To Kiss A Kringle (Southern Sanctuary Book 13)

by Jane Cousins

  “Yes, that I got. But the fire? However it got started, that was a little extreme. And shooting in such a public place? That smacks of panic.”

  “Panic. Which is very unlike Mara. I read all her reports, in the field she was very discreet, cool, calculating. Tonight seemed random, messy and… unnecessary.”

  “Unnecessary? Mara was cornered, she reacted.”

  “Did she?” Cullen ran through the events. But the packed crowd. His position in the room. He just didn’t have enough data… yet. Though there were several things he could confirm. “Mara was no where near the fire when it started. Or that first scream… a man I think. I say unnecessary because… why, if she knew I was there tonight, wouldn’t she just run? I’m sure she has multiple contingencies in place for just such an event. Or, having pinpointed me, why didn’t she slip up behind me in the crowd and attempt to kill me?”

  “She could do that?”

  “Easily if I wasn’t an Archer. But she doesn’t know that. She should have at least tried, way less fuss and attention. With her skills? She’d presume she’d be across the room ordering champagne before I dropped to the floor. Perfect alibi.”

  Patricia’s stomach churned with heat. She hated the idea of Cullen casually talking about an attempt being made on his life. Which just goes to show what different worlds the two of them inhabited. He lived the adventure. She read about it.

  Although, if this was a book, after escaping such a near miss the heroine and hero would be heating up the sheets about now. Ummm, the very sheets she was sitting on.

  It would be one way to get out of this irritating dress as fast as possible. And surely all that friction would deal with her desire to scratch. And with sex on the table, the uncomfortable burning tight feeling radiating from the skin on her face and throat began to momentarily re-cede. Hmmm, sex. It wouldn’t have to mean anything. Just a way to release all that hyped up adrenalin that still flooded through her veins.

  Not to mention, after all the kisses, casual caresses and that hot dance, her body was already fired up and half way ready to finish what they had started. Plus, bonus for Cullen, she was never going to look this good in her life time ever again. The Evangeline character was sensuality incarnate.

  And if she had any regrets after the act, well, perhaps she could convince herself that she’d just sunk too deeply into the Evangeline persona, embracing all that raw youth and sensuality.

  Right here, right now, she chose to celebrate life. With Cullen. Her lips curving upwards in anticipation and invitation. And she was totally going to ignore the fact that those too pouty lips were currently both stinging and beginning to feel numb.

  Cullen was running twenty different mental searches involving facial expressions, body language, snippets of overheard conversation and all the information he had already trawled through regarding the exclusive school and the main players. But his body, his body was very attuned to the knowledge that Trix Bennett was in his bedroom, sitting on his bed… and it felt completely wrong.

  Jarring him on an innate level.

  It was the tumble of unfamiliar red hair, sparkling blue eyes, swollen lips and the costume. Sure, she looked like a twenty-four year old hot-to-trot showgirl, but he missed seeing the spark of intelligence and cool amusement in those copper flecked hazel eyes. This… girl, didn’t look like she had a thought in her head. She was too artificial and shallow.

  Only her scent, and that husky voice remained as evidence that Patricia lurked beneath the surface. He was sure if he touched her though, that silken flesh would ignite a fire that had been burning since he’d first caught sight of those bare, long legs of hers this evening.

  But he was more than just his male instincts, as much as his body wanted her, his mind, right at this minute, couldn’t seem to do anything but catalogue all the things he missed seeing.

  The way the edges of Patricia’s eyes crinkled slightly when she was trying not to smile or laugh at him. The way her lips pursed when she was unimpressed. The cool challenging confidence she normally emoted that instinctively made him want to conquer all the barriers that she protected herself with. That innate sensuality she exuded with every purposeful stride and lift of her chin when she took charge of a situation.

  He opened his mouth to start running conjectures regarding the events of this evening, and how weird was that with the sun high in the Southern Hemisphere sky? When he discovered he couldn’t do it. He wanted Patricia back. Even though he knew he was being ridiculous, beneath all the cosmetics, the hair dye, the contacts and the sequins, it was Patricia. Yet his magic baulked. Misfiring in some weird way as it sought to compute this creature with the symphony of classical curves and constant challenge that was Trix.

