Page 3 of Saint Nick
He let her slowly slide down his big body, so that she could feel every inch of him. Santa was packing, and she had a feeling that it wasn’t a gift he had hidden in his red velvet pants. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but shake her head at him. Santa seemed to have a naughty side, and getting wrapped up in that might be her downfall.
Sandy had a type—bad boys were her go-to type for dating. Her relationships usually ended in heartbreak and disappointment—mainly in herself. “Not going to happen, Santa,” she said under her breath. She had a feeling that Nick heard her, judging by the sexy smirk on his handsome face.
“What’s not going to happen?” he asked. She could tell that he knew exactly what she was saying. Sandy shook her head, trying to clear all the dirty thoughts that were currently running through her mind.
“I’m Sandy Cove,” she said, ignoring his question. She held out her hand to him, and he looked it over as though he wasn’t sure that he was going to shake it. “It’s just a handshake, Santa,” she said.
He took her hand into his and smiled down at her. “It’s not the handshake that has me baffled—it’s your name. Is that your real name?”
She pulled her hand from his, trying to ignore that little jolt of electricity that ran up her arm as soon as he touched her. “Yeah, my mother had a sense of humor.” That was always what she told people who questioned her name, and the bikersat the club seemed fixated on her mother’s play on words. “And for a guy named Nick, who is playing Santa, you have no room to talk. I’m here to interview you for the Sun,” she said.
“I’m sorry, what?” he asked.
“I’m interviewing you for the local paper. Everyone in town will be at the Christmas party that your club is throwing, and my boss thought it would make a good story.” Nothing about her boss’s idea seemed like a good one, but she liked getting her weekly paycheck, and maybe he was right. Maybe the locals in town had nothing better to do than attend a local children’s Christmas party at a bar. It was a small town, and she knew from experience that there wasn’t much to do.
“I’m not doing an interview. It’s bad enough that I have to play Santa for a holiday that I fucking hate, but now, I’m supposed to talk about it?”
Sandy pulled out her pad of paper and pen. “Do you mind if I quote you?” she asked, starting to write down what he had just said.
He took the pad and pen from her and tossed them on the desk behind him. “Yes, I fucking mind. Didn’t you hear me just say that I won’t give you an interview?” She had heard him, but going back to the office empty-handed wasn’t going to happen. Her boss would have a fit.
“Listen,” she sighed, “I’m new in town, and I’m not really even a reporter. All the reporters are sick with the flu, and now I’m stuck interviewing you.”
“Gee, thanks for that,” he drawled.
“Not what I meant. I’m actually the editor for the paper, and when everyone called in sick, my boss stuck me with this story,” she grumbled.
“Yeah, that isn’t any better,” he teased.
“I just need a few quotes, and I can be on my way,” shepromised. “I’d prefer that they not be about Santa hating Christmas, though. Who hates Christmas?”
He shrugged, “Someone who never really had one growing up.” Sandy couldn’t imagine not having Christmas as a kid. Her mother had always gone out of her way to celebrate the holiday season.
“Were your parents Jewish?” she asked.
He took the Santa hat off his head and leaned back against the desk. “No clue. I never knew my parents. I grew up in the foster care system, and Christmas was just another day for kids like me.” She felt his sadness in the pit of her stomach and wanted to change the topic but also knew that his admission might be the start of a very interesting news story.
“See, that could be the headline,” she said. “Santa is Getting His Christmas Spirit Back After Spending His Early Years in Foster Care. It’s a working title.”
“It’s not a working title because there won’t be a news story,” Nick shouted.
There was a knock at the door, and Sandy was thankful for the reprieve. “Everything okay in here?” Mace asked, ducking his head into the office.
“I’m not doing a news story,” Nick insisted.
“Come on, man,” Mace griped. “It will be good for the club, and as the treasurer, you should be all about bringing in more people to make a few extra dollars. Do it for me, and I promise that I won’t ask you any favors for the rest of the year.” Sandy couldn’t help her giggle, wondering if Nick would pick up on the fact that the end of the year was in two short weeks.
“You’re so generous,” Nick grumbled. “I really don’t have a say in this, do I?” he asked.
“Nope,” Mace said, “just do the damn interview, Nick. TakeMs. Cover to dinner and lie your ass off. I don’t care what you come up with as long as you don’t lead with the fact that you hate Christmas.” Mace didn’t wait for Nick to respond. He turned and walked out of his office, not giving poor Santa a chance to resist.
“I take it he’s the boss of you?” Sandy whispered when Mace shut the door.
“Yeah, he’s the club’s Prez and he’s bossy as hell.” He pulled the red velvet pants down his muscular thighs, revealing more tattoos, and Sandy nearly swallowed her tongue.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“Changing back into my clothes so that I can take you to dinner and lie my ass off,” he explained. Her eyes had settled on the bulge in his boxer briefs, and he chuckled. “That is, if you can take your eyes off my cock. If you have other plans in mind, let’s hear them.” Sandy had so many ideas running through her head at the moment, but none of them would end up with her getting the story that she needed.
