Lone Star Santa

by Heather MacAllister

  Taking his time, he drew back. “I’m learning how you taste.” He drew his tongue just beneath her jaw and between her breasts. “I’m learning your scent.”

  He lowered his head and breathed in the crook of her neck. “And when I’m finished,” he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and lifted his head, “I’ll know you anywhere, no matter what role you’re playing or how you disguise yourself. And that’s the you I’ll love.”

  There were no words. But there were tears. Tears leaking from the outer corner of her eyes and into her ears.

  Mitch tenderly wiped one away with his thumb and touched his tongue to the other.

  Kristen shuddered. “No—no man has ever—” She swallowed.

  “Made love to you?” His smile was tender with understanding, but his eyes were all self-assured, aroused male. “Then I’ll be the first.”

  And he was. He absolutely was.

  He made her feel. He made her think. He made her gasp and he made her moan. He reduced her vocabulary to repeating his name in gasping pants, long, drawn out sighs and pathetically grateful whimpers.

  And then he undressed her.

  Her vocabulary increased with the addition of “oh, yes” and “don’t stop” and the occasional ragged “please.”

  And he was still dressed.

  Propping himself on an elbow, he watched as she recovered from one of his “don’t stops.” He didn’t bother to hide his smug smile, which ordinarily would have annoyed the heck out of her, except he really, truly—make that truly—deserved it.

  Catching her breath, Kristen desperately tried to remember more words and managed a couple of small ones.

  Lifting her limp noodle of an arm, she plucked at the extremely soft and utterly sensual cashmere sweater that she would never look at the same way again and said, “Off.”

  With the other arm, she pointed to the edge of the quilt where two square packages reflected the multicolored lights. “On.”

  Mitch stood and held her gaze as he methodically removed his clothes, stripping to Christmas carols.

  The parade had reached the crowd gathered to watch the display come together, and the bands had combined to play a concert of Christmas music.

  Mitch stood looking down at her, his body bathed in the lights.

  Kristen raised her arms. Mitch knelt and she drew him to her. “Please,” she sighed. He captured the end of her sigh in his mouth and the gasp that followed when he eased into her.

  She ran her hands over his back and as far down as she could reach, enjoying the novel sensation of his skin.

  He broke their kiss to pull back until she could see into his eyes before he began to move.

  He let her see his desire build, which fueled her own. She fought to keep her eyes open as the tension coiled within her until it was too much and she squeezed them shut, seeing the lights behind her eyelids as she peaked yet again. Quickly she opened her eyes to catch Mitch’s heavy-lidded satisfaction at her pleasure before he buried his face against the side of her neck and shuddered his release.

  They lay there, surrounded by lights and music and their own afterglow.

  Being with Mitch had been the most incredible experience of Kristen’s life. She’d been shocked at the depth of feeling and response he’d drawn from her. When their breathing had slowed and some of Kristen’s brain function returned she had an awful thought. “Mitch?” she whispered, though with all the noise, he probably couldn’t hear her.

  “Hmm?”

  “I… I think I forgot to tell you that I love you, too.”

  He gave her a lazy smile. “It’s nice to hear, but I already knew. Remember, I know you now.”

  “Then you know I’m going to want my turn with you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bright and early the following Monday morning, a number of people crowded a modest conference room in the Houston Field Office of the FBI. Present were three agents in the Asset/Forfeiture/Money Laundering Unit of the Criminal Investigative Division, a court reporter, four parents, one of whom was a private investigator, a lawyer, one girlfriend, playing the role of a modestly sweet innocent standing by her man and a scowling Santa Claus wearing a policeman’s badge and an empty gun holster. Oh, and Mitch.

  On the table was everything they’d found. Piles of papers. All Kristen’s mom’s suspicious real estate sales, Kristen’s lists and chart—complete with salsa stains from their first date—and the information Mitch had gleaned from his company’s server and Jeremy’s laptop. The Santa cop was ready to swear that nothing had been illegally obtained, if it came to that. The lawyer was, well, Mitch hoped they wouldn’t need him.

  Kristen, who wore a dress with a white collar, low-heeled shoes, and had her hair—her really, really long hair—pulled back and fastened with a barrette, reached out and squeezed Mitch’s hand.

  “We’re ready to begin whenever you are,” said one of the agents.

  Kristen’s father was the appointed spokesman. He cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Mitch interrupted. “I need to say something here.” He held up his hand to stop his lawyer from cautioning him. “What you are about to see makes me appear unbelievably stupid. I need you to keep an open mind and believe that I can be that stupid.” He gestured to Carl. “Go ahead.”

  An hour passed and another. Mitch looked at Kristen and raised his eyebrows. Could she read their expressions?

  She gave him a tight smile that told him she couldn’t.

  Finally, as hour three drew to a close, Carl Zaleski finished.

  The three agents looked at one another and leaned together to confer. Expressions never changing, they straightened and faced Mitch.

  Kristen laced her fingers through his.

  “Okay.” And that was it.

  “Okay what?” Mitch asked.

  “We believe you really were that stupid.”

  There was a shocked silence before the agents cracked smiles and everyone started breathing again.

