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Santa, Cutie
Copyright © 2011 by Cerise DeLand
ISBN: 978-1-61333-128-6
Cover art by Dara England
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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Santa, Cutie
Cerise DeLand
A 1 Night Stand Holiday Story
~DEDICATION~
For my buddy, Desiree Holt
Chapter One
“Santa, honey,” Susanna Corrigan muttered to herself as the tiny private jet bounced through clouds and began their stomach-churning descent from thirty thousand feet. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Castle Alaska might not be the North Pole, but it was definitely not the place she’d hoped to go when she’d filled out the application last summer for 1Night Stand. She’d hoped for a hook-up with a great guy in one of Castillo Resorts’ famed locations like Hawaii. Tahiti. Heck, she’d even dreamt of Casablanca! But Alaska? “Not even close.”
Someplace hot would’ve been nice, but ice? Not my idea of fun. Never was.
She shivered and clutched her coat collar higher. The things I do for love. Or in this case, a mind-blowing night with a man who wanted only pleasure. No ties. No promises. No complications.
And to get that, I’m here to spend six days cuddled up by a fire. She got a mental image of herself wearing one of those ugly furry hats with fat earflaps and layers of reeeeeally bulky sweaters and coats, hiking boots, and sporting a red nose.
Like Rudolf. She chuckled and shot a look out her window.
Whoops. Wrong move. She gulped as the bush plane dropped through clouds to pass gorgeous snow-capped mountains that glistened in the eerie northern light of midday. She murmured in gratitude that the pilot was taking them quickly down to the frozen ground. Nope. Make that…water. Oh, boy. She dug her nails into the plush armrests.
“Is that—?” She managed to catch the eye of the male passenger across the aisle from her and pointed downward. “Is that the ocean?”
“Yes, but an inlet.” The man assured her with a nod. “I’ve visited here before. So not to worry, the pilot is an expert at landing.”
“Swell.”
But amazingly, it was. Grand. Fast. Efficient. Smooth. And I didn’t toss my cookies!
“Thank you,” she told the pilot as she extended her hand to help her down the ramp and the two steps to the waiting van. “I enjoyed the landing.”
“Good, Ms. Corrigan. Glad you made it for this morning’s flight.”
“Me, too. The eight inches of snow in Portland yesterday stopped everyone. Especially my rickety old Volvo. But now, I’m ready to get inside the lodge and get warm.”
“Then might I suggest you go for a swim in the heated pool in the recreation wing and indulge yourself with a massage at the spa?”
She grinned at him. Clearly, Madame Eve, the owner of 1Night Stand, had provided excellent accommodations, even in the wilds of Alaska. “I will. Anything special you suggest for lunch?”
“Beef bourguignon. And hot chocolate.”
“Love it. Thanks. Sorry to have been a Nervous Nelly.”
***
Gil Santana promised himself one more lap before he treated himself to lunch and for a chaser, a snifter of Armagnac. He extended his arm in the pool, ready to push off once more, but his eyes snagged on movement at the far doors. His gaze glued to the perfect vision that walked through them and his mouth fell open.
Through the ladies’ spa entrance came a female who took his breath away. The way she walked. Like a queen. The way she pushed back her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail and rubbed her hands together in glee like a kid eager to jump in the creek on a hot summer day. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful woman he’d seen here at the resort or in fact, anywhere.
Even in Hollywood.
Hey, Santana, that is the plan, man. You’re here to find a woman who isn’t like the aggressive types in Los Angeles. So what if this one strikes you as….
Luscious.
He blinked. She strolled to a lounge chair and inched out of her flip-flops.
Five-five or so. Red hair. Lush, wavy hair the color of merlot. Never-from-a-bottle, intoxicating red hair. Oval face. Dark eyes. Damn! What color?
She looked around. Didn’t spot him, thank goodness. Then she smiled to herself. Padded over to the shallow end, stuck her toes in the water, and grinned.
He swallowed hard and didn’t make a move. He wanted to enjoy her. She shook back her hair and pulled at the bottom of her suit. Snapped it beneath the crease of her gorgeous, firm ass and took the steps down slowly into the water. She was quite incredibly lovely.
Quite incredibly built.
Madre Mia. With breasts. Half moons. Nipples pebbled beneath the white spandex of her conservative, one-piece suit. Hips like God should give all women. And thighs. Trim. Knees. Cute. Long, long, long legs.
Down boy. His cock did not obey. And Gil had to agree with the big guy. This woman was worth the salute.
Stop it, Santana. You act like a drooling teenager.
Yeah, but, wow, did he hope she was his for this 1Night Stand thing.
How could she be?
Yeah, true.
She looks exactly like the type you don’t want. She looks like a wannabe movie star who’ll do anything to get a part. Including wearing a sign, Casting Couches R Us.
