White Hot Holidays 17: A Very Faery Christmas

by Mackenzie McKade

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  A Very Faery Christmas

  ISBN # 1-4199-0474-4

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  A Very Faery Christmas Copyright© 2005 Mackenzie McKade

  Edited by Heather Osborn

  Cover design by Syneca. Photography by Dennis Roliff.

  Electronic book Publication: December 2005

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Warning:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. A Very Faery Christmas has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  A VERY FAERY CHRISTMAS

  Mackenzie McKade

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Venus Butterfly: California Exotic Novelties

  Velcro: Velcro Industries

  Q-tip: Unilever Supply Chain, Inc.

  Chapter One

  Who would have thought that in the blink of an eye Candice Lowry’s life would change so drastically? It all started with the purchase of a five-foot Christmas tree from the local tree lot in Chandler, Arizona. Well, it wasn’t the tree, but the faery within. A wood faery, to be exact.

  Three inches in height, he sat on her dashboard casually picking at the hem of his vest—which looked as if it were made from tree bark embroidered with wilted leaves and vines. He wore tights and slippers a deeper brown than his dark skin tone. The warm smell of soil and nature surrounded him. His appearance was rugged, as if he could melt into the earth itself and disappear.

  He glanced at her through narrowed eyes. “You shouldn’t have ignored me.”

  Her face flushed with heat. “You made me look like a fool.” Unconsciously, her foot pressed harder on the gas.

  He feigned surprise. “Me? You’re the one who leaned on the tree.” Then he pulled his knees to his chest and began to laugh all over again. “Did you see that lot attendant’s expression when all the trees fell like the parting of the Red Sea?”

  Candice cringed. The trees had fallen in different directions, in a domino effect, one right after another. The crash was loud enough to be heard a mile down the street. Everyone nearby witnessed her humiliation.

  Embarrassed and dismayed, all she’d wanted to do was leave. She chose the only tree left standing, which had held a certain faery named Hector within its branches.

  “I thought your hissing was a rattlesnake,” she said innocently. How was she to know all he had wanted was her attention?

  The little man rolled onto his back, holding his stomach, his tiny legs kicking in the air. “I know. I know. You should have seen how quickly you moved. It looked like you were standing on a bed of hot coals the way you danced about.”

  “Ha. Ha.” She pressed the brake a little too quickly at the oncoming red light. Her tires squealed, the car slid a short distance.

  Hector’s eyes opened wide as he rolled across the surface of the dashboard. He hit the window and then rolled back before falling off. Midair, his translucent wings appeared, fluttering madly. When he rose into the air a shower of dark green faery dust wafted around him.

  His smile was gone. “You’re killing me, Candice. Work with me here.”

  She glanced at him and then the stoplight. “Okay, tell me again why you’re here.”

  Unbelievable. She was talking to a faery. Or was it her imagination? She had drunk two eggnogs before she’d shut down her accounting office for the holidays.

  He situated himself on the beaded necklace hanging from her rearview mirror as if it were a swing. Holding on, he kicked his feet and set it into a slow, swaying motion.

  “Girl,” he paused, “you’re in need of a serious makeover.”

  The light turned green. Candice eased her foot onto the gas pedal as her gaze shot to Hector. “Makeover?”

  “On the lonely meter you’re registering a nine point three out of ten.” He leaned back and forth on the necklace, making it move faster, higher. “You look like a cranky librarian. How old are you anyway?”

  Just her luck—a faery with an attitude.

  She focused her attention on the road. Did he have to remind her that she would be spending another Christmas alone? “Twenty-six.” But I feel like eighty. “And you don’t need to get nasty.”

  When she pulled to a halt in front of her apartment complex, she switched the car off. The engine whined, coughed and shuddered before dying. She opened her door and Hector zipped by her so quickly that she felt a brush of air across her face. His wings were a blur as he darted around, taking everything in.

  From a distance he looked like a hummingbird. Still, she had no idea how she was going to get him past the lobby attendant. Then he dove into the tree atop her car, burrowing in the branches.

  A sigh slipped from her mouth. Yes. She wanted to get into the Christmas spirit, but how the hell was she going to get this monstrosity off her car and into her apartment? Remembering her fingernail clippers, she dug through her shoulder bag and retrieved them.

  With a snip here and there, Candice used the clippers to cut through two of the four pieces of twine holding the tree securely in place. Snip. The tension in the line loosened. Only one more to go.

  When the last cord snapped, the tree tumbled down. She didn’t have time to move as it whacked her chest, branches slapping her face.

  “Watch out,” a small voice burst from within the tree.

