A Christmas Seduction

by Daire St. Denis

  Jolie sat completely still, observing as if she was on the outside looking in. She could pick out Dillon’s voice—he had an amazing baritone—and marveled at how everyone sang with such certainty. The only other person who wasn’t singing was Curtis.

  When that song ended, Kaylee read some more, pausing every few minutes so that another carol could be sung.

  “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

  “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”

  Then “Joy to the World,” at which time the lights of the Christmas tree were switched on. They seemed more brilliant and beautiful than before.

  After Kaylee was done, everyone clapped and Gloria asked, “More carols?”

  The group was in agreement and Catherine started in on a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells,” to which Zak sang his own words—“jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg”—making Jolie smile. Of course she knew the words to “Jingle Bells,” but she was enjoying just listening.

  “Not much for singing?” Thad asked when he took his seat next to her again.

  She shrugged.

  “Singing’s good for the soul, you know. Connects us to each other and...to the angels.”

  She raised a single brow at that comment. “Angels?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in angels?”

  “Not particularly.”

  He frowned. “Spirits?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about miracles?”

  She shrugged. “They are simply people’s way of explaining things they don’t understand.” Good Lord, it was like her mother had possessed her body and was speaking through her.

  “You telling me you’ve never witnessed a real-life miracle?”

  “Nope.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Now, that’s too bad.” He patted her hand. “But that shouldn’t stop you from singing. It doesn’t matter how good your voice is. All that matters is that you sing, for no other reason than that it feels good.”

  “Oh, I like to sing,” Jolie said. She was no Dillon, but she wasn’t half-bad.

  “Then why aren’t you?”

  “It’s a long story,” she replied hesitantly.

  “Long stories are the best kind.”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “Long and implausible stories are right up my alley.” Thad nudged her lightly. The innocent contact sent a wave of heat through her body.

  “So...?” Thad moved so close his thigh was snugged right up against hers. He rested his hand on her leg and drew circular patterns, making her entire leg, right down to her toes, tingle.

  She leaned close, like she had a secret, and whispered, “I don’t know the words.”

  “What do you mean?” The drawing on her thigh stopped.

  “I didn’t grow up singing carols.”

  “Why’s that?” Now he lightly drew on the back of her hand. “Are you Jewish? Duval doesn’t sound Jewish.” He started caressing again.

  “No...” She paused, enjoying his touch so much she almost couldn’t remember what she was talking about. “My family didn’t go to church, so...”

  Thad waited for her to continue. When she didn’t he said, “So?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know the religious carols.”

  He blinked and waited some more. His blue eyes narrowed. “That’s it?” His hand stopped moving again.

  “Pretty much.”

  “By definition, a long story consists of more than six words.”

  She gazed at where his hand rested on top of hers, wishing he would start caressing again, because it felt so nice.

  “And...as a non-churchgoer, you don’t listen to the radio?”

  She made a face. “Of course I do.”

  “So you have to know some Christmas songs. Maybe you haven’t noticed,” he leaned close and whispered, “but they’re the same ones every year.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I do know some.” Jolie worked her hand out from under his so she could touch him. So strong. So...

  Focused on his hand, she traced over the top of the largest vein—why were the veins in his hands sexy?—while absently rattling off the titles of her favorite classics. A flash of his strong hands holding her wrists above his head made her gasp. Oh, yes. That would be why.

  But then she remembered how tender he could be, too, how he’d taken care of her when she was freezing cold.

  “I know ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside.’ Is that a Christmas song?” she asked softly.

  “Sure, why not. You know all the words to it?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She touched the space between his thumb and forefinger. Even this part of him was muscular.

  “That’s good enough for me.” Thad climbed to his feet and pulled her up with him. There was a break in the music, and turning to the room, he said, “Ms. Jolie and I would like to take a turn at singing a duet.”

  “Um, Thad? What are you doing?”

  He winked at her and pulled her closer to the piano.

  “I’m not going to sing in front of everyone,” she hissed.

  He ignored her protest. “Ms. Catherine, do you know ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’?”

  She frowned and shook her head.

  “That’s fine, we’ll sing a cappella.”

  “Wait.” Jolie tugged on his hand. “A cappella?”

  “Yep. Unless you know how to play.”

  Actually, she did. She’d only been playing piano since she was seven years old. Taking a seat at the bench, she rested her fingers on the keys, attempting to conjure up the music. She played a chord, then another, deciding on the key.

  “You’ve been holding out on us,” Thad chided softly.

  Her response was a pretend scowl. “Do you know all the words?”

  “Of course,” he said with a twinkle glimmering in his blue eyes as he leaned against the piano. “For the most part.”

  “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” Yet here she was, deciding on the key of C major, ready to sing, as if she really was this person she was pretending to be.

