Jingle Spells

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Lark bent forward and licked a path up his throat, curved around his jaw and then nipped at his earlobe. “Clean. Protected. Now,” she said, opening herself to him.

  Ethan threaded his fingers through hers, pinned her hands over her head, and then entered her in one long, beautiful thrust.

  The breath vanished from her lungs, her feminine muscles clamping tightly around him while the rest of her body went strangely limp, and every cell in her being sang with joy, with impossible recognition.

  Her startled gaze met his equally shaken one and for the briefest of seconds she saw something there that made her want to weep—something so pure, so sweet and so genuine there wasn’t a name for it. Affection? Yes. Love? Maybe. But it was more, too. Bigger.

  And then he drew back and pushed into her again, and again and again, harder and faster, angling deep, the engorged head of his penis hitting that one elusive spot that elevated a garden-variety orgasm to something akin to a religious experience. Like a storm gathering force in the distance she could feel it swelling within her, and she welcomed the feeling.

  Like a crack of lightening, she came, her entire body feeling gloriously illuminated and electrified. She sucked in a breath and couldn’t let it go. Every muscle atrophied with pleasure and then let go with a soundless scream, and as the hot, sweet rain of release washed over her she knew without a doubt that she’d never be the same...

  * * *

  Lark DeWynter was unquestionably gorgeous.

  Lark DeWynter naked beneath him, her hot, tight little body squeezing around him in a violent orgasm?

  Indescribable. Beyond words.

  Dark hair fanned out over his pillow, pale, creamy skin, rosy-tipped breasts absorbing the force of his thrusts, the tiny, almost heart-shaped mole beneath her jaw...

  He’d been so proud of himself for resisting her the past few days, of being able to stop at a kiss when what he really wanted to do was kiss her all over, lay her out on the rug in front of the fireplace and learn every curve of her body. Every indention, every freckle, every taste.

  And had she not kissed him awake—before he could put his defenses in place—and not sat in his lap, putting that delectable part of herself so close to the part of him that wanted her the most? He might have been able to keep it together.

  Might being the operative word.

  But she hadn’t. She’d tasted like cocoa and desire, familiar yet exotic, and he’d wanted her, just wanted her. And now, as her greedy hands slid over his body, her muscles contracting around him to create a delicious draw and drag between their bodies, Ethan knew he’d always want her—there would be no getting her out of his system.

  He’d been an idiot to think he could resist her.

  She was part of him, as important as any vital organ, and the idea of her leaving in the morning, of not telling her the truth, of allowing her to continue to believe that she was delusional...

  He couldn’t let any of that happen. He just couldn’t.

  He didn’t know how he was going to fix it, how he was going to make everything work out, but there had to be a way to be honest with her and protect his family.

  But one thing was for damned sure, Ethan thought as his balls tightened and every hair on his body stood on end—a prelude to what he instinctively knew would be the best orgasm he’d ever had in his life—there was no way in hell he was going to make her drink any more magick cocoa.

  Every decision she faced going forward would be made with her own mind, one that he hoped she checked with her heart first.

  Chapter 10

  Pleasantly warm, with a feeling of contentment deep in her bones, Lark smiled sleepily and stretched a hand toward Ethan’s side of the bed...only to find it empty. They’d skipped dinner and reached for each other repeatedly during the night, talking, dozing, and then making love again.

  Goodness...

  He definitely had the Sparkly Penis, and if this was her curse, she’d count herself lucky. He was a phenomenally attentive lover, paying particular attention to parts of her she’d never realized were sensitive. The crease of her upper thigh, the bend of her knee, hell, even the spot just above her elbow.

  Though they’d avoided the subject of her leaving and her impending spot on the Ophelia Winslow Show, she knew they’d turned a corner, come to some sort of unspoken agreement. While she hadn’t necessarily changed her opinion on lying to children about Santa Claus, Lark had to admit she’d gotten swept back up in the Christmas spirit by being in Gingerbread. But more importantly...she’d gotten swept up in Ethan Evergreen.

  If Ophelia came round to her way of thinking, then the effect on Ethan and his family—who she’d come to adore—and the little town of Gingerbread would be jeopardized...and she just didn’t think she could do that.

  In fact, she didn’t just think it—she knew it.

  It suddenly seemed imperative that she tell him that to put his mind at ease. She’d noted the worry in his face over the last few days, and it had tugged at her then, knowing that she was responsible for it.

  Determined to find him, Lark rolled out of bed, donned her robe and made for the door to the sitting room. She’d just put her hand on the knob when she heard the low, heated murmur of voices and something made her pause and listen.

  “I’m not going to do it, Belle. I can’t. I just wanted to give you fair warning,” Ethan said.

  “Fair warning?” Belle echoed, sounding incredulous. “You call letting me know a few hours in advance that you’re going to let her leave here and go and destroy our family fair warning? Really?” She exhaled a pent up breath. “Look, brother, I know you’re in love with her—we all do—but that doesn’t change the fact that you have a job and part of that job is protecting the secret. And to protect the secret, she’s got to drink the cocoa.”

