The Reindeer Falls Collection: Volume One

by Jana Aston

  "I can carry that," I insist, trying to take it from him. Our fingers brush and that brief touch is enough to make my stomach drop and my breath catch.

  It must be the Christmas market.

  That's all.

  I'm turned on by Christmas markets. Which makes sense, anyone would be. I bet the birthrate of Nuremberg skyrockets each September. They must pump pheromones into the air along with the scent of cinnamon. Get everyone all hot and bothered and drunk on mulled wine to ensure the continuity of the local population.

  "Do you miss living in Europe?" I ask, suddenly curious. Curious about him in a way that has nothing to do with him being run over by a sleigh or hog-tied by a rogue tribe of elves.

  "Of course," he replies. "But not as much as I missed Reindeer Falls."

  My heart nearly stops. "You missed Reindeer Falls? As in, you always intended to come back?"

  "I was always coming back." He looks at me strangely. "How could anyone not return to Reindeer Falls?"

  "Right," I agree, except I'm nearly breathless. Because the air between us feels charged. Because his eyes softened when he said it. Because some people do leave, as quick as they can with no intention of returning.

  I swear Nick is looking at my lips, but then I blink and I'm sure I imagined the entire thing. Perhaps they're chapped? I dig around in my handbag for a chapstick and smooth it across my lips as Nick looks over my shoulder at something or other.

  "Come on, let's eat." Nick turns me in the direction of a food stall. The smell of smoked sausages permeates the air and my stomach growls. We each get a traditional Nuremberg sausage, which is three small sausages served in a bun. Then we grab drinks from another stall, which is the equivalent of a Christmas market bar—mulled wines and spiked eggnogs along with a variety of other drinks I can't decipher the names of. Drinks are served in a ceramic mug, which is both charming and environmental. The mugs can be returned for a partial refund, or kept as a souvenir.

  I think we know what I'll be doing with my mug.

  Nick insists I try the Glühwein, then laughs at the face I make after taking the first sip. It's essentially a red wine heated with spices and sugar, hints of cinnamon and cloves and a dash of vanilla heavy on my tongue. It’s stronger than I was expecting but I soon learn to embrace it.

  We stand at tall round-topped tables while we eat, surrounded by others doing the same. Families with children in strollers and young professionals alike surround us. It appears the markets are a popular meeting spot for locals looking for a quick dinner or a drink with friends. Nick confirms this and it surprises me as I'd assumed it was geared toward tourists, but it charms me all the more knowing it's an authentic local experience.

  "We need a Christmas market in Reindeer Falls," I tell him. "Or at the very least we need to add seasonal decorations to the front of the Teddy Bear Café to honor this magic." I wave a hand out before me to encompass the whole of the market, but we're interrupted before Nick can respond.

  "Nick!"

  A pretty brunette somewhere around our age stops at our table, grasping Nick by the shoulders and kissing him on both cheeks, greeting him with a flurry of words spoken in German.

  "Johanna." Nick returns the greeting, a genuine smile crossing his face. He introduces me and explains that he used to work with Johanna when he was based in Nuremberg.

  Johanna turns a friendly eye on me and gives me a quick hug of greeting, asking how I'm enjoying the city. I gush appropriately over the wonder and magic of the city, stopping abruptly when I catch Nick staring at me. Johanna smiles, a wide, easy grin covering her face before turning her attention back to Nick. Another flurry of German is exchanged between them. I don't miss the slight nod of her head in my direction or the flicker of Nick's eyes on me as he responds to whatever she's asked with a shake of his head. Johanna glances between us once again with a rueful smile before explaining in English that she has to run, her family is waiting on her, pointing to a tall man and a toddler in a stroller a few feet away.

  "Auf wiedersehen." Nick reverts back to German to say goodbye, a brief hug exchanged before she disappears into the crowd.

  I take a sip of my drink, watching him. I had the distinct impression they were talking about me, but it felt innocent. I think?

  "What did she say? When you were talking to each other in German?" I ask a moment later, my curiosity getting the best of me. I’m chancing that whatever they were saying was innocuous and Nick will tell me. Or if it was awful, that he'll make something up to spare me.

  He eyes me for a long moment, and I'm not sure he's going to respond. Either that or he doesn't want to share what the conversation was about and it's taking him a very long time to come up with a plausible story.

  Curiosity piqued.

  "She asked if we were sleeping together," he finally says. He doesn't break eye contact when he says it nor does he laugh or crack so much as a smile.

  I choke on my drink.

  "What?" I sputter around coughs, my heart racing faster than Rudolph on Christmas Eve. I focus on the table. The lights. The towering spire of the Schöner Brunnen. Anywhere but on Nick. "Right. As if," I finally manage, forcing myself to meet Nick's gaze. "What's the German word for ‘no?’" I ask with a big smile in an attempt to bring some levity to this conversation.

  Another long stare. "Alles, was ich zu Weihnachten möchte, ist einen Kuss von dir," he says quietly, his eyes dropping briefly to my lips before he glances away. It felt like a caress, that glance. I'm not sure how that's even possible, but I felt it all the same.

  I shiver, but I'm nowhere near cold.

  Christmas market voodoo.

  "That's a lot of words for ‘no,’" I finally manage.

  "Yeah, complicated language." Nick balls up the wrappers from our sandwiches and tosses them in a nearby bin. "Come on, I want to show you something."

  Chapter 8

  "Are you sure we're allowed to do this?"

  "Trust me." Nick flashes a smile at me when I glance back at him over my shoulder. We're climbing the stairs of the Church of Our Lady. The staircase is a spiral, winding us higher and higher, the stone steps narrow. At first I thought Nick made me go ahead so he could check out my ass, but now I'm grateful because if I slip he'll have to catch me.

