Unwrapped

by Jax Hart

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I’d call a tow if my cell had any reception. She peers at my long pea coat and Burberry scarf that was a Christmas present from Claudia. “You’re dressed too expensive for a man who’s about to get dirty.”

  “Oh, I can get dirty, fur baby. Real dirty.” I crook a finger at her, “Wanna find out?”

  She flicks her long, hair over her shoulder. Now she’s smirking, “You couldn’t handle me.”

  “As if I would want to. Newsflash. Overdressed. Over-priced females husband-hunting are a buzz kill. Especially ones who are line jumpers. Line jumpers are number one on my pet peeve list.”

  “Good,” she snorts. “Because let me just put this out there—arrogant, selfish assholes wearing thousand-dollar suits with hands so clean they must get regular mani’s…are at the top of my pet peeve list. I wasn’t going to wait in line behind you while you ignored the poor clerk while you rudely took a call.”

  “Good,” I snap back.

  “Just get my car out and we’ll be done here.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I smile sweetly causing her to blink in confusion as I get back in my truck, put it in reverse and let my right foot fall on the gas.

  The over-sized snow tires churn. Icy pellets of slush spray all over her. “Shut your gaping mouth before you swallow. Women like you rarely do.” chuckle as her car protests but pulls free.

  “You. You—,” she sputters as she wipes the slush from her face. Her coat is soaked.

  “What? Payback’s a bitch. Eh?”

  Her answer is an icy smack across my cheek.

  “A ‘thank you’ would’ve been more appropriate.” But I’m not even mad. I adjust my pea coat because the wood I’m sporting could jackhammer an iceberg. Fuck this woman covered in fur and slush is making me so damn hard. I want to pin her wrists over her head. Bite the pulse hammering in the side of her throat while pumping my dick in and out of her overpriced pussy.

  I groan, cupping myself as I load the chain back in the truck. She made me harder than Isabella ever did. Maybe there is something to this hate-sex-thing after all.

  She backs away, as my fists clench and I stalk closer. She falls on her ass in the snow. I bend down, take her hand and yank her the fuck to me. Her full, pretty pink lips part as I let my coat fall open to cushion her body against mine. No doubt she can feel what I have going on even between her soggy coat. Her pretty eyes are scared as they bore into mine. “What are you even doing out here?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Look,” I speak slow and even, attempting to be nice. “There’s worse things in these woods besides me. Wolves. Rapists. Bad things… You got that fur baby?”

  She jerks free from my hold. “I can handle myself.”

  “Really?” My head nods over to her car. I slide her ruined coat off her and replace it with my warm one.

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Take it,” I demand.

  “Fine,” she snaps.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Springdale.”

  I lower my eyes. Well shit. This Christmas just got interesting.

  “Where are you going?” She finally asks.

  “To hell.”

  “Can hardly say I’m surprised!”

  “How long are you going to be in Springdale for?”

  “As long as it takes…”

  “For what?”

  “To find something, I’ve been looking for.”

  “In Springdale?” I snort. “Good luck with that.”

  I watch as she gets in her car and pulls out. I wait five minutes, knowing she’d be too busy staring into her mirror at my headlights if I pulled out right behind her to pay attention to the road. I let out my breath as I reach the town limits. The old wooden “Welcome to Springdale sign,” is covered in garland. I followed fur baby’s tire tracks the entire way. It’s a small town. No doubt, I’ll run into the hellion again. I slowly roll through the main street all the way to the back side of town.

  I pull into the bar slash restaurant co-owned by my old friend Roger and the former Prez of Creed, Duke.

  Heads turn as open the thick wooden door bringing snow and a blast of cold air with me.

  A dozen men wearing leather cuts over thick plaid shirts turn their heads. A few gape. “Shut your mouth, before someone sticks a dick in it,” I grumble to the first man I pass. I nod at the few familiar faces hunched around the bar.

  “Well look who the snowstorm dragged in,” Rog bellows and he comes from behind the bear and envelops me in a bear hug. My fist beats on his back. He pulls back.

