Nick (The Kringle Boys Book 1) (7 page)

“Really? How’s that?”

“A real man doesn’t sit around waiting for success to come to him. A real man steps up and takes what he wants. What he deserves.”

Nick could think of one or two things that Arthur Canning definitely deserved.

Arthur snagged a chocolate truffle from a passing tray.

“Besides, you don’t think I would leave the future of my business to chance, do you?”

Unease prickled along Nick’s spine as Arthur savored the treat, malice in his eyes.

“You’ve had quite a few accidents lately, Mr. Kringle. It’s a shame when a man can’t keep control of his interests.”

Red haze filled Nick’s brain as the pieces snapped into place.

“You
bastard –
” he growled, “You’ve been sabotaging us.”

Arthur wiped his fingers on a napkin, fastidious.

“Of course I have,” he said calmly, “But you’ll never prove it. Your word over mine? Pfft. Such a goodhearted gesture from Santa Claus, giving his poor misfit nephew a job. Too bad he wasn’t up to the task. I’m sure a man like Santa has many things to worry about other than a little candy factory. And once you’ve shown your incompetence, it will just be a matter of time before he accepts my offer to buy him out. You can pretend to be civilized and human all you like, Mr. Kringle, but we both know the truth. I know what you are.”

Nick clenched his fists, cold fury coursing through his blood, and for a moment, he was back in his father’s castle, ice splintering him from the inside out. He’d taken a step forward before he remembered that he was in a room full of people. Colleagues. Nothing would be gained by pulverizing Arthur into a slimy little wet lump on the floor, not until he figured out how he’d managed to do so much damage to the Candyworks. But he wanted nothing more than to reach out, grab the man’s throat, and
squeeze.

“Arthur, how nice to see you!” Phoebe held out a hand with a smile.

“I was just looking for you, Phoebe. I believe you owe me a dance.”

He lifted Phoebe’s hand to kiss, and Nick’s control snapped.

“Don’t touch her.”

Arthur raised an amused eyebrow as Phoebe turned surprised blue eyes on Nick.

“Nick!”

“He’s been sabotaging the factory.”

“What a horrid accusation, Mr. Kringle.”

Arthur managed to look both shocked and hurt, and Nick wanted to break his nose. Phoebe, on the other hand, was scowling.

“This is what you call cooperating? One hour, Nick, that’s all I asked for.”

“He’s a liar, Phoebe. A saboteur. He’s – “ Nick scrambled for words, “He’s on the Naughty List!”

Phoebe looked horrified.

“You can’t just say things like that! Mr. Canning, I’m so sorry – ”

“It’s perfectly all right. We had a slight difference of opinion.”

“No, it’s not all right. You’re a colleague and a neighbor. He has no right to accuse you like this.”

Nick took her shoulders.

“You’ll take his word over mine?” he growled.

“Show me some proof,” whispered Phoebe.

There was anger and skepticism in her face.

She didn’t believe him.

The knowledge kicked Nick in the gut. Not that he expected anything more from her, from anyone, but knowing he was a pariah was one thing. Coming face to face with it was something entirely different. The fact that the rejection came from
Phoebe
was an ugly, painful jab right into his chest.
It hurt.

Nick was aware of the whispers around them, the stares, but he didn’t care. He was shocked to find that the only opinion that mattered here was the one belonging to the half-elf in his arms. The music kicked in again.

“Care to dance, Ms. Winters?” asked Arthur, amused.

“Let me go, Nick,” murmured Phoebe, “We can talk about this later.”

Without a word, he stepped back. She took a deep breath and smiled at Arthur.

“Shall we?”

A smirk on his face, Arthur escorted Phoebe to the dance floor. She darted one dark, baffled look back at Nick, and then dismissed him as they reached the crowd. Every muscle in Nick’s body clenched tight, the cold a leaden weight in his stomach as the smooth businessman slid a hand around Phoebe’s waist and drew her close. He said something that made her laugh, her curls gleaming in the colored lights, eyes bright with mirth.

