging his shirt off along the way just to hear her gasp behind him.

This isn’t over.

THERE WERE SWIRLING LIGHTS overhead, and Phoebe wasn’t entirely convinced that they were part of the ballroom décor and not some sort of orgasm-induced aftereffect of Nick’s talented performance.

And what a performance.

Phoebe grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and desperately tried not to think about Nick’s mouth.

His hands.

The blue flames in his eyes as he watched her come apart, over and over.

If she thought about it, she’d go all dreamy again, caught up in reliving the incredible sensations that still had her body buzzing with satisfaction and a kind of edgy greed, hungry for more. She’d left her panties off, the flesh between her thighs still sensitive from his ministrations, swollen and needy despite her best efforts to ignore it.

It was a testament to how off-kilter she felt that in a room full of temptation, trays of
bon bons
, and mountains of sugary truffles on every table surrounding a crowded dance floor with a live band, the most enticing confection stood six inches away, in a tux, glowering at her.

“Well, we’re here. Now what?”

Nick’s voice was barely a growl, and Phoebe was distracted from her freak out over what they’d done long enough to feel amused and a little sympathetic toward her tense colleague. A man of his size should have looked out of place in a tuxedo, but the black jacket only emphasized his broad shoulders, the elegant line of his massive frame. But his face might have been chiseled from granite. No one could mistake his expression for anything but distaste – this was the last place he wanted to be.

“Now, we mingle.”

Nick’s jaw tensed, and then he nodded.

“Let’s get this over with.”

She tucked her hand around his arm to lead him toward a friendly-looking group on the other side of the ballroom, skirting the wide dance floor. Phoebe had a momentary vision of Nick sweeping her into is arms and onto the floor, bodies pressed tightly together, his eyes filled with emotion as they moved together to the music. She suppressed a sigh. Clearly, the fried sexual circuits were now causing hallucinations. Giving into a taste of the carnal smorgasbord that was Nick Kringle was one thing. Imagining that his attraction to her was anything other than lust was something completely different.

Yeah, like total delusion. You don’t even like him, remember?

“Are you okay?”

Phoebe snapped out of her reverie to look up at Nick, whose face was inscrutable.

She hesitated.

Am I okay pretending I don’t see the chocolate-dipped strawberries, the raspberry truffles rolled in sugared almonds, the peppermint sugar glass tree ornaments, the cherry vanilla ice cream with butterscotch, and the heaping plates of Turkish Delight? Or am I okay after coming apart with your tongue in my pussy and your fingers fucking my ass?

Phoebe blushed as memory and heat swamped her, remembering what she let him do, thinking about how much more she wanted to do to him in return. Nick saw the telltale flush and she burned hotter as his eyes dipped briefly to watch the pink glow where it slid under her bodice.

“I’m fine,” she managed, “Come on, we’ll say hi to a few people and be out of here in an hour. Think you can survive that long?”

His lips quirked.

“I’ll manage.”

The two couples at the edge of the dance floor looked up as Nick and Phoebe approached, their expressions a mixture of wariness and unbridled curiosity. The wariness was mostly directed at Nick. Phoebe saw him try to relax the rigid set of his shoulders, to force a pleasant smile to his lips. The result was…uncomfortable. It reminded Phoebe of the time she’d had to give a presentation on uniform cotton candy density during a training session in the Spun Sugar department, surrounded by clouds of insanity-inducing pink fluff. Just holding herself together had left her exhausted.

It was pretty clear that Nick was not going to step forward and make friends, which meant—

“Hi, I’m Phoebe. This is Nick,” she said brightly, holding out a hand to the woman nearest her, an elegant brunette in a slinky black dress that matched her eyes.

The woman looked nonplussed for a moment, and then took her hand to shake.

“I know who you are. I’m Tasha Cordero, my husband Luis. We own Cordero Chocolates. And you’re the competition.”

She gave Phoebe a swift once-over, and Nick a much slower perusal that had Phoebe’s fingers clenching surreptitiously in the folds of her skirt as irrational annoyance swept through her.

“Hardly competition,” laughed the other gentleman, a redhead with round cheeks and a pleasant smile, “How do you compete with Santa Claus? I’m George Burke. My wife Mamie. We run a small bakery uptown. Wedding cakes and such.”

“There’s plenty of room for all of us. People love sweets. Isn’t that right, Nick?”

“Sure,” he drawled, “In fact, some people just can’t get enough.”

Phoebe fought the blush that threatened to incinerate her on the spot, not daring to look at him, hoping the others wouldn’t notice. Luckily, their eyes were trained on Nick, who’d only smiled at her discomfort and now held them captive.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been dying to ask you a question,” said George, as his mousy wife rolled her eyes.

“Now, George—“

“Oh, come on, you know you want to know,” the baker admonished his wife.

He leaned in, eyes shining.

“What’s he like?”

Nick looked confused.

“Who?”

The four pairs of human eyes looked at him like he’d grown another head.

“Santa,” said Tasha, raising a perfectly plucked brow.

Uh-oh.

Phoebe’s heart went out to Nick as he valiantly tried to make his mouth work.

“He’s— well, some people find him—I mean, we’re not exactly close--”

He gave up, jaw tensed to the point where Phoebe wondered if it would crack.

“He’s wonderful,” she said hurriedly, “Exactly as you’d imagined. Jolly and kind and wise. And maybe a little grumpy when he’s checking his list, but that’s normal.”

“Fascinating,” said Tasha.

“Awesome,” murmured George.