He’d written his request on his questionnaire. No actresses. In Hollywood for nearly ten years, he had left tinsel town last fall for Oregon and a post as a professor in a college fine arts department. If the day job was fulfilling, teaching kids about the history of cinema, he got as big a kick from his “night” job putting together his own independent film company. And he had decided to apply at 1Night Stand for a night of pleasure on a recommendation from a scriptwriter. The man had done one and not only had a great time with the woman they chose for him, but continued the relationship after their fun-filled night.
Gil frowned. He didn’t hope for happily-ever-after. He was perhaps too jaded for that. But he did believe it was possible to have a brief affair and value it for what it was. Short. Hot. Creative. And memorable.
Then something hit him right between the eyes.
Chapter Two
“Oh, oh!” Susanna floundered, stunned she’d hit solid flesh. She treaded water and set eyes on the human she’d barged into. “Oh, no! I am so sorry.” And as she wiped droplets from her eyes and got a good look at the man she’d clobbered, she slowly sank beneath the surface.
“Hey, hey!” Big hands grabbed her arms and pulled her up against a sweet, hard wall of dark-haired man. Blue-eyed, black-haired aroused man. “Don’t drown!”
How about in those eyes? She blinked, snapped her mouth shut, and tried to sound less like the idiot who h
ad plowed into him. “I am so very sorry. I was doing the backstroke and not watching where I was going. Did I hurt you?”
“Not at all.” His cobalt blue gaze danced all over her face, while he held her close and her legs tangled with his.
“But you have a red mark on your forehead,” she noted, as she tried to get some decent distance between his body and her own.
“My bull’s eye. Draws only beautiful redheads.” His mouth widened in a grin.
His wide, generous mouth and big, straight white teeth made her wonder how he tasted. His breath smelled minty. Her head spun while one of her legs found no purchase, except around his left hip. Damn, how forward is this? How much of an airhead are you, Corrigan? “Do all redheads hit you?”
“No, only you.”
She stopped fighting him then. The voice killed her. Like a booming storm at sea, it rumbled in his chest and rolled right into her own. Thrilled her insides. Heated her nipples. Flooded her pussy. Made her want to press closer to that long piece of steel that stood rigidly against her belly.
“Gil Santana,” he introduced himself as he seemed to drink in all the features of her face. “I’ve been here for two days. Still unattached. And you?”
“I should have been here yesterday, but got here only a few hours ago. I hate the cold. Had to get warm.”
“I’d say it’s hot in here now.” His voice, his big, deep, bass voice, dropped another octave to illustrate how scorching he thought the pool was.
She gulped, put a hand to his delightfully muscular and furry chest then wiggled her brows. “A little too hot for folks who’ve just met.”
“I can correct that.” He punctuated his offer with a little hug. “Have you had lunch?”
“I did,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck, largely because it was him or leaving his embrace to grab the side of the pool. “This is awfully embarrassing, don’t you think? Let me take hold of the—”
“Come sit with me while I have lunch then,” he offered, ignoring her plea. “I’ll wait for you while you finish your swim. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Dessert.”
“A woman who eats dessert! Done!”
She grinned at him, realizing she was stroking her fingers over the sculpted power of the nape of his neck. “You know only skinny women?”
“Let’s say I’ve known too many. I like a woman who takes what she wants.”
Somehow the way he said those words as he watched her mouth and pressed her so close her nipples drilled into his chest, made her pussy clench with need. “That’s me,” she managed on a whisper. “Old enough, hopefully wise enough to say what I want and reach for it. Including chocolate.” And you. Would I be wise if I reached for you?
He inhaled; his eyes narrowed and examined her own.
With that searing blue glance, she might have moved, pushed the fabric of her swimsuit to one side, and guided his thick hard cock into her needy channel. “This is not wise.”
“You don’t believe in the value of lust at first sight? Neither do I.” His gravelly bedroom voice said how badly he wanted to be inside her. “So, we’re going to do lunch.”
“And dessert.”
“Anything you want.” He swirled her around so she could grasp the concrete edge. “Ten minutes? In the restaurant with the view of the mountains?”
“Fifteen minutes. I need time to…you know, get ready. I’m all wet.”
The way he threw back his head to laugh at her words shocked her and then shook her to the core, even as she knew she blushed like a virgin bride.
“I know you’re wet, honey. I’m a mess myself.”
His self-criticism tickled her. Men with looks usually had no humor. They were too self-impressed to bother cultivating any wit. So she let her eyes admire the big masculine beauty of his very honed body as he jumped up to the ledge and stood peering down at her, his cock bulging enticingly in his bright blue Speedo.
“A very impressive, hot mess, Mr. Santana.”
He winked at her. “Takes one to know one, lady.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving her to lick her lips over the sight of his broad back, his tight buns, and the long, lean legs that she’d been so fortunate as to wrap her own around.
