Page 21 of Mistletoe Latte

Between feeding himself, a teenager, and her dad, the money was stretching to the breaking point. Maybe he should just give the horde what they wanted? As Nick eased down the stairs, the light caught on a picture frame. The old photo was of him with his arm around someone that couldn’t be seen because he’d put a picture of nine-year-old Skylar over her.

Clenching his fists, he vowed he wouldn’t make another mistletoe latte over his cold, dead body. They could eat ramen for Christmas, Pete included. With heartbroken rage keeping him warm, Nick sat on the couch, twisted around to sleep, and lay the blanket over him. His feet stuck out off the edge, the chill biting his toes.

He only closed his eyes for a minute when the tell-tale creak of the door sent Nick shooting up. The hazy streetlights softened the silhouette of the girl in big trouble. “Ah-ha! Where do you think you’re going?”

Skylar flipped on the overhead light, burning his retinas in the process. As he blinked, feeling a sticky pull between his lids, she spun his set of keys on her finger. “Warming up the truck. It’s already four-thirty.”

“What?” One foot struck the ground and an icy chill shattered up his calf. Nick stared at the weird clock which he knew had been on the eight hand. But sure enough, that damn hour pointed to four. That couldn’t be right. He’d barely slept more than a few minutes. Did Skylar change the clock to…?

The creak of the stairs drew his attention to the woman in her full outfit, her hair tamed by a headband. As Emma’s soft hand glided down the banister, fractures of his dreams returned. Those same fingers had slipped into his mouth then trailed down his chest, nails scratching along the way.

She paused, her eyes dark as espresso. The harsh streetlamp lit up her pink sweater until it glowed like angel wings. Another snippet of his dream returned—that same sweater had been piled on the kitchen counter, her thighs straddling his waist as he dripped honey down her naked breasts and bent over to lick them.

“Morning,” Emma called, her voice showing only a hint of grogginess. Both of the girls were dressed for the day while he was in nothing more than a ratty shirt and sweats.

“Damn it,” he cursed himself and rose to his full height. “Give me five…” Nick was about to run for the stairs when his pants tugged on the raging erection. He mentally shrunk to a fifteen-year-old that just spotted his crush’s bra strap. Hunching down, he snatched up the pillow and blanket, and draped both in front of his crotch. He had no choice but to lumber past Emma, who’d paused at the foot of the stairs and watched him curiously.

If she knew what he’d been dreaming about, how pink would those cheeks of her turn?

Oh, that was not a smart thought. His libido leaped from a cute blush to her buttocks glistening in his hands. All the blood in his body pumped into his cock that wanted to scream. Facing them, Nick took the stairs backward, one hand slapped to the wall for balance, the other hiding his vengeful shame.

“Ten minutes. Give me ten to get dressed.” At this rate, he’d need one to solve this and nine for clean-up.

Skylar sighed and spun the keys on her fingers faster. “We’re gonna be late.”

Away from her eyes, Nick bolted to his room and dashed for his clothing. He managed to tug his sweats down past his hips, freeing his cock. The chill of winter should have calmed the thick crown pulsing on its own, but he glanced to his bed. Instead of resting against the headboard, the two pillows were left laying vertically in the middle of the bed as if she’d wrapped her entire body around them to sleep.

The last of his dream returned, of naked breasts and hard nipples pressing against his back and her warm breath caressing down his ear before she bit the lobe.Oh, fu-u-u-u…

Nick slapped a hand over his mouth to keep the groan internal. His other was busy trying to catch the mess before it dripped everywhere.

“Fifteen!” he shouted, struggling to contain himself. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE AIR SMELLED of snow. She’d missed the crisp bite right before a tumble of flakes. In Portland, it was a melancholy scent when heavy sleet rained instead. The streets were silent. A single streetlight blazed through the winter darkness.

Nick turned the key in the door, and Skylar blew past him. Emma waited more patiently, not as freezing as the socially dressed teen. He finished tugging back the door’s lock, then held it open for her. She blushed at the chivalrous move. In walking around him, the scent changed from bright and sharp snow to a heady, masculine musk that made Emma’s eyelids hang low. She’d spent the night wrapped up in that, his smell embedded into the sheets. When she’d woken to find herself entwined with the pillows, breathing deeply of him, she was so glad that Skylar banged on the door and not Nick.

As she walked into the back room of the shop, the scent of coffee grew so strong that Emma could taste it on her tongue. She wasn’t enough of a connoisseur to pick up on the blends radiating in the air.

“Skylar, start grinding the dark and medium roasts.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” the girl asked. Before Nick could answer, the sound of machinery and cracking coffee beans overpowered them.

Nick said something. Emma could see his mouth moving, but all that came out was a whisper under the grinder.

“What?” she shouted, trying to protect her ears with her shoulder.

To her shock, he took her hand. His wide fingers swept across all of her palm, protecting and shielding it. Nick tugged her past the stockroom where Skylar sat in the only chair with her feet on the sink. Eeriness radiated through the cafe, the single light source catching on the upside-down chairs resting on the tables. They poked through the air like naked trees stripped of all branches.

She didn’t realize she was clinging to his hand until Nick let go and raised the lights. The illumination chased away the unsettling feeling of an impenetrable forest in the dead of winter.

“That damn grinder is loud, even out here,” Nick muttered. He booted up his espresso machine and checked the water levels.

“Should you let Skylar get so close to it?” Emma asked, fearing for the girl’s ears.

Nick waved it off. “It’s quieter than the music she blares out of her headphones.”

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