An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Christmas to Remember
ISBN # 1-4199-0475-2
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Christmas to Remember Copyright© 2005 Annie Windsor
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. Christmas to Remember 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.
CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER
Annie Windsor
Dedication
To Dot the Ever-Wicked, at http://www.devilishdots.com. Thanks for the toy info!
Chapter One
“You’re fired.”
Megan Caulfield didn’t think she heard the man right. She shifted in the conference room chair and stared at the skinny little pencil pusher in the black suit, the one who had just spoken the two words sure to ruin her life.
Dwayne Grenchler, the new CEO of Sweet Dreams Cosmetics, sat across the huge oak table with his fingers spread across a file in front of him. Damn, but he looked pleased with himself. The weasel-bastard actually smiled at her.
In a window overlooking Central Park, snow started to fall. A dull ringing plagued Meg’s ears. Stark white walls and hunter green carpet squeezed in on her. The room suddenly felt so small she didn’t think she could breathe. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. “I’m the best chemist you have. I created the entire Dreamwalker perfume line.” Then, as if it made any difference, “It’s a week before Christmas—and I promised the Children’s Fund half of my December check. How can you fire me a week before Christmas?”
“Holidays are just another number on the calendar.” Grenchler’s condescending smile never faded. “If you had your head in Sweet Dreams instead of kiddie charities, you’d understand that. And you should read your memos. I terminated the Sweet Dreams dollar-for-dollar contribution to that free-ride waste of time the first day I was here. “
Meg’s insides curdled. She bit her lip to keep from screaming at Grenchler, or slapping him, or worse—crying. The Children’s Fund depended on Sweet Dreams! Without employee contributions and the corporation’s matching funds, the big Christmas Eve shopping spree would have to be cancelled. Hundreds of children would wake to a cold Christmas morning with no presents, no food—nothing.
She wouldn’t cry, damn it. Not yet. What a bastard!
Grenchler gestured to the other man in the room, the one standing near the door. “Personnel’s here to go over termination papers, a generic reference and insurance continuation issues.”
Meg couldn’t even look at Nick Myra’s achingly handsome face. She wanted his muscled arms around her. She wanted to wrap her fingers in his thick black hair and hear him tell her to wake up, that Grenchler and his “company slim-downs” were just bad dreams. But she was getting fired. That fantasy would never come true, would it? She’d leave the company, and she and Nick would never see each other again—and she had been so sure the man was an inch from asking her out, despite company rules about fraternization with fellow employees.
She would have said yes, too.
Normally, Meg was all about rules. Her roommate Nancy even called her “tightly wrapped.” Nick Myra could tear through the most well taped package, though. Of that, she had no doubt.
At last, she managed to raise her chin enough to see Nick. He stood with his head down and his arms folded, as quiet and unreadable as ever.
Grenchler tapped the file on the table. “While you two talk, I’ll have someone pack your desk and locker, and Security will walk you out.” He stood to leave.
“My desk—my locker?” Meg got to her feet almost as fast as Grenchler did. “Security? You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve worked here for ten years! You think I’d cheat my own company?”
“My company, Ms. Caulfield.” Grenchler’s weasel-bastard smile turned smug. “I expect you out before lunch.”
He started for the door.
Heat flared across Meg’s cheeks. She hurried to follow him. “You’ve only been at Sweet Dreams for four days. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I can do!”
Grenchler paused at the end of the table. His eyes swept over Meg, head to toe and back again. “Unlike the previous CEO of Sweet Dreams, I pay attention to numbers, not…other assets.”
From the corner of her eye, Meg saw Nick’s head snap upward. His arms dropped to his sides and his fists clenched.
Grenchler’s high-pitched chuckle stabbed through Meg’s ears and lodged in her brain. Before she could stop herself, she clenched her own fists and raised them. “Other assets? What the hell does that mean?”
Chapter Two
Nick moved before Grenchler even opened his mouth.
By the time the CEO started to shout for Security, Nick had stepped in front of Meg and blocked Grenchler’s view of her. Nick had never been one to use his powerful build to intimidate, but in this case, looming over the sniveling worm had the desired effect. Grenchler snapped his mouth shut and backed toward the door.
“I’ll take care of Ms. Caulfield,” Nick offered with as much professional courtesy as he could muster, but he let his tone communicate his true feelings. One more word and I’ll give you a bird’s eye view of Central Park.
Grenchler nodded. His lips smacked as he swallowed repeatedly. “Well, then,” he managed between conspicuous gulps. “See that you do. I’ll have her things taken to the front desk.”
From behind Nick, Meg said a few harsh words under her breath.
Grenchler whirled and stalked out of the conference room. The door slammed behind him.