  Hah, Cullen was speechless, possibly overwhelmed by the clear invitation she was conveying with the sexy tilt of her lips. It made Patricia feel powerful. She took pity on him. Gracefully rising to her feet. Ouch, choosing to ignore the sore ankle and her protesting feet. She moved towards him. Reaching out to caress his face she was pleased when he took hold of her hand. His touch, it ramped up the liquid heat that was roiling low in her body.

  “Great. I’d almost forgotten about the ring. Thanks.” Cullen yanked it off her finger and dumped her hand quickly. “Well, I have a lot to do.” He began to physically herd Patricia in the direction of his walk-in closet where he’d established his Transporter Portal

  “Um… but….” What the hell was happening?

  “You did say the cut was minor, right? But you should still have someone at the medical centre take a second look at it.”

  “I thought… maybe you and I…” How could she finish that statement without looking like a complete desperate loser in the face of Cullen’s sudden all business persona?

  “Yes. Yes. I promise not to cut you out of the Op. But I need to check in with my cousin, the one tailing Mara and double check she is still at her residence, acting as if nothing has happened. And then I need to focus on gathering and assessing all the footage from the party.” He was careful to place a hand on her fully covered be-sequined hip and hurry her along a little.

  Patricia found herself in the spacious walk-in closet. Turning, she opened her mouth to ask… ask what? The door abruptly swing shut in her face. And wasn’t that just lovely. Not only was Lester Cullen completely uninterested in her. His last visual of her would be one of her standing there, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

  Merciful Lady. Could things go any more wrong?

  * * *

  Zartel stomped up to the innocuous dark grey door. Recalling from some distant memory that women appreciated politeness, he took a deep breath and rung the doorbell. And though it cost him, he waited. Counting to twenty before ringing the doorbell again. No answer.

  Hmm, there was no contingency plan if Patricia Bennett was not home.

  By the Sun. Long hours had been spent strategizing this meeting.

  He would be nice. Approach her away from her place of work. Be considerate. Charming. Win her over. Don’t give too much information away. Be the hook.

  Zartel had been forced to spend quite a bit of time thinking about those words of advice he’d received. Be the hook?

  But at a very base level he understood the advice he’d received. Approach Patricia on her home turf. Where she would feel comfortable. Which had the added bonus of cutting her off from the herd. A lone opponent was much easier to deal with than a multitude.

  And though she hadn’t liked the gifts he had presented her with, for some unknown reason. He was better prepared this time. The local supermarket, open early on a Sunday morning, had confused and annoyed him with all its bright lights and over abundance of unnecessary goods. But he was sure he’d gotten it right this time. Certainly the man at the counter had seemed impressed with his purchase.

  Speaking of which, the bulky package he was carrying was beginning to wear on him. What to do? He went with his instincts and kicked the door in.

  Patricia�
��s abode was spacious and light filled. He approved of that. Even better, she hadn’t overstuffed the space with furniture, plenty of space to fight invaders off if required. He dismissed the bookcases, chock full of books and reading materials, as irrelevant. The only thing a book was good for was to start a fire.

  He chose to display his gift in the middle of a round table that was surrounded by four empty chairs. A fitting tribute placed on an altar for a proud woman.

  Now, for the next part of his scheme. It had been whispered into his ear that actions spoke louder than words. Which had momentarily confused him, because yes, sometimes when he exercised he could get loud. But he had heard people scream in agony louder. Though often they didn’t make sense, so not actual words. It had taken some thinking on his part to understand.

  Of course. His previous gifts had been nothing but unfulfilled promises. A tease. Patricia Bennett was a woman of intelligence. She would need facts. Certainties. With that in mind he headed further into her house. Ah, this large bedroom spoke of occupancy. Good.

  Placing his sword and its sheathe down, Zartel stripped off his boots and then his breeches. Climbing onto the bed, he was a little surprised at how soft the mattress was. At first too soft, but then, as he settled back against the cushions, he had to acknowledge that the surface was a good one for resting and for play.