  Oh, and the blood returned to his fingers where Kristen had gripped them.

  “Seriously,” the senior man began. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. You were used, not stupid. Honest people are predictable—they’re always honest. Criminals like that kind of predictability. They count on it. As for the rest of this material—”

  “Yes!” One of the junior agents fisted his hands and punched the air. “I weep for joy.”

  The senior guy nodded. “That about sums it up. Electronic funds transfers make these cases so complicated and difficult to understand. Juries get confused and frustrated.”

  “This is sweet.” The junior guy unfolded Kristen’s chart, the one she’d taped together to show the money trail to Mitch. The one with the salsa stains on it.

  “Thank you,” she said demurely.

  The middle guy tapped Barbara’s stack of material. “The real estate info.” He made the “okay” sign with his fingers. “Prime.”

  Barbara inclined her head with a smile.

  “Regular people came to the conclusion that something was wrong, so regular people in a jury ought to be able to understand why.” The three agents stood as if by unspoken command, so everybody else stood, too. “Thank you for coming forward,” the senior agent concluded.

  “What about my furniture and car and bank accounts?” Mitch asked.

  “We’ll contact Dallas. They’re not going to be able to release everything, but you ought to be able to get your bed back.” He winked at Kristen who actually blushed.

  As they left the conference room, they passed through the reception area and there, sitting on a leather sofa and holding his laptop, was Jeremy, there for his Monday appointment.

  “Mr. Sloane, will you come this way please?” The senior agent was all business once more.

  But Jeremy sat frozen to the sofa, his face going ashen.

  Mitch walked forward until he stood directly in front of Jeremy, preventing him from standing. He could have yelled and threatened and ca
lled Jeremy names, but he didn’t. It wasn’t that he felt sorry for him; it was that he didn’t want to waste any more emotional energy.

  Looking Jeremy in the eyes, Mitch let him see the complete contempt he felt for him. “I’ll have the receptionist water your plants.”

  Everyone but Kristen had filed into the hallway and were watching through the glass.

  Mitch took a couple of steps toward them, but was brought up short when Kristen drew him to her, placed his hands on her bottom, drew her leg up and frenched him. Right in front of Jeremy.

  Which was the point.

  It was also right in front of assorted FBI personnel, their parents, a lawyer and an incredibly grumpy Santa Claus who wanted his gun back, but if Kristen didn’t mind, Mitch sure didn’t.

  He had to help her make it look good, didn’t he?

  They made it look good just long enough to avoid having someone throw water on them.

  “Oh, Mitch,” Kristen said, and then appeared to remember her surroundings. Blushing charmingly—how did she do that?—she apologized prettily to the people in the office. “I love him so much I just forgot myself.” Taking Mitch’s hand, she led him out of the office.

  At the last instant, Mitch looked back at Jeremy being escorted down the hallway. He seemed shorter than Mitch remembered.

  CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT and Mitch came and went. He’d returned to Dallas to deal with the aftermath of Jeremy’s money laundering scandal.

  He called Kristen a few times and each time he sounded more tired and down.

  Her father walked out of his office to the coffee pot. “So, Kristen, what are your plans?”

  Talk about out of nowhere. “I don’t know.”

  Carl glanced at her before filling a mug. “After that demonstration at the FBI—let me just say that again—the FBI—”

  Kristen rolled her eyes. She’d explained about wounding Jeremy’s ego, but would they let her forget it? No.

  “—I thought you would be leaving with Mitch.”

  “I can see how you might think that.” She’d thought that, too. “But I haven’t been invited yet.”

  Carl sipped his coffee. “How long are you planning to wait for that invitation?”

  As long as it takes. “I don’t know.”

  “If you hadn’t met Mitch, what would you do?”

  “Build some savings and head for New York.”

  “Can’t you wait for your invitation in New York?” he asked.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Yes.”

  Kristen gasped.

  “Not that your mother and I don’t love you, but you’re just treading water here,” he said gently. “You need to find what you were meant to do and do it. And if what you were meant to do doesn’t earn you enough money to support yourself, then you find something that’ll support both you and what you were meant to do.”

  “I was meant to be with Mitch.” She sounded whiny and pathetic, not confident and grown up.

  “Okay, you’re meant to be with Mitch. Now what were you meant to do?”

  She couldn’t answer.

  Staring into his coffee cup, Carl said, “After that incident at the FBI—”

  Kristen rolled her eyes again.

  “—I thought I was about to lose my receptionist. I hadn’t bothered to hire one after the last one quit because I thought I could handle it all myself.”

  “You were kinda behind, Dad.”

  “I know. So, when I thought I was losing you, I offered the job to Nora Beckman. She starts next week.”

  She opened and closed her mouth. “You’re firing me?”

  “Uh…” He squinted. “I could be talked into some severance pay.”

  Kristen shook her head. “I’ve been mooching off you and Mom for weeks.”

  Her father smiled. “Your mooching license is still good. But I do have one other comment. It seems to me that a woman who kisses a man the way you did in front of the—”

  “FBI. Yes, Dad.”

  “—is not the kind of woman who waits around for invitations.”