Nick turned back to Meg, half expecting her to attack him next. If she wanted to, he’d let her. He’d do anything to soften this blow.
Instead, she just stood there with her arms wrapped around herself, looking so fragile he wanted to hold her. Her rich brown eyes misted and her mouth trembled.
Nick couldn’t stand it. How could any woman be so perfect and not know it? She hid herself behind thick sweaters and an even thicker silence, lost herself in her work, but Nick sensed the fire in her heart. She was locked inside herself, and he wanted to set her free. He wanted to claim her. Wh
at wasn’t to adore? Brilliant thinker, chestnut hair pulled back so tightly her eyes slanted, that lush, curved figure like a Rossetti painting come to life—and those eyes. Those unbelievable eyes.
If she started to cry, Nick thought his heart would tear in half.
Before he could stop himself, he strode forward and put his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t resist as he pulled her close, even leaned into him and rested her face on his chest. The soft press of her body against his, and her whisper-soft scent of warm vanilla captured his senses completely. He thought about icebergs and the north wind and his ugly aunt Gertrude—anything to make his cock behave. Everything about Meg Caulfield threatened Nick’s self-control, but he couldn’t take advantage of her now, not when she’d been wounded by that prick Grenchler.
I tried to give him a chance, spirit of the season and all. But he’ll get his, very, very soon.
“I’m sorry,” Nick murmured, resisting the urge to press his face into Meg’s hair, tug it loose, and stroke the soft waves as they cascaded down her back. “I had no idea until he ordered me to bring your file up here. I would have warned you.”
Meg sighed as she pulled back. Tears glistened on her cheeks. “Thanks. But the Children’s Fund. Grenchler’s a monster to strand all those kids.”
“I know.” Nick wanted run his lips across her cheeks and brush away her tears. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that he’d make everything okay, but how could she believe that? She didn’t know him, except for the six months they’d worked at Sweet Dreams. She didn’t know who he was, or anything about his unusual family and friends.
Damn it, he should have asked Meg out after the takeover meeting last week. He’d thought she might be ready, maybe even willing to consider some alone time with him—but again, she’d been vulnerable. Afraid about her future.
Meg reached up and touched his cheek. “Let’s go over my benefits and get this over with. I think I need some alone time.”
God, he wanted to kiss her.
But how?
When?
This woman deserved perfection. He had to show her how he felt at just the right time, just the right place, in just the right way. Maybe then she’d trust him enough to relax, to turn loose, let down her hair—in every way—and let go all that trapped passion he sensed in her fascinating depths. And maybe she’d believe him when it came time to tell her the truth about a few little secrets, like why he’d left home and come to New York in the first place.
Yes. Maybe he could salvage some good from Grenchler’s debacle.
I have to do it right. I have to win this woman’s heart. After all, she took mine the day I met her.
* * * * *
Meg hadn’t been gone thirty seconds when Nick pulled out the special red phone he kept in the hidden pocket of his suit jacket.
He didn’t have to dial. The phone activated when he flipped the lid, and responded to the read of his thumbprint by dialing the only number it could.
His cousin answered on the first ring.
“Yo, Nick!” Chris shouted over the din of hard rock Christmas carols and raucous laughter. “It’s been a while. You have enough of New York yet? You’re missing the parties. Come home!”
Nick cleared his throat and got ready for the teasing. “I need your help.”
A distinctly female voice giggled nearby, and Chris turned loose with a drunken belch before yelling, “What?”
Nick ground his teeth and tried again, this time shouting into the phone. “If you want me to come home, I need your help!”
The music turned off in a split second. Nick heard Chris excusing his guests, and when his cousin came back on the line, he actually seemed sober.
“I’m here, buddy. Nick? You still there? You sounded way serious.”
“Dead serious.” Nick let out a breath of relief. For the first time since Grenchler buzzed him that morning, his muscles relaxed.
“Let’s get to it then. What can I do you for?”
Nick explained in as much detail as he thought Chris could remember, then said, “Now I’ve got another call to make. Oh, wait. I almost forgot. Dwayne Grenchler.” Nick gave the CEO’s birth date and address to his cousin. “That asshole goes on the naughty list. Way up toward the top.”
When Chris laughed, Nick could feel the arctic chill through the phone. “Done, Cousin. And I hope I see you soon.”
Chapter Three
Meg walked home through Central Park with her head down, carrying two bags of office supplies. Staplers, paper clips, notepads full of organic, animal-friendly formulas she’d never get to test, and way too many pens and pencils. After ten years, her career boiled down to sticky notes and highlighters. Oh, and an insurance continuation letter, and her last paycheck—a third of what she needed to make her bills, forget about her charity contributions. This would be a Christmas to remember.