  Flicking his blonde hair back, he eased his body a little more to the left so that the light entering from the nearby window would better display his impressively muscular frame. There, he was ready.

  Bring on the tall woman who thought too much.

  * * *

  The sting of Cullen’s rejection was warring with the tiny pinpricks of pain radiating across Patricia’s face and throat. If she didn’t scrub the youth serum off soon and apply a cool, soothing, chamomile face masque then she was sure she was going to start screaming. Or worse, itching. Stomping out of the closet in her spare bedroom, that she’d designated as her Transportal, Patricia tugged futilely at her dress. It was digging into the side of her left breast. Sequins, sharp edged little suckers. Grrr, she fought the urge to scratch. Knowing if she started, she’d never stop.

  Ugh. Her feet protested every step she took. Ditch contacts. Scrub face. Soothing face masque. Shower. Ice bath for her feet. She had a plan of attack. And nothing, and no one, was going to de-rail that plan.

  Except.

  Patricia blinked and back tracked. A glimpse of movement in the master bedroom had caught her eye.

  Zartel heard the approaching footsteps. Female, definitely. And from the tread, he equated them to Patricia Bennett. Good. He looked down at his cock and thought - go. In response there was only the slightest of twitches. By The Chariot, he had not expected that dismal reaction.

  He tried again. The woman was tall, good breasts, hips a bit on the slim side but she didn’t fall too far outside what he was looking for in a bed partner. Okay, so those hazel eyes of hers had a tendency to pin him in place as if he was some kind of subordinate. And she did have that annoying superior air, as if she thought she was better than him. Which was absurd. No one bested him in the challenge ring.

  And she used big words, and too many of them, when short, sharp sentences would just as easily get the job done.

  Grrr, this wasn’t helping. Those footsteps were getting closer. And his cock was proving resistant. Damn it, he was a master swordsman, both on the battlefield and in the bedroom. Why was this happening to him? Blessed by the gods with skill and looks, he had never had any trouble in the past.

  Yes, the woman was older than he would have liked. No dewy eyed impressionable miss captivated by his blonde looks and drooling over his rugged frame. Oh, there was an idea, think of his previous conquests. Fresh out of the schoolroom maidens ripe for the taking. All but breathless at the sight of him. Their eyes riveted to his muscles. Their words cooing in his ear, admiring his silken locks, his rock hard chest, his manly arms.

  Ah, thank the sun, his cock was rising to the challenge.

  Then she stepped into the doorway and his cock leapt in response. This, this was the same Patricia Bennett? Nubile. Young. Red hair tumbling in a mass of messy curls down around her shoulders. Blue eyes, vacant of anything but a sparkle gleamed his way. Full pouting lips begged to be kissed. Expanses of smooth bare flesh on display, inviting his touch.

  It was obvious she had come to him, knowing her deficiencies. Seeking to rectify them. To please him. And it did. If they closed the curtains in here, he was sure it would take another five years off her age.

  “Your bed would never be empty if you dressed like this all the time.”

  Zartel was visibly excited by the Evangeline persona. It was a small salve to Patricia’s ego after Cullen’s very luke-warm reaction to the sight of her. Credible! That word still ate at her. After all her effort, she got a mumbled compliment. That’s if credible could be considered a compliment, followed by a bum’s rush out the door at the end of the evening.

  Cullen was the one who kissed her. That teasing goodnight kiss after their dinner at the Annexe had been full of promise. And she hadn’t imagined the heat in his eyes when he looked at her. The challenge that quirked up the corners of his lips when his jade green eyes settled on her.

  Zartel rose to his knees, sweeping his arms wide, letting the light from the window spotlight his most impressive feature.

  The movement caught Patricia’s attention. Seriously? Had he posed for that nude portrait? Because shockingly, the painter hadn’t been far off on their estimates of his equipment. What an idiot.

  Zartel laughed heartily. Misinterpreting Patricia’s continued silence for stunned shock and awe at her good fortune. “Come. No need to be shy. No doubt it has been a long time for a spinster such as yourself, but I will go gently… at first.” Zartel ramped up his sultry look so she would get his meaning, in case she missed his not so subtle hint that he would rock her world.