Nick couldn’t watch. He turned on his heel and stormed out, more tempted than ever to just disappear into the cold night. Maybe his brothers would take him in. Maybe Jack Frost would take him back. He thought of the Candyworks, of Mirabelle teaching him to make candy, of Spokes calmly taking orders from him to keep the factory in tip top shape as though they’d been working together for years. No judgment, no fear. He thought of Phoebe on her kitchen counter, her curvy body twisting in pleasure, letting him taste and stroke and gorge himself on her uninhibited response – the most incredible thing he’d ever experienced. He’d even kept her lacy black panties in his pocket all night to remind him that it had actually happened.

But Phoebe needed proof.

He squelched the hurt that realization caused and let determination fill him.

Nick would find her proof.

PHOEBE FOUND SPOKES IN the empty factory workshop, tinkering with a complex gadget full of gears and pipes and switches. She had no idea what it was, but the laconic old elf treated the thing like a beloved pet, murmuring encouragement and praise as sputtered and sparked.

“Spokes, have you seen Mr. Kringle?”

“Pantry,” said the elf, his shrewd eyes narrowing in speculation, “In a mood, he is.”

He’s not the only one.

Phoebe nodded and started past him, then stopped.

“You know every inch of this factory, Spokes. What do you think about the accidents?”

Spokes snorted in derision and oiled an intricate gear with oil that smelled suspiciously like wintergreen. The contraption
purred
for a moment before emitting a
crackle
of sparks and a
POOF!
of smoke. Spokes frowned at the response, and then patted it absently as he turned his attention back to Phoebe.

“Not accidents.”

“Sabotage?”

Spokes nodded and Phoebe felt sick. She’d suspected as much herself, but it was hard to accept the truth, even when it was the only option that made sense.

“Who would do such a thing?” she wondered aloud as Spokes poked at his gadget with a screwdriver.

“Cold heart.”

Someone with a cold heart. The sick feeling in Phoebe’s gut increased. Could Nick be behind the sabotage himself? What better way to destroy the Candyworks than from the inside out? Phoebe thought of the years Nick had spent at Jack Frost’s side, the way he managed to make the simplest task
so difficult
, the way elves and humans fled in the face of his frosty demeanor. Then she thought of Nick helping the elves shovel pink goo, of his restraint and patience in getting her home while she begged him to take her after the explosion, of his voice gravely informing her that she could trust him before he proceeded to shatter all her previous notions of pleasure with his mouth.

No.

“He’s a good one,” said Spokes, interrupting her reverie.

“Who?”

“Mr. Nick. Came up in a tear, nearly ripped the place apart trying to see where someone could get into the factory. Acts like a polar bear with a stuck paw most of the time, but he’s a good egg for all that.”

It was the longest speech Phoebe had ever heard from the elf.

“Did he find anything?”

Spokes shrugged.

“Thank you, Spokes. Don’t stay too late.”

Spokes nodded and turned back to his “pet” without another world, crooning a Christmas song under his breath. The gadget seemed to like it, and magic swirled around its gears. If Phoebe hadn’t been so frazzled, she would have asked what it was, but she was caught up in her stress over the idea of a saboteur violating the sanctity of the factory, Nick’s worrying accusation against Arthur Canning, and her own befuddled feelings for the surly Mr. Kringle.

She started toward the warehouse at the back of the factory that the elves lovingly dubbed the “pantry,” where all the regular candy supplies were stored, except for the magical sugar used specifically for making elf candy, which lived in the steel containers on the factory floor. A horde of snow flurries took up residence in her stomach as she approached the doors. There was another worrying issue she had to consider.

Arthur had offered her a job.

It had never occurred to Phoebe to work outside of Santa’s world, but Arthur had assured her that her organizational skills and knowledge of the market would make her invaluable in his new confectionary and bakery endeavor – they would be no competition for Santa. There was plenty of room for everyone.