  She finished playing the introduction to the song, paused, nodded at Thad and then sang softly, “I really can’t stay...”

  “Baby, it’s cold outside...” His voice sent shivers down her spine.

  “I’ve got to go ’way...”

  “Baby, it’s cold outside...” As they continued to sing, those shivers raced right back up to the crown of her head.

  How was it possible that their voices complemented one another as well as their bodies had earlier in the day? Hers soft and his strong? Both a little rough around the edges, but it didn’t matter. They sang the chorus in harmony as if they’d performed together for years. Jolie completely forgot that they were surrounded by a room of people, and sang to Thad as if they were having a private, flirty conversation through song. There was a point where Thad didn’t know the words and just ad-libbed his way through it: “Don’t know the words to this part...keep singing or you’ll break my heart...”

  Laughing, Jolie kept on until Thad picked up the lyrics again. For the last verse, he sat beside her on the bench, threw an arm across her shoulders and held her close for the final “Oh, baby, it’s cold outside!”

  She couldn’t help herself; she leaned against him and dissolved into laughter while the room exploded with applause. They returned to the couch and fell back into the soft leather, Jolie feeling warm and tingly and wonderful.

  �
�That was fun,” Thad rumbled quietly.

  “It was.”

  “You’ve a pretty voice on you.” He picked up her hand. “And talent in these soft hands.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” She elbowed him gently in the ribs, and his arm came around her shoulder. Possessive and sweet all at once. How was it possible to feel so comfortable, so safe and warm and wonderful, with a man she’d just met? Particularly since they were surrounded by a room full of virtual strangers?

  Maybe she did believe in miracles.

  “Dad?” Zak asked in the lull between songs. “What about our Christmas story?”

  “Sorry, bud. I don’t have the book,” Simon said, giving Zak an apologetic rub on the top of his head.

  “I bet you know it. You’ve been reading it to me every night for the last week.”

  A few others in the room piped up with encouragement for Simon to recite the story.

  “Really,” Simon insisted, obviously becoming uncomfortable. “I don’t know it off by heart.”

  “I’ll help,” Zak said. He stood in front of the whole group, tugged down on his sleeves and in an overly loud voice, began reciting the beginning of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

  Between the whole group of them, they managed to get through the entire story, and even Jolie remembered a few lines. Halfway through, Zak climbed onto his father’s lap, his cheeks rosy, his eyes drooping as he tucked his head beneath his father’s chin. Such a different kid than the one who’d run around earlier, like Thad’s dogs, with boundless energy.

  Catherine smiled warmly, giving Dillon a not-so-subtle raised eyebrow as she looked from father and son back to Dillon and then over to Gloria. “Why don’t we sing ‘Silent Night’?” she suggested.

  Thad’s arm remained around Jolie’s shoulders as Catherine played a chord and then let the group sing the song a cappella. It was beautiful and for the third time that night, she felt tears pooling in her eyes.

  This was it. This was the Christmas she’d always wanted, always longed for. Yes, her family spent “the holiday” together, but their traditions didn’t include parties and stories and sharing. They included taking shifts that no one else wanted at the hospital because everyone else was celebrating. Yes, they shared a nice meal and always donated to a charity of choice, but they spent the meal discussing work and big issues: war, politics, the injustices in the world. They’d debate practical ways they could all do something to make a difference. It was all well-intentioned and there was nothing wrong with it...exactly. Jolie rubbed her cheek, trying to figure out why she’d always felt like she was missing something in the way her family celebrated the holidays.

  Maybe that was it. It wasn’t a celebration.

  And Jolie had always longed for festivities like tonight’s.

  She wanted lights, decorations, trees and garlands. She wanted traditions that were passed on based on religion or family or that somehow harkened back to their countries of origin, like the Feast of the Seven Fishes or Tip’s Eve. Speaking of which, she liked to get tipsy, laugh, hang mistletoe, play games, tell stories...

  “C’mon, Zak,” Gloria said. “We’d better set out cookies.”

  “Wait.” Zak clung to his father. “Where’s my stocking? Did we bring my stocking?”

  Gloria pointed to the mantel, where a row of stockings were hung. They were so pretty. “There’s thirteen of them. One for each of us.”

  Eyeing the stockings all tacked up in a row, Jolie was suddenly struck by a memory of being very young and spending Christmas with her father’s parents in Wisconsin. Her mother had stayed to work in the ER, and her father had taken Jolie and her brother back to visit relatives. He hadn’t been particularly close to his parents and they’d died shortly after—a heart attack and a stroke, for which he blamed their excessive drinking—but she remembered that Christmas now.

  Family and friends had crowded into their old house. The smell of the wood-burning fire, the tree and all the presents underneath. She even remembered the stockings hung up along that fireplace. Oh, she’d been so excited!

