Page 12 of Second Chances with St. Nick

Drowning in sheets and who knew what else, reality hit me—laundry carts were heavy. There was no way I’d get out easily. What if someone found me like this? The Pine Springs Press would have a field day with that headline too!

I punched at the sides, gripping random laundry items in my fists. “Hello!” I called, my voice muffled by the fabric cocoon smothering me. “A little help, please?”

Suddenly, mercifully, as if St. Peter himself opened the pearly gates of heaven, a heavy clunk rang out and the white veil lifted.

I blinked into a sliver of light in front of me. A silhouetted figure—tall and broad—stood in what could only be an open doorway.

I swallowed. Hell. Saint Peter had hit the gym.

“Are you looking for somewhere to hang your pillowcase?”

The man’s voice hit me like a jackhammer, and I inhaled a now-familiar scent of cinnamon and pine. My fingers loosened around the cotton in my hand. “Is that what I’m holding? I mean, I’d usually go for a stocking, but I was kind of low on options.”

A low, growly chuckle rumbled through the air. It sounded like a bear enjoying a good tummy tickle. At the sound, a pricklecrept up my neck and my hair raised, as if I was standing alone on the plains during a thunderstorm. “Nick?”

He leaned down and offered me a solid arm, helping me up as if I was a feather. The smell of wood smoke mingled with his cologne, and the heat of his body made its way through my robe. I couldn’t see well, but I got the impression he was staring at me. Studying me, even. Under his gaze, my skin tingled.

Words came out of my mouth in a jumbled burst. “I… I’m… I’m in the next room.” I pointed in the vague direction of my door. “I locked myself out, but my glasses are still inside.” At his silence, I swallowed. “Remember how I can’t see much without them?” I gave my shoulders a tiny shrug. “But at least I found the laundry cart… or… it found me.”

My rescuer breathed out another low, throaty chuckle. In the gloom, I made out a smile playing on his lips. Well, if this wasn’t Nick, it was good to know St. Peter appreciated humor. At least, when the time came, I could one-line my way into heaven.

Now fully upright, I steadied my balance. More laundry items fell away from my body as I wobbled against him. Thank goodness I still had a hold of his arm. And damn, what an arm it was. The outline of every single muscle made its way through the soft fabric of his sleeve. A shiver ran over my body.

“You must be freezing,” he said. “Come in and warm up before we find you a spare key.”

His voice caressed me again, but I hesitated on the threshold of his room. Following Nick inside probably wasn’t the wisest move. Hadn’t I spent most of the last twenty-four hours thinking about him and I locked tight together on the dance floor at The Timberline? And hadn’t those thoughts turned decidedly murkier as I lay awake in bed last night? I could hear my mother’s nagging voice in my head already.

“I don’t care how well you know someone. Young ladies don’t go into men’s hotel rooms without a damn good reason, or at least a chaperone.”

Despite this not being Victorian England, she was probably right. But hell, I’d had enough of being told what to do. She and my ex could form their own club.

I squinted at Nick again, trying to make him out. Yes, I’d pictured him naked last night. Had all kinds of “non-old-best-friend-appropriate” thoughts, but I had to be practical. Tipsy and half-blind, I wouldn’t get far on my own.

Instead of declining his invitation like a sane person, I swallowed hard, nodded and followed my first love into his room.

8

SECRETS AND SANTA

Nick’s room was better lit than the corridor, and I could make out more of him—the unmistakable blond of his hair and the way he held his shoulders. I followed him inside, tightening my eyes at his broad back. Did he have on red velvet pants and a jacket? And why was there white fur trim at his neck and wrists?

He led me to a leather couch, and I sank into its cushions. I held my hands out toward the indistinct glow of a smoldering fire. Nick busied himself on the other side of the room. A clinking of glass and the soft glug of liquid made my lips bow. He had a mini-bar too; it seemed.

“Who did you have to bribe?” I asked, pointing at the hearth.

He huffed a laugh. “I have friends in high places.” He handed me a glass of what smelled like brandy.

I closed my fingers around it, taking a sip. “Mom always told me I shouldn’t take drinks from men who wear velvet. Or was it strangers? No matter. Either is probably good advice.”

Nick gave a slow shake of his head. “And I shouldn’t be drinking on the job, but with this storm, I won’t get any more deliveries done tonight.”

I was about to ask him what he meant but was spectacularly side-tracked as he sat down beside me, stretching out his thick, muscular legs. The couch creaked as he settled.

This close, I could make out the hazel of his eyes. Sandy lashes fringed their edges. Time had lightly scored the bronzed skin of his forehead and as I leaned closer, the size of his body dwarfed me.

Electricity hung in the silence between us, and a hot flush moved through my body. Could he hear the hammering of my heart?

Nick tapped at the edge of his glass with his fingertips. Was he waiting for me to speak? He hadn’t let me talk last night—let me apologize for my behavior all those years ago. But I had him like a captive audience now. I had to try again.

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