Hard Candy

by Volley, Rue

  Hard Candy

  A Hot Ink Press Holiday Anthology

  Rue Volley

  Riley Steel

  Candi Delshamagus

  Kim Carmichael

  Kim McNiel

  Chelle

  Khelsey Jackson

  Josephine Ballowe

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Published by Hot Ink Press

  Text Copyright 2013 by Hot Ink Press

  Cover by Rue Volley for Vivid Designs

  MERRY

  CHRISTMAS

  FROM

  EVERYONE AT

  HOT INK!

  Contents

  Twelve Strings of Xmas

  Secret Santa

  Hired for the Holidays

  One Night With Claus

  Vertigo

  No Regret

  The Wish

  The Christmas Collar

  Twelve Strings of Xmas

  Candi Delshamagus

  Until this year, Christmas had always been Tasha Hollister's favorite holiday. This year it sucked big, hairy, donkey balls. It was totally her own fault. If she'd been thinking with her head instead of her hormones, she wouldn't be stuck in this cruddy town, in the middle of nowhere.

  If the town was the butt-crack of the state, however, this bar was surely the anus. Slinging beer and pouring shots at the aptly named Tapped Out, made just enough to cover room and board on a musty, eight-by-ten room upstairs. The board part, of course, being burgers, fries, wings, and other oh-so-healthy bar food. She dumped her tips into the bank, mostly. It was her rainy day fund to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible.

  Given half a chance, Tasha would hunt down the douche-canoe who'd ditched her here and render him a eunuch. Not that he was far from one, already. She wouldn't feel like such a failure if the sex had been at least halfway to good, but he'd passed out after ten minutes of fumbled foreplay, and thrown up in her shoes when she tried to wake him up.

  He'd attempted to make up for it in the morning. Unfortunately for him, sobriety did not become him. Far from the super-cool, romantic lead singer she'd hopped onto the bus with, now he was just a hung-over, strung-out jerk with an ego bigger than his dick warranted. She shouldn't have laughed at him, though. Tasha realized that now, too late.

  When he hopped out of the shower with his dick in hand, and told her he was going to let her suck it, she just couldn't help it. The poor, floppy, little thing just looked so comical, and his strutting and posturing did nothing to offset the hilarity. She wasn't laughing when she found herself tossed onto the curb, without her purse or shoes, in some podunk town the tour bus whipped through. Silicone Alley might be one of the most successful hard rock bands in the country, but that didn't give Jules Wolfe the right to toss her out like so much garbage.

  Tasha could have called the media or a lawyer. The last woman who'd done that, though, had disappeared from the public eye before the ink dried on the headlines. A few hundred-thousand ravenous fans, death threats, and having your life dissected and denigrated on the internet, will do that. There'd been whispers of a private settlement, but was any amount of money worth giving up all dignity?

  An hour later, she was still sitting on the curb, contemplating her options, when a black Jaguar pulled up. Her purse and shoes came flying out the passenger side window to land on the sidewalk behind her, and the Jag peeled out, leaving a cloud of dust and rubber-smoke behind. As his vanity plate faded from view, Tasha wished "A1 Gent" a hefty speeding ticket and a flat ... in the loneliest part of the country ... during a violent storm ... on the night of the new moon.

  The best and worst thing about being stuck here sat on a barstool not five feet away, belting out a bluesy Christmas song and strumming a twelve-string acoustic guitar. Nicky Cole was just too damned gorgeous to be anything but trouble, and far too talented to stick around here for long.

  During a lull in orders, she paused to watch his finger-work, as he played Greensleeves. It was a classical rendition, and he was nailing it. Not once did he miss a note. His long, lean body hunched over the guitar, cradling it like a lover. The muscles in his arms rippled and flexed as his hands teased the strings. She knew there were tattoos under that sleeveless Tee he was wearing. A stag graced his back, its proud antlers merging into the branches of the tree of life. Within the tree nestled the sign of the triple-goddess, and behind it all, the full moon. She'd traced every line of it, with the tip of a fingernail, awed by the detail and seduced by the power of it.