  How could she have forgotten that?

  Maybe because she’d been so young.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to remember what happened next. A vague recollection of her father arguing with her grandfather surfaced and then...oh, yes. Sitting in the car and driving back home in the middle of the night. Jo remembered crying because all she’d wanted was to wake up on Christmas morning to a stocking filled with gifts like all the other kids.

  That was the last time she’d seen her grandparents before they died. It was also the night she realized there was no Santa. No magic. No Christmas.

  Tonight, however, Jolie wanted to believe again. The very thought of it made her smile.

  “Can I tell you something?” Thad said huskily as he squeezed her hand.

  “Sure.”

  “You are a beautiful woman, but when you smile you take my breath away.”

  She head butted his shoulder and Thad took the opportunity to lean in close to her ear and whisper, “Do me a favor, will you?”

  The warm air inside her ear sent delicious shivers down her spine, and the vibrations of his deep voice got her heart pounding. “Depends on what it is,” she answered softly.

  “Leave those French doors of yours open tonight.”

  She pulled back to look at him. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Knight?”

  “If Santa Claus is allowed to break into people’s houses, why not me?”

  She bit gently on her lower lip. “Because Santa is a gentleman. And you?” She poked his chest. “Are not.”

  9

  Travel tip: sometimes the sexiest lingerie is no lingerie.

  Jo Duval

  IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE—well, technically it was Christmas morning because it was 1:00 a.m.—and Jolie was snuggled beneath the comforter of her queen-size bed, giddy. Was this what it was like to be a kid, lying in bed, wide-awake in hope of catching the sound of Santa’s sled on the roof? Listening for the telltale sound of footsteps or hooves? Hoping to hear the tinkle of sleigh bells?

  She giggled.

  Not because she was tipsy—okay, she was a little tipsy—but because she had a surprise for dear old Santa. Her hands went to her stomach, one going up the other going down, touching herself—her naked self. Yep, she was waiting for Santa with bells on and that was it.

  She’d gone through her luggage even though she knew exactly what was there, or rather what wasn’t there. Sexy sleepwear was nowhere to be found. So, as far as she was concerned, this was the next best thing.

  Rolling over, she touched the screen of her cell to check the time.

  One fifteen.

  Still nothing.

  She flopped onto her back, replaying the whole day in her head. The sleigh ride to the ghost town—fun. The trip back—not as much fun. Warming up at Thad’s place—nice. His naked body and her naked body—very nice...

  She rubbed her knees together.

  Her thoughts lingered there for a few minutes before drifting to other things: the delicious meal, the evening spent with a group of strangers. Her topsy-turvy emotions.

  Pushing herself up to her elbows, she strained to hear something—anything—but there was nothing.

  Maybe Thad wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d had second thoughts.

  She rolled to her other side, playing with a string on the handmade quilt. What if he didn’t come?
How would she feel? As disappointed as she’d been leaving her grandparents’ place in the middle of the night?

  Her bare arm suddenly felt cold on the outside of the blanket and she tucked it back inside.

  What are you doing, Jolie?

  Fine time for her inner critic to be up and chiding her, reminding her she was lying in bed, naked, waiting for a man she’d just met.

  Jolie sat up, pressing her hands to her face. She was setting herself up for heartache. She was a fool to think she could do this without getting emotionally invested, particularly at Christmas time.

  Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum.

  Wait, what was that?

  Jolie tilted her head, straining to hear.

  Was that the crunch of boots on snow?

  Her pulse quickened, which made picking up sounds from outside difficult because all she could hear was the pounding of her pulse inside her ears. She waited, consciously slowing her breath, moving her hair back so that her ear was free.

  When there was no more sound, no crunching of snow or tapping on the glass, no sliding of the door, she realized it must have been her imagination.

  “You are a fool, Jolie Duval,” she whispered to herself. “A sentimental, romantic fool.”

  * * *

  THADDEUS TILTED HIS FACE to the sky as big, fluffy flakes settled on his cheeks. What the hell was he doing here? It was Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake. He should not be out gallivanting tonight of all nights, particularly not with a woman like Jolie Duval. Gloria had been right to warn him off. As much as the writer from Chicago liked to pretend she was worldly, after tonight he could tell she was anything but. How many times had he caught her sniffing away emotion? Blotting unshed tears? She was not the type to have an affair that meant nothing, which was the number one thing he looked for in the women he took to bed.

  The strange thing was, he didn’t want her any different. When her big doe eyes got all bright with nostalgia, or whatever the hell it was, he’d been overcome with an urge to wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight. Yet, minutes later, when she’d crooned to him in that soft and sexy voice, he’d had the same urge, to hold her tightly in his arms...