  So much for not getting tree sap on her outfit.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, trying to find a comfortable way to hold on.

  Six inches taller than the five-foot tree, she still felt like the darn thing engulfed her. It was everywhere. The needles poked into her and the bark was sticky as she inched her way toward the entrance of the complex.

  “Left. Go left,” Hector yelled as she approached a toy car that some kid must have dropped.

  “Shush. Someone is going to hear you,” she warned.

  If she hadn’t been so uncomfortable she would have laughed. From the front she probably looked like a possessed Christmas tree wandering aimlessly. The only visible parts of her were her feet. There was just enough space between the branches so that she could see where she was going, but barely.

  The lobby atten
dant, a young man dressed in brown slacks and a tan shirt, opened the glass doors. “Merry Christmas, ma’am,” he said. “I’d assist you, but I can’t leave the doors unattended.”

  “Thank you. I can manage,” Candice grunted. If you could call what she was doing managing—moving at the speed of a geisha, using tiny steps that were more of a shuffle. When she approached the elevators, she braced the tree against the wall and pressed the button. The doors parted and she heaved the tree into her arms and stepped inside. As the doors closed, a hand shot in, stopping them.

  * * * * *

  A delicious burn developed in Gordon Nash’s midsection as he finished his last sit-up. His abdominal muscles felt tight and alive. Tension that was present in his neck and shoulders was beginning to fade. This was just what he needed to curb his frustration.

  He hated to disappoint his family, but business called. With Japanese associates in town and negotiations for their new communications systems not yet completed, there was no way he could make it to Boston for Christmas. There was no telling how much time he would have to put in at the office the remainder of this week.

  At least he had been lucky on the apartment-hunting front.

  It was a find to locate an apartment with a health club and other amenities across the street. He grabbed his towel off the floor and wiped the perspiration from his forehead as he headed for the free weights.

  He picked up a dumbbell, straddled a nearby bench and bent his right elbow, performing arm curls. One, two, three…

  Negotiations would be completed just before December twenty-fourth, but he wasn’t crazy enough to try to make it home. Perhaps next month he’d fly home to see his parents and brother and sisters who still lived nearby.

  He focused inward. Breathing deeply, releasing slowly. A drop of sweat rolled from his forehead and disappeared into his eye. Fuck. It burned, but he kept focused on how his arm muscles strained against the iron in his hand. Tendons running across his biceps flexed and relaxed, bulging as they pressed tightly against his hot, moist skin.

  He had never missed one of his mother’s homemade pumpkin pies, not in all his thirty years. She made one especially for him each Thanksgiving and Christmas. The memory of the spicy scent filled his nose. He could almost taste the whipped cream as his mouth began to water. His stomach even growled.

  He focused again on his breathing, slowly raising and lowering his arm, feeling the sting, relishing the burn.

  One thing he wouldn’t miss was his family chastising him about getting married and having children.

  It seemed everyone around him was married or getting married. His boss had even said that he should find a woman and settle down. His thoughts turned to his neighbor down the hall from his new apartment.

  On the surface she appeared to be a meek, mild thing, but when she looked at him he saw something different in her eyes. She gave him the impression of a trapped bird wanting to be released, wanting to spread her wings.

  The endorphin high he was on and the image of the woman in his mind made his cock harden. She wore too many clothes, one layer over the other. Her hair was always held captive on top of her head, so tight her eyes had a slant to them. She wore no makeup and she hid behind her glasses.

  But those eyes… She had the most unusual violet eyes he had ever seen.

  He couldn’t really tell what lay beneath all those clothes, but her body language definitely said, Stay away. I’m not interested. On the other hand, her eyes screamed, I’m yours. Do anything you want to me. His business experience had taught him a lot about reading people, and this woman was all woman. She just needed a little help discovering herself.

  As he dabbed the towel against his forehead, he placed the dumbbell back on the rack and then strolled to the bench press. He added fifty additional pounds per side and took a seat. Sliding onto his back, his chest centered beneath the weights, he placed his palms against the cool iron bar.

  He paused in reflection.

  The brunette was like a block of clay waiting to be formed. He wiggled his fingers, stretching and working the tightness out of them, then folded them firmly around the bar again. And he had just the right hands to mold her.

  An ache squeezed his balls at the thought. He could almost envision the shock on her face as his handcuffs clicked shut around her wrists, the wild and curious look in her beautiful eyes as he gently stroked her body with his flogger. His cock jerked with excitement. He imagined the way her eyes would close, her head lolling, the soft cry of ecstasy she’d make as he marked her body.

