UNDER THE MISTLETOE
By J.C. Valentine
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book is copyrighted material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without the prior permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
UNDER THE MISTLETOE
by J.C. Valentine
Copyright © 2019 by J.C. Valentine
Cover design by Editing Done Write
Edited by Mitzi Carroll
UNDER THE MISTLETOE is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this eBook either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offence to the content, as it is FICTION.
Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademark status in this work of fiction. The publications and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Books by
J.C. VALENTINE
Night Calls
Stranded
That First Kiss
Surrender to Love
Trust
Wayward Fighters
Knockout
Tapout
unDefeated
Blue Collar
Sweetest Temptations
Noel: A Blue Collar Christmas
Forbidden
Dance for Me
Lie to You
Fall for Him
Forbidden Valentine
Spartan Riders
Grit
Mettle
Vigor
Brash
Cocky
For more titles, visit your favorite online retailer!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
You know me, I like to change things up a bit (and often!), just like my reading tastes. That’s how we’ve come to reverse harems. Who can resist the allure of a well-educated, endowed, and sexy man—or three! No one, and I’d bet that’s why you’re here now, getting ready to read this tantalizing new adventure down Naughty Lane with me. Well, I have one thing to say about that: Thank you for taking another chance with me! I hope you enjoy every indecent part of it.
(This next part I won’t change, because it still very much applies.)
I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my family and friends. Mom, Mitzi, Mia, Holly, Cheryl: you have been the anchors in my life. You’ve kept me strong, even through (numerous) moments of self-doubt. You’ve kept me focused and cheered me on every step of the way. Thank you for never losing faith in me even when I did. There aren’t enough words in the world to describe how much I love and appreciate you.
Finally, I have to thank my kids, because they’re my driving force in this world. Everything I do, I do for you!
Contents:
Books by J.C. Valentine
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Connect with JC
1
Seven Minutes in Heaven. That was the game kids used to play for a poor excuse to kiss their crush—if they were lucky. The adult version is Under the Mistletoe, and it’s a hyped-up adult version of the same. Same rules apply, but with different props. Instead of hiding in a closet, two unfortunate souls are peer-pressured into standing under a stupid, dangling piece of mistletoe nailed to an archway to share a kiss.
It’s me. I’m the unfortunate soul tonight. I can’t say the same for Niles. He seems pretty damn happy about the whole thing. And why wouldn’t he? He’s been the underdog for as long as I’ve known him, which is in the ballpark of five months, but it’s pretty obvious that he’s the office nerd. No dates, no history of torrid affairs, no drunken stories to tell. The guy is as straightlaced as they come, right down to his pressed slacks and combed back hair.
I have to admit, though, he does have some killer green eyes. One of the lucky two percent of the world’s population, the bastard.
I look up into those eyes now, wondering how in the world I got myself into this mess. Then I remember it happened somewhere between the RumChata and Marisa’s mixed cocktails that were more like fireballs tearing out the lining of my throat as they clawed their way down my esophagus.
Office parties are the shit. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. And if they aren’t, then you’re not working in the right one.
Five years ago, I was lucky enough to find the perfect fit in terms of workplaces and people. Then I got fired for making a pass at my boss, and just when I thought I’d never find another Cinderella shoe like that one, I stumbled upon the little diamond called Fairweather Corporation, and while I have no earthly clue what they do or how they do it beyond the paperwork I push, it became an unexpected second home away from home.
So the whole point of this brief walk down memory lane is that there’s no way in hell I can shirk my responsibilities of kissing Mr. Niles Prescott tonight or any night, because at this early stage in my career with this company, I can’t afford not to be a team player. If that means swapping spit with a pasty version of Urkel, then so be it. Bring on the smooches!
Niles stands nervously in front of me, biting a thin lower lip, while our buddies watch on, jeering at us to “do it, do it,” and I know it’s now or never.
I waggle an eyebrow, take a step closer, and Niles takes an audible breath as I reach up to his lofty height and take his gentle face between my hands. “Kiss me like you mean it,” I tell him as I lift onto my toes and bring my mouth to his.
At first contact, there’s an electric shock that I briefly attribute to static, but no. It’s more than that.
Niles, the devil, takes my challenge and fastens his hands around my hips, clutching my body to his, and his mouth takes over in a surprising way. As his lips move, soft but sure against mine, I become keenly aware of a growing something between us. Attraction. That’s what it is. It’s an awareness that goes beyond appreciation of his pretty eyes and downplayed, but handsome, features. It’s an odd feeling, as if a light has been turned on inside a dark house, illuminating all of the shadowy corners and exposing all of its secrets.