Phoebe was tempted.

She’d be an executive, in high glass and steel offices far from the piles of sugar that tormented her. She’d only have to put up with her allergy once or twice a year when she went home to visit. She’d be accepted into the human world, a fascinating, different experience for a half-elf caught between two lives. She shivered, thinking about how her life would change if she took him up on his offer.

If he was serious.

If he wasn’t a saboteur.

She had to think about it.

There was a single light on in the cavernous warehouse as Phoebe stepped inside, but she had no trouble picking out Nick against the far wall. Her breath caught. It was bad enough that every time she saw the man, he was elbows deep in candy, but this just wasn’t fair.

Stripped to the waist, Nick was stacking sacks of powdered sugar, hauling the heavy bags from one side of the room to the other. The low light gleamed on slabs of muscle and smooth, golden skin that mesmerized, and a faint line of black hair under his navel, winding down toward his waistband.

And every inch of him was dusted in sugar.

Jacket, shirt and waistcoat were tossed over a nearby barrel, and Nick’s tuxedo pants were white with the substance that swirled in the air and clung to his sweat-dampened skin in a sweet kiss of temptation.

Stifling her moan, Phoebe stayed well back and found her voice despite the fact that her mouth had gone completely dry.

“What are you doing?” she croaked, mentally squashing the image of pinning him to the stack and licking every speck of sugar from those impressive abs.

Nick froze for a heartbeat, flicking a steel blue gaze in her direction, and Phoebe felt the chill all the way across the room. Then he smoothly turned back to his task.

“There’s an old vent behind this stack leftover from when the factory was remodeled. I checked – it hasn’t been used for access, but I figured I should block it off just in case.”

“Good idea,” managed Phoebe, her eyes riveted to a bead of sweat that gleamed in the light and started a slow path down his back, where muscle bunched under sugar-dusted skin.

“About earlier – ”

“What do you want, Phoebe?” Nick bit out.

“I think we should talk.”

“Well, I don’t,” snarled Nick, hefting another sack with an ease that had muscles rippling and Phoebe’s pussy clenching as she imagined all that strength against her hungry body.

She shook her head. Clearly, the sugar in the air was getting to her, even from across the room. But it was a lousy excuse, Phoebe finally admitted. It was far too late to persuade herself that her attraction to Nick had anything to do with the sugar. Underneath that surly, obnoxious shell, was…
something
. Phoebe couldn’t bring herself to call it
niceness
, but there was more to Nick Kringle than she’d anticipated, something that drew her in like a ribbon of caramel. Something dangerous that had to be dealt with once and for all.

So, it didn’t matter that the sugar clouds from the sacks that Nick dropped to the pile were wafting in her direction, Phoebe decided. She was going to clear the air with her erstwhile business partner and then see if he was interested in continuing the interlude from her kitchen. She might even reciprocate. It was a heady, un-Phoebe-ish thought, but she’d been a good little elf for so long. It was a little appalling to realize how easily a tall, luscious specimen of ultimate naughtiness could tempt her into darker pursuits. Maybe if she gorged herself on Nick Kringle’s molten sexuality…just once…she’d lose her taste for him.

Hopefully.

But first…

“I just wanted to say that you were out of line.”

“Yeah, I got that, thanks,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Accusing one of the city’s most important businessmen in front of all of our peers – ”

“First of all, they’re not our peers. They’re
human.
They wouldn’t throw us a rope if we were drowning. Second of all, I think I deserve a fucking medal for my restraint. Thirty more seconds and I would have pulverized that little creep.”

“And made things worse? Great, Nick. Just great. If you had suspicions, you should have said something to me.”

Nick dropped the sack he was carrying and stormed over to her.

“I don’t have suspicions, Phoebe. He flat-out
told
me. Smug son of a bitch thinks he can just get away with it and drive us out of the city. Well, I’m not going to let it happen.”

He was inches away, smoldering, sugar in his hair, his eyelashes, dusting his shoulders and streaks along his incredible chest.