“Santa, honey, do I get to do that again?” And at what cost, if I’m destined for a one-night stand with another man?
***
She would force herself to go down into the main dining room for dinner! She hadn’t gone to meet Gil Santana for lunch. Nervous that she might start a relationship she knew she couldn’t finish, she had remained in her room.
Now, donning one of her own designs, a cocktail dress of sapphire silk, she tied up the corset that cupped her breasts and smoothed the waterfall of fabric that fell to her knees. Then she frowned into the full-length mirror in her suite.
Oh, hell, Suzie. Get out of here and go look for the man you are supposed to be with. Or hope for the message that will tell you tonight’s your night. And his name is…Joe Smith!
She stuck her tongue out at herself, picked up her purse, slung the tiny strap over her shoulder, and strode to her door.
But riding down in the elevator, she brooded.
Never out of her room all afternoon, she accused herself of being every kind of chicken, wimp, and nut case. What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she have lunch with a man without thinking about jumping his bones? Couldn’t she get to know him? Couldn’t she just take what came her way?
That was what life was, right? Fate, fortune, serendipity! The things that happened on the way to careful plans. So what if Gil Santana was attractive? So damn attractive she could have crawled right up on his thighs and let him fill her up, take her high and hard and enjoy the moment. That was what she was here for.
She moved over as the elevator stopped and more guests got in.
She was a mess, all right. Gil had been right. Was she so horny she thought the nearest man was the best thing that ever happened to her?
No. That was not the woman she was. She had never fallen into bed with a man if she hadn’t felt anything for him. And Gil Santana had appealed to more than her libido. Though just why that was, she couldn’t quite say.
In any case, she was here to spend a few days with one man whom someone else had selected for her. A man meant for her. By specific inclination and detail.
So why would she screw that up for a few minutes in the company of someone else?
She had ethics. She had a good opinion of herself. And coming to a place—okay, coming to Alaska—for a Christmas holiday was meant to be a fun-filled time. No ties. No commitments. Her career should consume all her time and leave no room for a lover. That’s what she had promised herself. Her one-night stand would be only that. A temporary affair. A passing fancy.
Even if your one-night stand might be Gil Santana?
“Yes, even if,” she said, and the couple next to her gazed at her as if she were a little mad. She shot them a wan smile.
Thank God, the elevator doors swished open and she watched all the others exit.
She inhaled. No time like the present to be brave. And I am hungry.
She wandered down the hall toward the main lobby. Tons of people, mostly couples, were standing, talking, laughing. Oh, hell. Your prince had better come find you soon!
In the meantime? Dinner! Food!
She pivoted toward the wing where, according to the map of the resort, the French restaurant was. Tonight, she’d relish some escargot and a good Bordeaux.
“Bon Soir, Monsieur,” she greeted the maitre d’. “Table for one, please.”
He frowned at her. “Je suis desole, Mademoiselle. I have nothing for another hour or so. Would you like to wait in the bar?”
“No, merci.” Drinking, especially drinking alone, was not her scene.
“Perhaps the ballroom then? Take this ringer. It will vibrate when I have a table.”
“What’s going on in the ballroom?” She turned toward the music that sounded mor
e like a waltz than disco.
“Tonight we have a band that plays hit songs from famous Broadway shows and movies.”
“Really? Okay, that’s where I’ll be!”
“Your ringer, Mademoiselle. And your name, please?”
“Yes, yes.” She told him, tucked the pager in her purse, and hurried off to the entrance to the ballroom. There up on a dais was a full orchestra with violins and trumpets, bass fiddles, guitars, the works. This was heaven!
Her mother and father had been wardrobe mistress and warder for one of the oldest, finest Broadway theaters. She’d learned her own trade, most of her sewing techniques from them. After her college graduation when she told them she wanted to design for the theater, they were overjoyed. Even if she had never fulfilled their expectations to serve Broadway productions herself, they assured her they adored her and that she must always do what her heart said was right. Being wardrobe mistress and draper at a resort in Las Vegas for six years had allowed her to cut her teeth in the industry. Now that she had her new job as costume designer for the Ashcroft, Oregon Shakespeare Festival, she knew her mom and dad smiled down on her from heaven. And she herself was smiling now as the orchestra ended the waltz from “The King and I” and started a number from one of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers’ famous flicks.
A hand came to land around her waist—and hug her close. As if she knew how well his body molded to hers in this position, as in the pool, she knew she needn’t feel alarm. Oh, my. She knew the man beside her was no other but Gil Santana.
Every inch of him—plane to plane, curve for curve—seemed meant for her. His heat warmed her every cell. His scents of cardamom and citrus filled her nostrils and swam in her head. She closed her eyes, as red-hot lava of desire burst over her, melting her mind and sinking her against him.
“I saw only you even here in this crowd.” His resonant voice flowed over her like tropical sunshine. “I love the dress you almost have on.”
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