  Drink the cocoa? What the hell? Lark thought, her heart beginning to pound.

  “Listen, I adore her,” Belle went on. “I think she’s great and I think any woman who can go toe-to-toe with you deserves your respect and your heart. But...she’s got to drink the cocoa.”

  “No more,” Ethan insisted. “It’s been terrible watching her struggle with what she knows and what the cocoa makes her believe. I can’t do it to her,” he insisted. “She thinks she’s crazy, Belle. Crazy,” he emphasized. “Because she can see the magick. She’s a glimpse,” he told her. “I confirmed it with Edgar—Kris was too busy trying to decide on his tattoo to listen to me,” he said, sounding exasperated. “But Edgar remembers her. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me to know the truth and not tell her?” he asked, his voice climbing with frustration. “I can’t do it to her, Belle. I won’t. I’m not going to let her continue to believe she’s delusional when I know the truth. I know she’s special.”

  A glimpse? Special? See the magick? Surely she’d misunderstood. Surely she—

  “Edgar remembers her?” Belle asked.

  “He does,” he confirmed. “But even if he hadn’t, I still would have known. You should have heard her when we were in my studio. She systematically pointed out the magick in each ornament. She even knew there was something wrong with next year’s collection because she couldn’t see it. She knew.” He let go of a breath. “And that’s good enough for me.”

  “Say you tell her the truth and let her leave without altering her memory, and she thinks you’re delusional and goes on the show. Then what? You’d risk everything? For her?”

  Ethan was quiet for a moment and she could sense his anxiety, his determination, his agony. “I trust her,” he said simply, bringing tears to Lark’s eyes. “And I’m going to believe in her, because no one else ever has, Belle. And she belongs here. With me.”

  Yes, she does, Lark thought. And she was going to prove it once and for all.

  * * *

  It took Eth
an less than ten minutes to confirm that Lark had snuck into her room from the hall, collected her things, and asked Cook to arrange for a ride into town because she wanted one last peppermint cocoa before she left. From the Cup of Cheer she’d rented a car and driven herself to the nearest airport, where she’d promptly switched her ticket out for an earlier flight and left.

  Ethan was so stunned he was numb.

  He couldn’t imagine what would have made her sneak away like that without saying goodbye...unless she couldn’t bear the thought of telling him that she was still planning to go forward with her platform on the Ophelia Winslow Show.

  Much as he wanted to be angry at her, he couldn’t, not when his own intentions—however well-motivated—were in question.

  But that still didn’t change his job, which was to protect his family. He wasn’t going to lie to her, but at the very least he wanted to plead their case. With that thought in mind, he readied the jet and two hours later found himself in Atlanta, at the studio, where the show had already gone live.

  His gaze locked with Lark’s just as Ophelia finished her introduction.

  “I have to tell you, Ms. DeWynter, I absolutely love Christmas. I love the presents and the food and the joy and camaraderie. I love making cookies with my kids and decorating the tree, and doing crafts. I love the scent of pine and cinnamon, the excitement that hovers in the air. The humina humina from a little time under the mistletoe,” she added, drawing a tittering laugh from the audience. She paused dramatically. “But I have to say there are aspects of your argument that particularly resonated with me.”

  Oh, no, Ethan thought, his heart jumping into his throat. He wracked his brain for a solution. A mute charm? A quick power outage? A—

  Lark smiled reassuringly at him, and there was something in that grin that made him pause. “There are certainly aspects of my book that I find valuable, too, Ophelia—in particular, honesty—but I have come to appreciate the value of a child’s imagination, the innate certainty they have of their own minds and their own realities. Rather than squashing the innocence of that early creativity, I think we should indulge it.”

  Ophelia blinked, clearly taken aback by Lark’s very obvious change of heart. “But in the book you say—”

  Lark grinned, picked the book off the table and held it up. “I know what I say, and when I wrote the book I was sincere—” her gaze locked with Ethan’s “—but I was sincerely wrong. Let me tell you a story,” she said. “Once upon a time there was a little girl who believed in Santa Claus—believed so thoroughly that she could talk to him and see his elves and see toy soldiers smile and nutcrackers wink and angel wings flutter. She had a great imagination, but one that frightened her parents, so her parents took away Christmas and set up regular appointments with a therapist. The girl grew up believing Christmas was bad because it had caused her so much grief, and she believed that it was the Christmas lie, in particular, that was so harmful.” She paused, swallowed, her eyes shining with tears. She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “But what was the harm, really? How long would the little girl have continued to believe the unbelievable? Another year, maybe two?”

  With tears in her eyes as well, Ophelia handed Lark a tissue.

  She took a bracing breath. “It’s my professional opinion now that it would have done less damage for the little girl to have a harmless fantasy than for her to believe there was something wrong with her, that she was defective in some way. And her family would have been stronger as result of having Christmas tradition. Because what is Christmas if not a tradition?” she asked. “The things you mentioned, Ophelia—the making cookies and the wrapping presents, the special dinners, the mistletoe. Those are traditions, and traditions are built to bond a family. They make them stronger.”