  “Don’t you fucking dare, “I warn. A he lifts his big bear paws close to my cheeks. I love him like an uncle, but I have a rep to maintain. Having Rog pat my cheeks like a baby would ruin any street cred I have left.

  “I thought you were bullshitin’ me when you said you were coming home.”

  “Merry Christmas you old bastard,” I grin.

  Rog’s laughter booms across the bar as he leads me over to a stool. He pours us both three fingers of his finest whiskey. Blinking strands of muli-colored lights hang above our heads. Heat from a new pellet burning stove tucked in the corner fills the room. The smell of pine and whiskey is in the air. I turn my head noticing the fresh garland running along the long bank of windows.

  “Jesus Rog. You’ve turned Sassy’s into Santa’s friggin’ workshop?”

  He chuckles. “Not me. My woman and her best friend. Those two were unstoppable. Just wait until tomorrow. They planned some tree lighting shit by town hall.”

  “Christ,” I shudder.

  His blue eyes twinkle. “Hang on just a sec,” He disappears down the hall to his back off ice and returns a few minutes later carrying a large box which he drops at my feet.

  “What the fuck?” I mutter peering inside.

  “Ho, ho, ho.”

  “Hell, no.”

  “It doesn’t fit me and the kids are expecting to see the jolly fat man in his suit giving out cookies.”

  My hand lowers to my stomach. “I have abs of steel old man. They’d never buy it.”

  “Well that’s why I have this.” He pulls out a freaky looking strap on stomach.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “One of the club girls faked a pregnancy trying to trap a brotha. She wore this shit under her clothes.”

  “That’s some serious fucked-up shit.”

  “We handled it. She ain’t allowed back in Springdale. We banished her skank ass. Here.”

  “Fuck no,” I get off my barstool holding up my hands to ward him off. “I didn’t come home for this. I hate Christmas.”

  “I know you do. But this isn’t about you. It’s about the kids who still need to believe in Christmas… to believe someone gives a shit.”

  Freddie and Jenny’s faces flash in my head.

  Fuck.

  “Not one word.” My hand shakes as I pick up the red coat lined with white trim. “Not one fucking word, “I glare at the men trying to hide their smirks behind their drinks, “or I’ll beat the living shit out of you. You all know who I am…I won’t hesitate to lay any of you fuckers out if word gets out it was me. Are we clear?” I pin my gaze on every damn man in the place.

  “Crystal.”

  My head whips around at the girl causally leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Her long chestnut hair curls at the end. Her jeans are tight as fuck and her breasts are high.

  “Damn beautiful. Where did you fall from? Heaven?”

  She rolls her eyes at the same time Rog growls from behind me. And I know by the anger rolling off him as I walk closer to his woman, Devon. I haven’t seen her in a while and she’s looking fine as fuck.

  I take her hand in mine and kiss both her cheeks.

  “You can let go of her hand now.”

  She smiles devilishly, holding mine tighter. “Come on Santa, we need to discuss your duties for tomorrow.” She leads me over to a seclu
ded table by the window and I just happen to notice a ball of mistletoe over the closest door. She gasps as I whirl her over and wink at Rog over her shoulder.

  His growl is low and ominous as he reads my intent. But fuck it. If I’m going to wear that suit in public a little payback’s in order.

  Her eyes fly wide and she giggles. “He’s going to kill you for this.”

  “I know. But it’s damn fun riling his ass up, right?”

  She rolls her eyes as I drop a peck on her lips. “This whole MC is nothing but a bunch of teenage boys pretending to be bad-ass brawlers.”

  “Oh, we ain’t pretending sugar, we are.”

  “Darren!” Rog stands with his hands on his hips, “Meet me in the pit after close. We’ll handle this like grown men.”

  “No. Dev rolls her eyes again. “Santa can’t show with a split lip and a shiner.”

  “How do you figure he’d win?” I splay my hands on my chest feigning being hurt.

  “Because my man is a tank and the only pit you’ve been in is a boardroom full of vipers.”

  My lips twitch. “He tells you everything doesn’t he?”