Niles is an amazing kisser, and the longer he administers his alluring touch, the faster I lose myself. Curling my hands around the back of his head, I open my mouth and touch the tip of my tongue to his upper lip. It’s all the encouragement he needs to take the kiss to the next level, and boy does he! Niles’ tongue slips into my mouth and a bolt of lightning shoots from that point of contact all the way to my groin.
The moan that comes out of me is unintentional and inspires an eruption of laughter from our coworkers, who I’ve just remembered have been watching this w
hole exchange.
Niles and I break apart and glance at each other bashfully—a new feeling for me because I’m not usually one to feel embarrassed. My actions have always been deliberate and without regret, but this is different.
We exchange hesitant smiles and return to our seats on the floor. I do my best to ignore the laughter and comments, and when everyone returns to the game, I pretend that I’m into it. But the truth is, I can’t keep my eyes from straying to Niles, who sits across from me, looking every bit the shy guy I’ve come to know him to be.
Something has passed between us. Something we can’t take back. And now, I need to figure out if it’s something worth exploring or if I should just let it go and move on.
2
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Not a big deal! You made out with Mr. Prescott. The whole office can’t stop talking about it. Can’t you give me just one detail? Just one? Come on, Elle, it’s not like I’m asking for much.”
Colleen is a pushy bitch, my office cellmate who can’t get enough gossip down her gullet fast enough to suit her appetite. She didn’t attend the party over the weekend because she has a life back home—a husband and a couple of rug rats running around that keep her busy enough not to have time for extras, like getting shitfaced after hours and playing childish games like kissing under mistletoe.
But that also means she’s prone to gobbling up every ounce of excitement she can glean from the rest of us like a pack of Dunkin Donuts chocolate glazed, and every bite shoots her a little higher.
I pivot in my padded office chair and look into her excited brown eyes, wide and full of hope and wonder and have to resist rolling my own.
“It was just a kiss!” I spread my hands out, my voice high and my patience running thin. I don’t want to discuss this. Not with Colleen or anyone. A kiss means nothing. People do it all the time. Hell, I still kiss my grandma at Christmas dinner gatherings.
“With Mr. Prescott,” Colleen hisses, as if this is a scandal.
“So? What’s so special about Niles? Is he married or something?” I swear, if he is, I will throw him off a balcony. I do not need drama from some disgruntled housewife getting me fired. Not again.
Colleen stares at me as if I’ve grown another head. “Are you serious?”
“I guess I am, since I have no earthly idea what the big deal is.” I turn in my chair and get back to sorting papers. It’s a good thing I can multitask, because as much as Colleen likes to talk, I’d never accomplish a thing.
“Omigod. Okay.” She sounds like a schoolgirl, giddy and seconds away from spilling her guts. I’m intrigued, but I don’t turn around to show it. So I listen. “Mr. Prescott has been here for…five years? Came straight out of college, shot up to office manager almost overnight, and is single.”
“So?” I’m deflated. Utterly disappointed. Is this what she considers gossip?
“So…”
I glance over my shoulder to find her grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Her hands are patting the air between us. “Word on the grapevine is he lives with two other guys and has never dated anyone from this office. In fact, no one has ever seen him with a woman, period.”
I scowl and look back at the papers on my desk. The kiss we shared that hasn’t ventured far from my thoughts replays in my mind’s eye. “So…you’re saying…he’s…gay?”
“Gayer than a three-dollar bill.” She nods vigorously.
“Does anyone have any proof?” I’m skeptical, naturally. I mean, why would he kiss me like he did if he was a sword swallower? I felt that kiss down to my toes. Gay guys didn’t kiss women like that, did they? Not to mention, I’m fairly certain my gaydar would have gone off immediately. I couldn’t be that wrong, could I?
No, I’m definitely not wrong. I know I felt something pass between us. The way he looked at me afterward just confirms it. He felt it too. He wanted more, just like I did. Still do, if I’m being honest.
I decide then and there to tune out Colleen’s rambling and disregard everything she has to say on the matter from here on out. I don’t want to hear it. I had been on the verge of making up my mind not to pursue anything with this Niles Prescott, but now I’ve decided that I’m going to get to the bottom of this little mystery. I want proof, for myself and the rest of this office, that he’s not only straighter than a stripper pole but has a hard-on for me.
“Hey, Colleen, I need to get this work done before Mr. Dunberry hands me my ass.” I hate to be a bitch, but she’ll never shut up if I don’t cut her off.
“Oh, of course. Me too. He can be such a stickler. Did you hear what he did to Dave in accounting?”