  Nicky's head turned slightly to the left while he plucked the stings, making the tiny crescent-shaped scar at his brow more prominent. Whenever he played anything tirando, he had a habit of setting his lower jaw to the right, drawing her eyes to his mouth. Oh, that mouth! His goatee was always trimmed just long enough to be soft. Nicky had a gorgeous singing voice, but those lips hid more talent than just carrying a note. Her breath hitched, remembering. His unfathomable brown eyes took on a dreamy, far-away quality when he played like this. If only he were cocky, or vain, but he wasn't! He was intelligent, down-to earth, funny, a smartass ... Shit, that made him even harder to resist!

  Tasha tore her eyes away, to scan the small crowd for empty glasses, or signals to order. If she wasn't careful, she'd get so engrossed in watching him play, she'd forget she worked here. Tim McGee might be the nicest guy she'd ever busted ass for, but he was still the boss, and her landlord. She couldn't afford to screw up this job.

  You'd think she'd have learned to steer clear of musicians, by now. After her first real boyfriend, a keyboard player, had cheated on her with half the high school seniors, she'd gone through a drummer, two guitarists, a bass player and two lead singers. What was it about musicians that made them so tantalizing? Even when she didn't know they were musicians, she was drawn to them like a squirrel to nuts. That was probably the perfect simile, too, since most of them were nuts.

  Oh, they each had their finer points, none of which she wanted to contemplate right now. Thinking about it would get her even more aroused, and she didn't need any extra help with Nicky close enough to burn a hole in her jeans with his stare. He was staring, there was no doubt about it. She could feel it, even with her back to him like this. Dammit! Why did he have to be so fucking hot? How could she have been such an idiot? Where the hell was her will power?

  She knew the answer to that. It had vanished back in March, when she met Nicky Cole.

  ***

  The morning after St. Pat's day, it took an extra three hours of sleep for Tasha to ditch a migraine that had snuck up on her. Good thing it was fading, too, because her co-server, Janine, quit at closing last night, which meant that all Tim had was her. At least, that's what she thought until she crawled out of her room and dragged herself downstairs, still half asleep. She could hear Tim yakking at someone in the bar. Since Sam was still upstairs, it couldn't be him. Maybe it was one of the other boarders.

  The mirror said she looked as beat-up as she felt, so the last thing she wanted to do was meet whoever who was pitching in for the night. Sam warned her, at least, so she hid out in the kitchen, helping him prep wings for the pub-food, dinner crowd.

  She didn't hear the door swing open behind her as she spun around with a huge bucket of uncooked fries, in cold water. Sidestepping to avoid Tim wi
th the bucket, she caught a heel between two tiles and nearly fell on her ass. A pair of powerful arms caught her and helped her get her balance. She even managed not to spill the bucket. Tasha turned to thank her hero. She wound up nose to nose with a tasty looking hunk of man.

  There was a glint in his eyes. His pursed lips told her he was trying not to laugh.

  "Who's this pretty lady?" he asked Tim.

  "Nicky Cole, this is Tasha Hollister, the best damned barmaid this side of the Canuck border."

  "What are you selling?" She asked Tim with a laugh.

  "Tasha, huh?" Nicky graced her with a slow wink. "I'll bet you were a Christmas present worth waiting for."

  She couldn't stop her mouth from falling open.

  "I'm right? Ha ha!" He did a geeky-looking little dance on the spot. It made her laugh.

  "I'm lost." Tim said, smiling at Nicky's antics.

  "Tasha is short for Natasha, am I right?" He held one hand out to her like a game show host asking the grand prize question, and she nodded.

  "Well, it was just a guess, but Natasha means 'born on Christmas' in Greek. So, if Tasha here has a mom who, like most moms, researches baby names to the umpteenth degree, it would stand to reason that her birthday is on, or near, Christmas."

  "Show off!" Tim scoffed, but he was still smiling.