  Inhaling deeply, he lifted the bar with a grunt. The weight fought against his hands. His mind focused on the iron above him as he raised it higher and higher. When his elbows locked a quiver raced through his arms. He held the three hundred pounds suspended before slowly easing the bar down. The strain against body and mind was a sweet sensation. When the iron was a breath away from his heaving chest he lifted the weight once more until it was high above him. He repeated the exercise a few more times, then settled the weight in its cradle. In silence, he lay there—slowing his heart rate, controlling his breathing—and smiled.

  Oh yeah. Her silky skin would be a soft pink all over. He would dominate her—and she would enjoy every minute of it.

  He couldn’t help reaching down to adjust himself. He was rock-hard just thinking about her. He hadn’t noticed another name on her mailbox. Perhaps if things worked out just right he wouldn’t be alone for Christmas.

  He gathered up his towel and made his way to the door. Outside, the air smelled fresh from the recent rain. Gray clouds littered the sky, but looked like they were finally moving on.

  He waited for three cars to pass, then crossed the road to his apartment complex. The doorman nodded his greetings just as Gordon saw a Christmas tree disappear into the elevator. Heavy steps carried him to the closing doors, which he halted, wedging himself inside.

  To his surprise and delight it was the brunette who had filled his thoughts.

  * * * * *

  Candice felt her blood pressure soar. It was Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, the man who had just moved in two doors down from her on the third floor. Each time she saw him her imagination took a leap. It seemed to be doing that more often these days, she thought, as she remembered the little faery hidden within her tree.

  There was something about her new neighbor that stirred a fire within her, a slow burn that made her hot and bothered.

  “Candice, your pulse is racing,” Hector informed her.

  “Shush,” she whispered. Damn. How would she justify talking to a tree?

  Every night for the past week her dreams had included wild, passionate sex with the man standing before her. Even now her breasts felt heavy. Her nipples tightened and it wasn’t just because the Christmas tree rubbed against them.

  “Psst.” Hector continued to be annoying.

  Please be quiet, she prayed.

  Candice pulled the tree closer to her and peered through the branches at the fine collection of muscles packaged into a six-foot-three frame of solid male. From the perspiration dampening the neckline of his t-shirt, she knew he was a jogger or into some type of exercise or sport. Even the male scent warring against his light woodsy aftershave and the Christmas tree aroma kicked her libido into high gear.

  “Hi.” His tone was deep and sexy, releasing a flood of desire between her thighs.

  Sure that she looked stupid hiding behind the tree, she let it lean forward. Her tongue wet her lips. “Hi.” Her voice was a squeak as she tried to rein in her emotions.

  Hot damn. He was gorgeous. His smile was like hot chocolate on a winter’s night, it warmed her through and through. His sky blue eyes sparkled as if they held a secret.

  When she reached up to smooth her hair, she almost died. Without looking, she knew the rain had done a job on it, and there were pine needles sticking all through the bun that was now leaning to the side of her head.

  As if things couldn’t get worse, the tree slipped
from her hand, fell, and slapped the man against his chest before she could catch it.

  “Ooof.” Both Hector and the man said in unison. She knew the needles must be burrowing into his skin.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she cried, as she hurried to retrieve the tree.

  His laughter was light as he easily took control of the situation. “No problem. Why don’t I carry it to your apartment? You’re only a couple doors down from my place.”

  She was speechless. He knew where she lived? When she could speak again, she said, “Really? I mean…that would be great, if you don’t mind.”

  Again, he graced her with a bright smile that made her toes curl and a delightful knot form low in her belly. “Not at all. I’m Gordon Nash.” He held out his hand and clasped her sticky one to his.

  Shit. She grimaced. Their hands stuck together. “Sorry.” She slowly withdrew. “Candice Lowry.”

  His brows rose and his smile grew into a sexy grin. “Candice.” He paused as if he were trying it on for size. “I like that.” His tone dropped an octave, smoothing over her like a warm summer breeze.

  His penetrating blue eyes remained on her, making her skin feel a little too tight. Hell. Even her loose clothing felt too tight. She resisted the urge to pull at her neckline or to pluck the needles from her hair.

  When the elevator doors opened, he stood aside, held them and allowed her to exit. He heaved the tree into his arms like it was nothing and followed her.

  Hector was blessedly silent.

  Fumbling in her purse, Candice retrieved her keys and opened her apartment door, jamming her foot against it to keep it open as he passed through.

  When he was in the middle of her living room he halted.

  Was it just her imagination, or did the man fit perfectly in her apartment? She considered shutting the door and locking it tight. Possession was nine-tenths of the law. Legally, he would be hers—wouldn’t he? Instead, she pulled it closed and drifted further into the room.