  She places a warm hand on my forearm. “He does. Don’t hate the holidays, Dare.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Maybe this one will change your mind.”

  “Doubtful.”

  Rog grabs her by the elbow leaving the smell of her—vanilla and sugar lingering behind. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her thoroughly flipping me the bird behind her back.

  Lucky bastard.

  In this moment I feel as if one of the icicles hanging outside stabbed me right through the heart. I’m always the one on the outside looking in. I’ve never had someone special to share one holiday with. Sure, I had plenty of fucks and drunken kisses at midnight but none of them meant shit.

  I turn away from them and look out the window. The sky’s clear. And just like I did when I lived here a long time ago, I stare up at the north star and wish for shit I’ve never had.

  4

  Shiloh

  UGH.

  I hate myself. Because Mr. Dickhead was hot. He was everything I’ve learned to hate in a man after swearing to myself I won’t fall for cocky-hothole-Armani-wearing-jerks again. An arrogant businessman who only cares about securing his next deal. I sized him up in three seconds. When he decided to take his call and turn his back, I didn’t waste my chance to jump the line. I’m done waiting around. Like my time isn’t valuable.

  I hated him on sight. He was perfect. Sexy. Everything that always makes my knees weak and leaves pieces of my heart in a paper shredder. He had dark hair trimmed short in the back and longer on the front. His eyes were the color of my favorite suede. A hue between taupe, earth and buttercream. His teeth were perfect and straight, white as snow… and his lips were full for a man’s without being overly so. But his jaw. It was chiseled as fuck. Strong. Manly. Butterflies raced along my spine when he turned, giving me his full attention.

  Rolling my eyes at how pathetic I am for sniffing the collar of his coat for the fiftieth time, I turn down the lane to the inn as my sexy GPS man tells me to turn. I changed the settings to give it a male British accent.

  The sound of him telling where to go combined with the musky male scent coming of the stranger’s coat already has me wishing I’ll find a romance this holiday. I’m hoping Springdale is the place I’ll find him. My hot, sext lumberjack slash MC bad boy tatted up and ready to carry me off to his log cabin…

  “Wow.”

  In front of me is the Maple Tree Inn and Spa. A candle glows in every window. An Evergreen wreath hangs on the door with a bright red bow. Strands of white lights nestled in thick garland hang in swooping scoops and gathered with bows at the top as it runs along a fifty-foot porch. The snow crunches under the tires of the SUV as I brake. Humming “Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” under my breath I get out and breath the fresh cold air as deep as I can. It fills up my lungs, energizing me; making me feel as if anything is possible. Even Christmas miracles like actually finding a decent man to sip hot toddy’s by the fire with.

  The sky is clear, and a million stars are out. One shines brighter than the rest. “I just want to be happy. Please,” I whisper, swiping a tear from the corner of my eye. Who knows if anyone is even up there to hear my tiny plea? My shoulders sag. Poor little rich, girl. Right? I have a condo on the beach, enough money to live comfortably… I have more than most and yet…I still feel empty inside.

  The front door opens before my hand touches the knob. “Welcome! I’m so glad you’re here. I need an extra set of hands in the kitchen.”

  “Wh-at?”

  “Don’t stand there gaping, all the cold air is getting in.” She jerks me forward and shoves a candy-cane apron into my arms.

  “I’m sorry. You must be mistaken. I’m Shiloh… here to check in.”

  “I know who you are. I’m not expecting anyone else tonight,” she reaches back to grab my arm again, taking me into the coziest kitchen I’ve ever seen. The smell of percolating coffee and gingerbread fills my nostrils. Red plaid curtains frame the windows. A small Christmas tree sits in the center of an oak table. More fresh garland is looped around the room. The strange woman bends over and checks on a rack of baking cookies as she opens a fire-engine red commercial grade cast iron oven.