  MITCH CLOSED THE DOOR to seven years of his life without looking back. He gave his palms, which looked better now than they did when the FBI took them, to his neighbors, got in his car and drove straight to Sugar Land without stopping.

  The Town Square Christmas decorations were to be removed on January 6th. Tomorrow. But before they were, Mitch had hired Sparky and The Electric Santa crew for the last job of the season.

  FORTUNATELY, KRISTEN’S unemployment and Mitch’s return to Sugar Land coincided.

  They’d never talked about what would happen after the holidays and Kristen’s chat with her father had shown her that she couldn’t really make future plans until she knew if she was in Mitch’s future plans.

  His dinner invitation couldn’t have come at a better time.

  She thought a lot about what to wear and settled on a classic little black dress. Neutral. Appropriate for nearly any occasion.

  Even dinner inside Santa Claus.

  Mitch had asked her to meet him there. Kristen walked across the grass, now packed hard from days of being trampled. This time, when she knocked on the doll’s house door, Mitch promptly opened it.

  They stared at each other, neither making a move.

  “Hey!” Kristen managed. “Your hair’s brown again. But you kept the cut. I like it.”

  “Yeah.” He ruffled the back of his head and ended up looking adorable.

  He wore the new jeans and, if she were not mistaken, a cashmere sweater in blue.

  She wanted to fall into his arms, but there was an awkwardness that hadn’t been between them before. And it was hard to do anything while walking beneath a four-foot ceiling.

  When they reached the center, the outside lights came on, illuminating a blanket set for two.

  “Something to drink?” Mitch asked. When she nodded, he poured an amber liquid into a wine glass.

  Kristen sipped experimentally. “Wassail?”

  Nodding, Mitch reached into an insulated bag and withdrew—

  Two sausages on a stick, a dill pickle, popcorn, nachos and potato skins.

  Kristen stared at her plate.

  “And I have your favorite for dessert—fried fruitcake.”

  “Is there a message here?” she asked at last.

  “It reminds me of you.”

  “I remind you of junk food?”

  His smile was tender. “I will never drink wassail without thinking of you in the red dress. Sausage on a stick—the day you brought me lunch. Nachos—our first dinner. Popcorn—watching film noir movies after I saw you at your Dad’s place.”

  “The pickle?”

  “‘We’re the sweetest, you’re so sour.’”

  Kristen laughed. “Oh, no.”

  “Potato skins—exploring your skin.”

  “Oh, Mitch.”

  “And the fruitcake. That reminds me to try new things or to look at old things in new ways.”

  Kristen could hardly breathe as emotion choked her. “Mitch,” she whispered. “You touched my heart.”

  “As you’ve touched mine.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest. Beneath her fingers and the supremely soft sweater thudded his heart. “Come outside.”

  He went through the door first and drew her toward him as he backed away. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

  The floats were dark and their lights were rearranged into a new display. The New York skyline outlined in lights stretched across the Sugar Land Town Square. Red hearts of all sizes pulsed and a multicolored “Marry Me, Kristen” flashed at her.

  She stared and tried to figure out what it meant. Well, sure, she got the “marry me” part, but a “yes” hadn’t bubbled up in response.

  Mitch spoke quietly behind her. “I dissolved Sloane and Donner and closed the doors. I’m going to New York because I want to work in the financial center. I’m fruitcaking—looking at my old career in
a different way and I’m trying something new.”

  Ah. He felt he owed her. Not so good. “Mitch, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

  “I did it for me, but I didn’t think you’d be all that torn up about joining me in New York.”

  So he was analyzing her now. And he was pretty good at it. His offer was so very tempting, but her father’s words made sense. She needed to support herself. She needed to support her own dreams. “I—I don’t want to use you just to support me while I try acting.”

  “Okay.” Mitch was suspiciously agreeable. “I’ve already got an apartment with plenty of room, but you should get your own place, if that’s what you want.”

  He already had— “How did you already find an apartment?”

  “Through a client—a real one.”

  Kristen felt on the verge of something that could be wonderfully right, or horribly wrong. “I might not…well, I like acting, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t like everything about trying to get the opportunity to act. I enjoy creating characters by figuring out what makes people do what they do.” Kristen was aware of the weight of Mitch’s hands on her shoulders. “Before I dropped out of college, I really enjoyed psychology. In a big way.”

  “Go back to school, then.”

  “Again, I need to contribute financially.”

  “If you want to, but you don’t have to.”

  “This is too easy. I don’t get it.”

  Mitch laughed. “Kristen, you saved me.”

  “Not by myself.”

  “I’m not just referring to keeping me out of jail, although I do very much appreciate that. You saved me from the rut I’d been in. Everything was the same. I didn’t have any joy anymore. I didn’t even know what I was working for—I never spent much money because I didn’t have time to.”

  Mitch folded his arms around her and pressed her back against his chest. “Even though it was bad worrying about what could happen to me, I didn’t feel half as depressed as I did when I walked back into what was left of my old life.” He inhaled and kissed the top of her head. “So I’m off to New York. For me. And I thought how lucky it was that you wanted to be there, too. But if you don’t, then I guess I’ll rack up a lot of frequent flyer miles.”