  Ophelia wholeheartedly agreed, as did the rest of the audience. Ethan’s phone lit up with text messages and the app his brother had designed to measure Christmas spirit glowed brighter than it ever had.

  All because of her.

  “You know we have Mr. Christmas himself in the audience, right, Ophelia?” Lark asked her.

  Ophelia’s brows lifted and she scanned the crowd until she found Ethan. “Ethan Evergreen,” she said, smiling. “Why don’t you come up here and join us?”

  He was glad she’d asked because he was ready to rush her stage and wasn’t eager to get thrown out. He mounted the steps, his gaze on Lark, and then reached out to shake Ophelia’s hand. “Thank you for having me,” he said.

  “Pleasure.” She grinned. “So this is quite a turnaround. Ms. DeWynter is typically your biggest adversary, wouldn’t you say?”

  Ethan reached over and took her hand, threaded her fingers through his. “Yes, she was. But you know what they say about your enemies,” he said leadingly.

  Ophelia noted their hands with an “mmm-hmm” and arched a knowing brow. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

  “That’s a good one, but it wasn’t the one I was thinking of,” Ethan told her.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. The best way to get rid of an enemy is to make them your friend.” He squeezed Lark’s hand. “But I’ve got an even better solution.”

  Lark’s eyes widened as Ethan suddenly slid to one knee in front of her and the audience went absolutely wild.

  Ophelia was smiling so widely she could barely talk. “And what’s that?”

  Ethan looked at Lark, his gaze searching hers. “Make her your wife.” He essayed a grin. “What do you say, Chickadee? Will you marry me?”

  “I believe I will,” she said with a watery smile. She bent forward and kissed him, and then she drew back. “And you won’t even have to make me drink the cocoa to do it. I heard you this morning,” she whispered. “Thank you for believing me,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You can’t know what it means.”

  Ethan returned her smile, gesturing significantly at the audience. “Oh, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “Ho, ho, ho,” she murmured with a chuckle, and kissed him again.

  * * * * *

  His First

  Noelle

  Kira Sinclair

  Double winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, KIRA SINCLAIR writes passionate contemporary romances. Her first foray into writing fiction was for a high school English assignment. She lives out her own happily-ever-after with her husband, their two daughters and a menagerie of animals. You can visit her at www.kirasinclair.com.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to an amazing group of women—Andrea Laurence, Rhonda Nelson and Vicki Lewis Thompson. Working together on this project has been one of the highlights of my career … well, you know, except for the tooth fairy and bloody teeth. Love you guys!

  Chapter 1

  “We have a problem,” Noelle Frost said, not bothering to knock before barging into the one room she’d been avoiding since returning to Gingerbread, Colorado.

  Dash Evergreen’s sharp green eyes swiveled to pierce straight through her. Noelle felt his loaded gaze catalogue everything about her body in mere seconds. From the severe cut of her black business suit down to the compact body that she considered her greatest weapon and spent hours honing. This man knew all of her weaknesses and strengths. Her knife-edged longings and pulse-pounding fears. Dash Evergreen absorbed it all and then dismissed her. Found her wanting.

  Although that was nothing new.

  Born of two rival clans, she’d never been completely accepted by either. She might have been raised in Gingerbread, Colorado, as a member of the Winter clan, but her Summer-blue eyes were a visually dynamic reminder to anyone who cared to look that there was a part of her—however small—that was different.

  And not even the fact that her father was head of security for Evergreen Industries and a highly trusted member of the clan had stopped pe
ople from holding her at arm’s length. Or the other kids from teasing her.

  There had been a time in her life when she’d thought Dash was different. That he saw beyond all the conflict and accepted her for who she really was.

  But then, there’d been a time when she was young and naive, too.

  Noelle ground her teeth together and tried not to let his dismissal hurt. But even after eight years, her ex-husband still had the ability to wound her with nothing more than a simple glance. But she’d be damned if she’d let him know that.

  Her years of CIA training had prepared her for deep-cover operations. She could kill with her bare hands, slip into some of the most secure facilities undetected and rub elbows with the elegant and elite.

  Apparently that training was also useful when trying to protect herself from the man who’d broken her heart.

  She’d been back in Gingerbread for several months, utilizing those skills to fill in for her father while he was recovering from a heart attack and emergency open-heart surgery. So far, she and Dash had managed to avoid each other. Mostly.

  Unfortunately, thanks to this latest snag, it was going to be difficult to continue to do so.

  Noelle knew just how much Dash hated to be disturbed when he was in his hot shop, and frankly, if she’d had any other choice she would have waited until he was through.

  Dash all hot and sweaty, his muscles all slick and gleaming, had always been her weakness.

  Pushing farther into the room, Noelle glanced around. Nothing much had changed. She could see the orange-red glow the fire emitted through the square opening in the furnace. Huge metal implements that looked more like they belonged in a medieval torture chamber rather than Dash’s private lair had been placed on the tables scattered around the room.

  He didn’t glance at her as she moved closer to get a better look. One wide palm rolled the hollow metal rod back and forth across the raised platform of the workbench. A glowing ball of molten glass twirled in front of him as he worked it, poking, prodding and coaxing it into the shape he wanted.