Not yet
, Phoebe warned herself, and took a step back.

Nick scowled.

PHOEBE TOOK A STEP away from him and Nick felt the icy rock in his chest grow another size. He hated,
hated
that she was scared of him, though he didn’t blame her. She might be as helpless in her physical attraction to him as he was to her, but clearly, she didn’t want anything to do with him.

“You wanted proof, so I’m finding you proof.” The words were harsh with frustration.

He’d torn the building apart, checking surveillance, security, every door, window, and crack that could possibly explain how Arthur Canning had managed to get in and out unseen.

Nothing.

Which only made Nick feel like more of a fool.

He didn’t know which was worse – that Phoebe didn’t trust him, or that he couldn’t even back up his claims and give her a reason why she should.

“I also wanted to say…I’m sorry, Nick.”

Nick was sure he couldn’t have heard correctly.

Her voice was soft, her blue eyes bright in the dim light.

“I don’t know that I believe that Arthur –” Something twisted in Nick’s gut at her familiar use of his name, “ – had anything to do with the accidents in the factory, but I believe that you believe it. I shouldn’t have dismissed you out of hand.”

She touched his arm in apology, the softness of her fingers like foreplay against his skin, and then snatched her hand back, blushing.

“Did you find anything?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“Not yet. But I will.”

Phoebe nodded.

“All right. I suppose if I want to live among humans, I have to remember that not everyone has our best interest at heart. Elves are so much less complicated.” She sounded wistful.

“I don’t know about that,” said Nick softly, “I can think of one who keeps me tied up in knots.”

The pink in Phoebe’s cheeks spread down toward the enticing swell of her cleavage in that heart-stopping dress. The sugar in the air must be affecting her, he decided as he read the signs of arousal. But after this evening, any thoughts of continuing the hot little scene in her kitchen would be delusional.

“We’ll start fresh tomorrow and find out once and for all. But if it isn’t Arthur after all – you have to apologize,” said Phoebe.

“Like hell.”

“You
do,
Nick
.
And if it is Arthur, I’ll stand aside while you and Spokes run him through the taffy puller, okay?”

Nick narrowed his eyes at the flip comment – there was an undercurrent of truth.

“You’re going to help me?”

Phoebe frowned at the astonishment in his tone.

“Of course I am. It’s my factory, too.”

Nick had nothing to say to that – the idea that the factory in some way
belonged
to him, to them, and that they belonged to it in return – was new and humbling, and a fresh burst of rage that Arthur Canning would dare sully the Candyworks rushed through his system.

He blew out a breath, trying to center himself.

“I should shower.”

“Not on my account,” whispered Phoebe, and took a step toward him.

It was Nick’s turn to stumble back, surprised.

“What?”

Phoebe swallowed, her eyes huge in her face.

“What we did earlier – what you did. I – I liked it. I’m sure you could tell, but I should have said something. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” managed Nick, his cock swelling at the memory of her splayed, her hungry clit plump in his mouth, her voluptuous form writhing under his hands.

“Because, you see, I was wondering – actually, I was
hoping
. Do you think you might want to do it again? And…and maybe more?” She said it cautiously, a tremor under the innocently-phrased, provocative request.

Nick stood frozen, his brain struggling to process the question while all the blood rushed to his cock.

Not waiting for an answer, Phoebe stepped forward, her hands spreading against his stomach, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his sternum. He felt her lips like a brand, the softness of her fingers against his bare skin mind-blowing.

“Phoebe,” he choked out, grabbing her shoulders to haul her back, “You don’t want this. It’s just the sugar – ”

“There wasn’t any sugar in my apartment,” she noted, her fingers tracing his waistband.

She brought one sugar-dusted finger up to taste, and the sound she made chased lightning through his veins.

“But there’s tons of it here,” argued Nick, kicking himself for debating with her, but sure this fantasy coming to life couldn’t possibly be real.