I shouldn’t even answer her. It’ll only encourage her more. But now I have to know what Dave did and what happened. “No, what?”
With renewed excitement, she scoots her rolling chair closer and lowers her voice as she dishes the dirt.
***
Home is supposed to be where the heart is, but my puny salary doesn’t afford much. The one-bedroom, 350-square foot apartment isn’t much more than an efficiency, but it has a certain appeal that I suppose allows it to be called home. At least until I can save up enough money to afford a decent down payment on the cozy little home I’ve been dreaming about since childhood.
I set my keys down on the circular dining table adjacent to the kitchen, and kick my shoes off by the door. My purse goes on the hook that hangs in the shadow of the lamp seated on the living room end table, and I drape my sweater across the back of the loveseat as I pass through to the kitchen and run myself a glass of cool water from the tap.
Even if I could afford to splurge on Evian or whatever, I’m not into the fussy stuff. I keep my budget tight so I can one day afford to reach my goals.
After I’m properly hydrated, I grab a quick shower and change into some comfy loungewear that my grandparents gifted me a few Christmases back. They’re simple, green-and-black plaid pants and a solid green T-shirt, perfect for the temperate weather outside that I’ve allowed in through a partially open window that airs out the small space so it doesn’t hold onto the conglomeration of smells from my neighbors, which have a tendency to linger in the air.
Opening my laptop, I sign into my social media accounts and start a search for the one and only Niles Prescott, hoping to dig up something juicy. Surprisingly, there are a lot of men who share that name or some combination of it, and it takes me a few minutes to sort through them all and finally narrow it down to the one I want.
The thumbnail profile picture becomes clear when I follow it to his profile, enlarging the image so I can clearly see the two other men standing beside him. They’re attractive, with similarly golden-brown hair, but that’s where the likeness ends. Shirtless and wearing board shorts while standing on some white sand beach with the ocean glittering behind them, the resemblance to one another stops there.
Where Niles is tall and trim, one friend is an inch or two taller with a rangy physique, the muscle lean but obvious, not an ounce of fat on him, and he shows off a wide, confident smile that at once triggers an animal response in me. The other friend is shorter than the others, but he’s bulkier, as if he works out to make up for his lack of height, although I can tell, in relation to my size to Niles, he’s still taller than me. That’s good, because I’ve never been much of a Tom Cruise fan in the sense that I’d rather look up to my man and feel a sense of being small and protected when I’m in his arms.
But I’m getting off topic. The whole reason I decided to research Niles goes beyond personal curiosity. It’s my mission to find out whether or not he is what Colleen claims. In truth, the profile picture doesn’t lend much confidence.
I begin scrolling through his timeline, studying every picture, which are scarce. Niles has a conveniently open profile, but it doesn’t appear that he’s an open book. His posts are often few and far between, going weeks without updating his status, which I find just plain rude. How is a girl supposed to perform a
dequate recon if the object of her obsession doesn’t cooperate?
Thankfully, there are several pictures involving his friends—at least, I hope they’re just friends. In each one, they seem chummy, like good friends typically are. They go back a few years, showing more youthful appearances and college settings.
It seems Mr. Prescott was a frat boy. Surprising, when the rumor mill pegs him as a straightlaced, uptight kind of guy who shies away from the dating scene.
Unless, of course, he’s already spoken for by one or both of the handsome fellas who seem never to be far from his side.
In two pictures, the three men wear the same red T-shirt with Greek letters and are holding beers and projecting wide smiles. The glassy look in their eyes tells me they were wasted when it was taken, but the people milling about in the distance and the sheer amount of trash and streamers and the way they cling to one another tells me they were having the time of their lives that night.
I smile, feeling happy in light of their happiness.
I can’t recall a time when I ever felt that level of levity. Even in the midst of making many, many, many bad decisions, there was never a sense of absolute fun involved. Maybe it’s because I never had anyone special to share those moments with. Outside of the occasional relationship that never lasted long, the ill-advised flings I participated in were short-lived and never ended well. Hence my last job. I knew better, and yet I still got on my knees and made the mistake, knowing full well the consequences if I got caught. And I did.
I consider the ramifications of this adventure if I were to pursue Niles. If his involvement with these guys is purely innocent, then I wouldn’t be inserting myself into anyone’s relationship. However, we work in the same office, circulate around the same people, and if we got involved and it went sour, things could get nasty. I might have to move on again, find another job and another place to fit in, and at twenty-five, I’m not sure how many chances I have left to set down some roots and get a solid career going. Do I really want to head down this road to the unknown again?
Under the Mistletoe: A Reverse Harem Christmas Novel Page 1