  Spinster? Then his previous statement hit her. If she dressed like this all the time her bed would never be empty! Yeah, right, like she would want to go through every day dressed like this.

  Sky high shoes that made her feet ache. A dress that she was all but falling out of, and come winter would catch her death at the first chilly breeze. The hair had taken over an hour with rollers, hairspray and a curling wand to get it to fall in a careless tousled mess. The contacts itched. And the serum tightening her skin made her feel like she was wearing a mask and being attacked by fire ants at the same time.

  This was not her. It was a fiction. And yes, perhaps a woman like Evangeline would take one look at Zartel’s impressive offering and be able to ignore his offensive words, lack of maturity, and the fact that he was more brawn than brains and dive onto that bed. Not Patricia Bennett. She wanted to be desired… for herself, not for some mirage. And she wanted to be admired for her accomplishments, not just her curves.

  Damn, now she could almost respect Cullen for sending her away. It would have been a mistake the two of them hooking up when she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t. It would have been a cop out. She was a mature woman who owned her decisions. Using the Evangeline mirage to get what she wanted would have cheapened the experience and always left her wondering if she could have seduced Cullen, without all the gimmickry required to look like a sexed up, young, prima ballerina.

  But Zartel was all but panting when faced with the Evangeline persona that was all sparkle and no depth. But even if she had been as vapid as Evangeline, who wanted to be treated like some hulking warrior was doing her a favour by choosing to sleep with her?

  Hold on. Why was he here? “What are you doing here?”

  “I am here, personally, to insure that you accept our apology. For upsetting the ancestor of my great Lord. And for any damage that may have incurred at your place of work.”

  Our? Patricia picked up on the one word that disturbed her the most from that statement. A God and his lackeys had stood around and instead of sending her an apology hallmar
k card, had decided to gift her with this six-foot-six idiot in the sack? It was galling. And more than that, it was an over the top gesture and smacked of desperation. What the hell was going on?

  Perhaps scaring Cara the other day hadn’t been an accident. But what could the disciples of Apep hope to achieve? Zartel’s campaign to… woo her, was it part of something bigger? Damn, she’d been so distracted that she hadn’t bothered to do the one thing she drilled into her staff, research. It was past time she took a good long look at Apep and his three top minions.

  First though, she had to get rid of this one. “Out.” A blank look of confusion settled on Zartel’s face. “I’m serious, out.”

  “I understand you are overwhelmed.” Zartel thrust his hips forward as he spoke. “But fear not. I will teach you to pleasure me.”

  Right, that was the last straw. Patricia stomped forward, scooped up his boots and breeches, throwing them at him. “I said, get out.”

  Zartel frowned, this had never happened before. Oh, it was suddenly obvious. “You are a lover of women. I understand. Invite your friend over and you may both pleasure me.”

  Patricia scooped up the bottle containing the left over youth serum, uncorked it, and splashed the remaining contents over Zartel’s rampant cock. Let’s see how he liked fire ants in his pants. Leaning over she evaded his hands, grabbed him by the ear and yanked hard.

  “Ow.” Zartel, clutching his clothes to his chest, found himself scrabbling to get off the bed, eager to keep his ear attached to his head. His sword was slammed into his arms as he was marched across the bedroom, and down the corridor. He heard Patricia mumble something low and outraged about her broken front door, but he was too busy trying to hold onto his belongings as he was all but booted out of her house. The broken door slammed, wedged into place and locked in his face.

  Zartel stared at the closed door in bemusement. Trying to understand what had just happened. No, no matter how he looked at it, the overly chatty woman’s actions made no sense to him. Women. He pulled on his breeches, strapped his sword to his chest and stepped into his boots. Smoothing back his long blonde locks he grimaced, trying to think of a way to fix this situation. Should he ring her doorbell and try to talk to her? Um… what, in the name of the Sun, was up with his cock? Little pinpricks of heat made him squirm in place. He didn’t like that feeling at all. Hmmm, and the more time past, the more the uncomfortable heat and prickling was escalating.