  "So how do I get me a Tasha for Christmas?" Nicky asked. He winked at her again.

  She couldn't help smiling back at this silly man. He looked like a heavy metal star and acted like a nerdy teenager.

  "Maybe, if you're a reeeally good boy," she reached up and pinched his cheek, "Santa will bring you one."

  "Does Saint Nicholas get to pick which Tasha?" he sallied back, his grin widening despite the red mark appearing on his cheek. That was no gentle pinch she'd given him.

  "Ha! Don't answer that, Tasha! Ha ha!" Tim slapped Nicky on the back, hard enough to knock him off balance. "He's a wily smartass."

  "Now I'm lost." she said.

  Nicky extended his hand again, this time for a handshake. She took it and he sketched a courtly bow. "Cole Saint Nicholas, at your service, m'lady."

  "Cole? But—"

  "Everyone just calls me Nicky, instead. I got tired of playing Old King Cole in the Christmas pageant every year of public school." The chuckle was self-deprecating.

  "In that case, Mister Saint Nicholas, no, Saint Nick does not get to pick which Tasha."

  He sighed with exaggerated drama. "Always the bridesmaid. I suppose I should be used to it by now."

  He'd kept up the banter all night, like that, and she'd flirted right back. As they weaved through the tables to the piped-in music, the patrons cheered them both on like it was some kind of entertainment. It certainly seemed like a show. The verbal exchange was all comedy, full of sexual innuendo. Physically, it was more of a dance, a quickstep that evolved into a sensual tango. He flicked at the hem of her skirt and pantomimed a heart attack. She gave him a lash-flutter and fanned herself dramatically. He made a show of flexing his muscles at her, and she undid a button to show more cleavage. Catcalls rang through the bar. When he not-so-accidentally brushed against her, though, real sparks flew.

  His hand grazed her thigh as he glided past. Her derriere brushed against his hip as she bent to serve a table. Once, she exited the kitchen with her hands full of wings as he was entering to pick up another order, and they wound up chest to breast. Both of them paused just long enough to prove intent. Their audience could feel the tension building, the cheers and catcalls dwindling as it did.

  "It's all fun and games until someone gets screwed." Tim said with a frown, during one of her drink runs. "Take it back a notch, girl."

  "What?" She was watching Nicky, watching her.

  Tim narrowed his eyes at her, but he was smiling, even as her shook a finger at her. "Don't pretend you didn't hear me!" he mock-growled. "You've heard the expression, 'don't shit where you eat', haven't you?

  "I have." She laughed. "No worries, Tim. It's all harmless fun."

  "Ha! You and I have different definitions of 'harmless'.

  Tim was right, though. She and Nicky were playing a dangerous game, and they were both losing. By the time the bell sounded last call, her body was humming, and her heart was pounding. She knew she had to rein it in.

  It helped that Nicky seemed to be avoiding her, now that the last of the customers had stumbled out. As she cleared the tables, Tasha practiced some breathing exercises aimed at slowing her pulse. So intense was her focus that she didn't notice Tracey Hanchett lingering, until she nearly tripped over her.

  Tasha couldn't figure out if the boss and the barfly were dating, or just had some kind of friends-with-benefits arrangement. At least one night, every weekend, Tracey hung out after closing so Tim could walk her home. It had only happened twice before Tasha realized that Tim didn't return until lunchtime the next day. A few days later, she found out Tracey only lived three blocks from the pub, and they'd been doing this dance for nearly a decade.

  "Y'okay, hon?" Tracey asked.

  "Oh! Yeah, Tracey. I was just thinking about home. I should really give my folks a call." The lie came too easily. She hadn't spoken to her family in five years.

  "Go ahead and use the office phone!" Tim said as he walked out of the kitchen. "Listen, can you two wrap things up here, while I walk Tracey home?"

  "Sure thing boss-man!" Nicky hollered from across the bar. "We'll have it ship-shape in no time!"