Nick slid Phoebe an indecipherable look and said nothing.

“Ask me anything,” said Phoebe, keeping her smile bright.

A hesitation, and the floodgates opened.

“What size shoes does he wear?”

“Do the reindeer talk?”

“What’s his favorite color?”

“How does he keep the sleigh up in the air?”

Phoebe held up her hands, laughing.

“One at a time. What was that last one?”

“Is it true that Santa can see everything?” asked Luis.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake…” said Tasha primly, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Phoebe laughed.

“It’s not like he’s spying on you with a telescope every second of the day.”

Thank God,
thought Phoebe, fighting a blush at the sudden image of Nick’s mouth frying brain cells with each hot, wicked stroke of his tongue.

She scrambled to think of a way to explain it.

“It’s more of a
feeling
he gets when he thinks about you
.
And it’s not Santa you have to worry about, anyway. It’s the magical Naughty/Nice List.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have smoked that last cigarette behind the store today,” muttered George.

“George! You told me you gave up that filthy habit.”

She glared at her husband, who managed to look contrite.

“I think you’ll be fine,” said Phoebe soothingly, “It’s about trying to be a good person, nice to the people around you. The List doesn’t fault you for having weaknesses.”

“After all, you’re only human,” said Nick.

The group fell silent with Nick’s reminder that two of them were not, in fact, human at all. Phoebe groaned internally, but kept her expression pleasant as Nick seemed to realize what he’d said, and grew even tenser at her side, if that were possible.

There was a palpable wave of relief as the music started up again, and George offered his hand to Mamie. With a smile for the others and a “So nice to meet you!” for Nick and Phoebe that managed to sound sincere, they headed off to the dance floor. Luis and Tasha soon followed suit, leaving Phoebe and Nick alone, watching the dancers glide across the floor.

“Well, that was a nightmare,” muttered Nick.

“It’ll get easier with practice,” said Phoebe with more assurance than she felt, “At least they talked to us. And maybe they’ll stop by the shop.”

“Of course they will. It’s important to check out the competition. But don’t get any ideas, Phoebe.”

He turned to face her.

“They think we’re freaks.”

“Stop that right now. You don’t know that. “

She glared, but Nick only raised an infuriating eyebrow.

“Do you ever just give people a chance?”

“Why should I?”

“Because they may surprise you.”

“I may be half Kringle, but I’m Frost, too. I’ve been around a long time, Phoebe, and the only thing I’ve learned about humans is that they’re selfish, irresponsible, and a waste of time.”

The punch of disappointment shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was
.

“Then I feel sad for you, Nick. What a way to live your life.”

She smiled sadly.

“And I’m half human, too, you know.”

NICK HAD NEVER WISHED for his lost powers so badly as in that moment. A snap of his fingers, a swirl of ice, and he could disappear forever. As it was, he stared at Phoebe, something ugly twisting in his gut at the realization that he was responsible for putting that forlorn expression on her face.

“Shit, Phoebe – ” he began, his stomach churning.

“Excuse me,” she said, and hurried away toward the restroom, leaving Nick standing alone.

Dammit.

Around him, the partygoers gave him a wide berth. Magical powers or no, Nick knew there was something about him that warned mortals to stay far, far away. He realized he had no need for the ice of his father’s kingdom. The chill that surrounded him when Phoebe stepped away was enough to call up a frost. He was surprised his breath didn’t freeze on the air.

“Ah, Mr. Kringle. So you came after all. Ms. Winters’ powers of persuasion must be great indeed.”

Nick turned to see Arthur Canning stepping forward, a glass of champagne in his hand. He smoothly snagged another from a passing waiter and handed it to him.

“Arthur.”

“Shall we drink to a Merry Christmas? Oh, forgive me. That’s not really your thing, is it? In that case, let’s drink to Phoebe. That is something we can certainly agree on.”

He clinked his glass to Nick’s, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Nick drank, unease prickling in his gut. He didn’t like Arthur, which wasn’t unusual. Nick found it difficult to like anyone. Although the factory elves weren’t too bad, he had to admit, and his North Pole brethren seemed likable enough. And he had a…fondness…of sorts for his brothers, but that was just the bonds of blood. And then there was Phoebe…

Don’t think about Phoebe.

There was something else going on here.

“How’s business, Arthur?”

“Excellent. Quite excellent. We’re so busy that I actually need to get back to the store tonight, but I couldn’t resist popping in.”

“I didn’t realize
foie gras
and tapenade qualified as confections these days.”

Arthur’s stores specialized in foodie delights, more savory than sweet, but he only smiled at the barb.

“I thought it was time to broaden my horizons. Specialty gourmet is all well and good, but what’s a food brand without an exemplary bakery and confectionary? By this time next year, Canning’s will be the number one source for all things sweet in the city.”

And then the country, and eventually, the world.

He didn’t say it, but Nick had no trouble picking up the smug forecast in the man’s tone.

“I wouldn’t count your chickens too soon, Arthur, especially with the North Pole Candyworks right across the street from your flagship store.”

Arthur sipped his champagne.

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Nick bristled.

“Santa may be a hell of a guy, but he’s no pushover. He’s not going to step aside and let you run the city. We provide a much-beloved brand for the world, in case you’d forgotten.”

“There was a time for the Candyworks, but this is a free market, Mr. Kringle. And even if that weren’t the case, I don’t see the Candyworks lasting after the New Year, so you may want to start polishing your resume.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

Arthur smiled.

“Oh, I can guarantee success.”