  “Almost done.” With a dishtowel draped over her shoulder she pins her gaze on me, taking in the man’s coat hanging over my small frame. She cocks an eyebrow, grabs two ceramic Santa coffee mugs and fills them almost to the top with fresh coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

  I nod my head for both. She grunts in satisfaction, fixes a plate with fresh gingerbread cookies and hands the mug over from across the counter. “So, tell me Shiloh Corbett, what’s your story? A fancy, young woman booking a stay in the middle of nowhere alone… this outta be good.”

  I should be insulted. Taken aback by this whole situation. Instead something about the short, pudgy woman makes me want to spill my guts.

  I sigh. “My mother was a washed-up Hollywood starlet. She slept with so many of her castmates—my father could be anyone from Tom Selleck to Robert Redford.”

  “Oh my,” she flushes and starts fanning herself with the elf dishtowel.

  “Mmmm,” I sip the delicious coffee and bite into a cookie. Bursts of flavor make my taste buds rejoice. “I wasted too much time with the wrong man. This holiday is about me. Discovering who I am—what I want.” I munch on the rest of my cookie feeling self-conscious as she studies me from over the rim of her mug. I can’t stop talking. Everything just bubbles to the surface as I tell Mrs. Claus my life story… “end then when I landed in Medford. The most infuriating jerk had the gall to bully me. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I couldn’t because he was the only other car on the road that passed me on my way here. I ended up needing his help when my car slipped, and I ended up off the road. This is his coat.”

  Her eyebrows raise. “Come on. You need a hot bath and some fresh clothes. I’ll have dinner ready when you’re done and then we need to bake eight dozen sugar cookies.”

  “Who are you, anyway?”

  She smiles. “Sally McBride. Live-in manager of the inn. And you Shiloh are my only paying guest. It’s just us and somehow my she-devil friend, Luce talked me into baking all these damn cookies for the tree lighting ceremony tomorrow night. Are you in?”

  “Sure,” I grin. Half afraid to even say no to this woman. She scares the heck out of me in her Rudolph apron, palming the heavy oak rolling pin in her hand like a weapon. “But I must warn you—I’m not a baker. I can’t even make toast without burning it.”

  “By the end of your stay, you’ll be ready to cook in a restaurant.”

  “Did I miss the part where it said guests here have to work?”

  “It’s in the fine print,” she smiles and takes the cookies from the oven as the timer goes off. “I only came to Springdale for a two-week visit. I never left. This place has a wa
y of sucking you in.”

  “Not me. I wanted to give myself a white Christmas, but I have a job and friends to get back to in California.

  She smiles. “They all say that.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll meet them tomorrow. You’re driving me to town.”

  I cock an eyebrow and finish my coffee.

  “The arthritis in my right leg really acts up this time of year. I could kill myself.”

  “Don’t you have friends that could come and get you?”

  Her eyes twinkle. “I have a few. I’ll introduce you to them tomorrow.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “Okay fine. But I want a discount on my spa services.”

  “I’m sure the boss man won’t mind.”

  “Boss man?”

  She nods as she uses a spatula to carefully remove the cookies to a cooling rack. “My niece sold the Inn last fall to some fancy man in a suit from Chicago…Roque Salvatore. When I first saw him in a Club in San Francisco, I wished I’d die and instantly come back as a twenty-eight-year-old. Maybe then…,” she sighs breaking off. “The man is something else.”

  “Rich men in designer suits don’t do it for me anymore.”

  “He’d bring back a DNR. I’m telling you he’s sex on a sinful stick. Anyway, rumor is he bought this place because he needed a new place to clean his money.”

  I roll my eyes “Please. The only mob left is in old Hollywood movies.”

  “You’re wrong,” she waves the spatula in the air and whispers, “we can’t Google him here. I did. And he called me…wanting to know why. I almost went out and bought Depends after. There was some trouble in New York…a mob boss was gunned down and another went missing. They never found him. I read articles online speculating Roque went in and cleaned house. He’s the new head honcho.”

  “In New York?”

  “No. The entire U.S.”

  “Really?” I snort. “Well I guess this tiny slice of heaven is the perfect place to hang low.”

  She nods enthusiastically. “Somehow he has this place rigged. Monitored.”

  I snort. “That’s nonsense.”

  She shrugs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”