Page 52 of Christmas Criminal

Noelle,despite being unenthused about today's community service, takes her job seriously. She hands out pamphlets and speaks kindly to anyone who stops by to say hello, though most of them are here to chat with Hank and move on. She calls after anyone who leaves the booth without a small stack of pamphlets and makes sure they get one of each, shooting Hank and me dirty looks every time she catches one of us looking at her.

Which... is hardnotto do. Whenever someone walks up to the table, she leans forward to greet them and the only thing I can think about is how she would look with my chalky handprint on her ass.

As we get close to lunch, Hank asks us what we want and heads down the street to pick it up for us. It’s on him, he insists, because we've been so gracious with our time.

Even though I'm not doing much other than ogling Noelle. It's not like our booth is getting bombarded with people–it's the sheriff's booth, for Christ's sake, and most people are moreinterested in Christmas presents and snacks than they are with us.

So I greet any townspeople I know and do my best to make myself useful, but mostly I imagine all the ways I could make Noelle come. If I had been smarter, I would have brought a book to read during those moments when no one is around. Anything to distract me from her ass and the toned legs underneath.

There's a part of me that wonders whether she's doing this on purpose. Every once in a while she turns around to look at me, and I can't tell whether it's amusement or annoyance in her eyes.

While Hank is gone to get food, I get my answer. She twists to look at me, wiggling her ass in my direction. "Getting a good look, Mr. Monroe?" she asks, catching me staring shamelessly at her backside. She's leaning across the table in front of her, and when she catches my attention, she arches her back ever so slightly.

"You're trying to make this as hard as possible, aren't you?"

She grins. "Is it working?" Her eyes dip and I swallow, pushing my glasses onto my head so I can't see her anymore, and run a hand over my face.

I mean, I can see a very sexy blob in front of me, but the detail is gone.

"Yes," I say gruffly, as I reposition my glasses in front of my eyes.

She grins. "Good. Because I'm sure as hell not going to be the only one tortured this holiday season."

I shake my head as I laugh, tipping my head back and staring at the ceiling of the hut for a few moments before turning my attention back to her.

And that's the moment Hank returns, bag of food in his hand, and sets it down on the little fold-up table in the back of the tent. "Sandwich for you, sir," he says, as someone stops by the booth. Noelle speaks easily to them, handing over pamphlet afterpamphlet with a smile on her face as if she's actuallyhappyto be doing this. "Noelle, when you're done, I have your salad here for you."

"Thanks," she calls over her shoulder, returning her attention to the family she's talking to.

My eyes linger on her a second longer than I should, caught on the way her hair flows down her back, the way her body is all smooth curves.

I shake my head in an attempt to focus my brain.

And when I turn my attention to the food in front of me, I catch only Hank's grin.

"You gonna ask her out or what?"

I swallow. "What?"

"You've spent all morning staring at the girl. You might as well make a real go of it."

My heart thumps.Does this mean I have Hank’s blessing?

Not that Ineedit. But we’ve already entered dangerous territory.

But if Hank’s not upset, maybe I shouldn’t try so hard to fight this thing between us.

"Hank, I sign her timecard."

His laugh is boisterous enough that Noelle turns to see what the commotion is. I shrug, hoping she's not listening too closely to our conversation. "I found that timecard online and printed it out on card stock so it looked borderline legitimate."

I snort. "If everyone else is taking it seriously, I feel like I should take it seriously."

Hank shrugs. "Well, whatever. Just don't sit around with your thumb up your butt too long because that girl is going to go running away from here the second her hours are done."

"You think?" I carefully unwrap my sandwich with one eye on Noelle.

He nods. "Her mother's been trying to get her to come back for ages. Won't stay longer than a holiday unless she's forced to, and when she does, it's nothing but temper tantrums. Like that egg-throwing incident." He sighs, pulling the plastic from around his wrap. "I get it. I really do. High school is tough for a lot of kids. But she's not in high school anymore, and she's got family here who want her around. I mean, once her sister moves back here, she's going to be alone and essentially shunning everyone who cares about her."

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