  "Alright. Nicky, your stuff is on the landing. You'll take room four, upstairs." That was news to Tasha, and it set her off balance all over again. Screwing around with someone who left at the end of the night, or even a week, was one thing. When it was the guy in the next room, for goddess knew how long, it got a lot more complicated. "Knock on my door around two, tomorrow, and we'll talk about pay." Tim was halfway out the door already.

  "Righto!"

  "So, you're hanging around for a bit?" She was pleased that the question came out sounding casual. She scrubbed a spot on the pinball machine that was already clean. "That'll make life interesting."

  "Yup." He didn't even look up from the table he was washing. "I'm between gigs, so I hit up Tim for a job until something gels. I have a couple of irons in the fire."

  She didn't know whether to be pleased, or disappointed. She settled for pleased. He was fun to play with, and if something came of it, he still shouldn't be around long enough for things to get messy.

  "That's good. You won't have time to get sucked into the pit of despair, at least." She laughed, wondering if he got the reference. "You can go ahead up and unpack, if you want. I can finish up here."

  "As you wish." He whispered in her ear. Every hair on her head stood on end. She hadn't even heard him cross the room. His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her back into him. She could feel how hard he was through their clothes. "Trying to get rid of me, already?"

  She was holding her breath, and couldn't respond.

  "Your move, m'lady." Desire was his voice and passion was its promise. Everything else was irrelevant. Tasha lifted his hands from her waist. He must have thought she wanted him to stop, because he started to pull away from her back. When she spun around to kiss him, she felt the shock rip through him.

  He grabbed her arms and pushed her back a little to stare into her eyes, an unspoken question hovering between them.

  "Does that mean yes? You have to say it, Tasha. This goes no farther if you don't." He was being far too much of a gentleman for her needs, right now.

  "Nicky, if you don't fuck me right now, you'll never get another shot."

  It was all he needed to hear. He pushed her back onto the machine, lifted her skirt, and yanked off her panties. One hand kneaded her thigh. She was ready for his fingers, but she didn't expect his tongue. His beard tickled her pussy, while his tongue fucked her, keeping opposite time to the thrust of the long, thick finger. A second finger joined the first and his teeth rasped her clit. He drew it into his mouth and su
cked, and her body was on fucking fire! Her pussy gripped his fingers so tight, he had to stop, and she cried out as the orgasm surprised her. He knew a thing or two, though. He found a spot, a nerve perhaps, and pressed his fingertips into it as she came. It amplified everything to such intensity, she thought she'd shatter from the decadence.

  The pinball machine was going insane with bells, whistles and lights, especially the tilt alarm, but she didn't even noticed until the aftershocks passed. He nibbled his way up her belly and over her chest, until he found her mouth.

  "One." He said into her lips.

  "What?"

  "I score one."

  "What the fuck? I'm not a fucking video game, Nicky!" She was trying, and failing, to sound angry. "How old are you, nine?"

  "Twenty-one, actually." She squealed and tried to pull away as he kissed her again, but her feet didn't reach the floor.

  "Fuck me!" she shouted, when her mouth was free.

  "I plan to." The grin would have been infectious, but Tasha was freaking out.

  "You're only twenty-one. Shit!"

  "What's the problem?"

  "I'm twenty-six. How the hell can you be twenty-one? You have grey in your beard, for cripes sake!" she shouted.

  "Yeah," he blushed a little, "family curse. Our beards come in with grey hairs. Most of my family avoids facial hair."

  "You're twenty-one!"

  "Yes. We established that. Is that a problem for you? It's not that big a difference. At least I'm legal." He laughed at his own wit.

  She started to say something else, but he covered her mouth with his again, and his hands were sliding down to her hips. They slid under her ass and lifted her from the pinball machine like she weighed nothing. His hands kneaded her ass, even as he pulled her into his chest, and let her slide down his body until she could feel the tip of his cock against her still-trembling pussy. A moan escaped her mouth. Nicky swallowed it and let her drop onto him. She went from aching and empty to wholly gratified, and she cried out.