Not.
No Nick. I also have a complete absence of Nick.
Meg sighed at the memory of being in his arms for those few wonderful minutes. Snow dampened her hair and kissed her face in all the places she wanted to feel Nick’s warm lips.
I didn’t even get his phone number. I could have said something, for God’s sake.
Tightly wrapped. Yep. Nancy had a point. Her bags got heavier and heavier, but she made herself slog past Lennon’s memorial at Strawberry Fields, and onward, toward the apartment she shared with her best friend on the Upper East Side.
An apartment she suddenly couldn’t afford.
“I need a job,” she muttered to a passing cart and horse.
The driver didn’t look up. Inside the carriage, a couple snuggled underneath a Christmas-red blanket. They were laughing and kissing.
Meg wanted to sob.
What am I going to do?
* * * * *
“Sell sex toys, of course!” Nancy shifted her ample bosom in her bustier, and straightened the lace on her French maid costume. “You’ll make a fortune—and best of all, you’ll have me for a boss. Decadence is so ready to grow. I told you last month I can’t keep up anymore. I need you.”
Meg sat in their apartment rocking chair and felt her face turn red. She gaped at “sassy maid” Nancy, who looked remarkably like an erotic version of a children’s doll she dared not mention, lest Nancy shove a vibrator up her nose. Blonde and way past built, Nancy had heard that particular comparison one too many times in her life.
“You’re delusional, Nance. I can’t sell sex toys. I can’t even say ‘sex toys’ without turning red as a candy cane stripe.”
“Get over it.” Nancy grabbed Meg’s arm, pulled her out of the rocker, and hauled her toward the table where Nancy had spread out her—er—wares. “Besides, tell me one other job—well, legal job—you could get, Ms. Chemist, that would cut you a big fat check tomorrow night.”
Meg’s face grew hotter as she did her best to ignore the display of eggs, bullets, pocket rockets, dildos, dongs, vibrators, gels, creams, beads, clamps and clips. Especially that thick, motorized monster dick that looked so real. The one with scary-looking coils and controls that rivaled some of her lab equipment. That vibrator made her squirm just thinking about it. “I can’t let you give me money.”
“Give, hell. You’ll work your cute little buns off for every dime.” Nancy lovingly ran her fingers across her impressive array of toys. “I double-scheduled myself by accident, and I was going to have to cancel one of the toy parties. Now, I’ll do Duke’s, and you take the one at Spirits of the Season.”
“Spirits of the Season? That bar with the stage and the dancers—and the waitresses who wear their boobs pushed up to their nose?” Meg stared at the monster dick even though she didn’t want to. “Nancy, those girls look like they stepped out of a chorus line. They won’t buy sex toys from someone like me.”
Nancy laughed. “S-O-S girls know how to heat it up, and you don’t have anything to worry about. The toys sell themselves.” She picked up the motorized monster Meg couldn’t quit looking at,
the thick one with all the ridges, and she turned on the controls. The vibrator hummed…and its coils started to pump. Hard. Up and down. Up and down.
Meg stared at the thrusting wonder and licked her lips.
Nancy’s grin turned positively wicked. “See what I mean? This one’s called The Satisfier. Wouldn’t you pay money to find out why?”
* * * * *
A little over twenty-four hours later, Meg found herself walking down East Sixty-Fifth wearing a full-length leather coat, a lace body stocking with bow patterns all over it and spike-heeled ankle boots, wondering what in the name of all sinners and saints she was doing.
If the wind caught her coattails, she’d probably get arrested for indecent exposure. Never mind if she dropped the display case she was carrying. And damn, was it ever cold outside! Fresh snow crunched beneath her three-inch spikes, and every now and then, a breeze made it under her coat to tickle her nearly bare ass. The few times the chill slipped between her legs, she thought she’d scream—or moan. She couldn’t decide.
And she couldn’t be doing this.
Not her. Not Meg Caulfield, chemist and avowed champion of the tightly wrapped. She sure as hell couldn’t believe how her body responded to the forbidden feel of that body stocking. It held her full figure as tight as any lover, rubbing, stroking and teasing every inch of her skin until her eyes wanted to cross. She couldn’t keep getting wet, or her clit would freeze.
“Think about the Children’s Fund,” she mumbled to herself as she made it another block. No way was she calling a taxi dressed like this. She’d probably end up on some cable exposé like Chemists Gone Wild.
“Think about the kids. Just get through tonight, and you can make your Fund contribution plus a little more since that bastard Grenchler cut them off. You can survive until next month. Find another job. Put on clothes. Return to sanity.”
White Hot Holidays 16: Christmas To Remember Page 1