  And just maybe, being caught by Nick Saint-Croix wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

  Finally we reach a landing and I stop, slightly out of breath and grateful I keep up at least a cursory relationship with my gym. Nick isn't winded in the slightest. Hot jackal.

  "Through there," he says, guiding me through a stone doorway to a balcony. Spread before us is the Christmas market in all its magical delight. From here we have a bird’s-eye view of the red and white booths below, the entire area lit by white lights glowing and twinkling, people happily strolling as far as I can see.

  "Oh, wow." I breathe in the sight, tucking the moment into my heart. "This is amazing!"

  Beside me Nick is quiet while I gasp, oohing and ahhing over the view. I take a picture, then turn with the phone still in my hands, unsure if Nick is bored and wanting to head back down.

  He doesn't look bored.

  He looks captivated.

  But he's not looking at the view, he's looking at me.

  Looking at me like he wants to kiss me.

  My breath catches as he moves in a step closer, the stone half-wall pressing into my back, his head tilted over mine like he's going to kiss me. Oh, my Santa, he's really going to kiss me.

  The moment stretches on for what feels like an eternity, his head bent over mine, his lips inches away. My heart is pumping so hard and I'm flushed from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. He places a hand on the side of my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek and his fingers tilting my neck a fraction to the right.

  My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. He's kissing me, right? There's nothing else he could be doing. If I had an eyelash on my cheek he'd have brushed it away already. If he needed to
tell me something he could have told it to me from two feet away. He's going to kiss me, I cannot possibly be misinterpreting what is happening.

  And…

  I want him to. I want him to kiss me.

  Badly. Desperately. More than anything in the entire world. I need to know what kissing Nick Saint-Croix would feel like.

  And this slow descent to my lips is driving me crazy. Crazy with want. Dizzy with suspense. Am I surprised by this development? By the simmering of sexual tension? Or have I always known it was here, weakly hidden behind my denial? Tucked behind hating him? The energy between us is driving me to the brink. Mad with wanting and lust and longing. I've no idea how I've denied it this long because this… thing between us is real. As real and tangible and bright as the market below us.

  I lean towards him, closing the remaining inch or two that separates our bodies until my chest is pressed against his. The countdown to Nick's lips pressing against mine is taking too long. Like an Advent calendar with far too many doors and the promise of everything you've ever wished for hidden behind the last one.

  He smiles, the slightest tug of his lips when I press my body against his. As if he was waiting for it, as if my lean in was the equivalent of me waving a white flag. Maybe it was. The sole focus of my universe is Nick's lips.

  He wets his bottom lip with his tongue and my knees nearly buckle. They might have, but I'm pinned between the wall and Nick so I remain upright. Then, finally, finally, finally, he dips his head lower and his lips are on mine.

  Kissing Nick is like finding out that Santa is coming twice this year. And he's bringing things you didn't even think about putting on your list. I'll always associate the perfect kiss with the smell of roasting chestnuts and the hint of evergreen. With the brisk chill of winter nipping at my skin in stark contrast with the heat of our bodies. With the taste of mulled wine and the solid muscled weight of Nick wrapped around me.

  I whimper low in my throat and press up on my tiptoes trying to get closer. His lips coax mine apart and he sucks gently at my bottom lip and I think I might very possibly die. Likely because I've forgotten to breathe. I suck in a breath and he repositions the angle, sliding his tongue into my mouth, and my heart nearly stops. Because it's good. It's perfect. This is the perfect kiss.

  Grouchy Nick knows how to kiss. Knows exactly how to touch me to drive me wild. One hand cups the back of my neck, his fingers winding into the hair at my nape. The sensation puts every nerve ending on my body into high alert, wanting more. Wanting those warm fingers to caress every inch of me. He works the other hand under the hem of my jacket, slipping under my shirt just enough to touch a sliver of skin on my hip above the waistband of my jeans.

  It's an innocent enough touch as touches go, but it doesn't make me feel innocent. It makes me feel wanton and reckless. It makes me feel as if all of this is a very good idea. More lips, more tongue, more touching. More Nick. My hands slide up his chest and wrap themselves around his neck. My leg wraps around his thigh as if I've no control over my own limbs. As if I'm attempting to climb him with the same curiosity and enthusiasm as a kitten climbing a Christmas tree.

  Probably because I am.

  I might even be willing to meow.

  Nick meanwhile is as calm as a priest at midnight mass. I'm frantic and needy and gluttonous while he's the picture of self-control and restraint.

  Except.

  I can feel that he's not immune.

  He's significantly not immune, if you get my drift.

  The opposite of elf-sized.

  I hum into his mouth and flex my hips against his leg. A moment later his hand is on my ass, supporting my weight as I attempt to dry-hump him in a church.

  Oh, God.

  Literally.

  I'm making out with my hot boss in a church.

  I pull back and blink, trying to clear my thoughts. Trying to understand how I got here. Nick dips his mouth to the side of my neck, pressing a trail of warm kisses along my skin as he loosens the leg wrapped around his waist and ensures I'm standing on two feet before he lets me go.

  "Why did you do that? Why did you kiss me?" I'm breathing hard and leaning against the banister for support. Hot and bothered doesn't begin to describe my state of being at present.

  "Because I wanted to." Not even a flinch. His voice is smooth and steady, his eyes not leaving mine. He runs two fingers over his bottom lip and it's all I can do not to tug him back to me. The tone of his voice sounds like every filthy thought I've ever had coated in a candy-cane sugar glaze.

  "How come you've never done it before?"

  My voice isn't smooth. It's distressed. Breathy. Needy.

  He smiles at that. A wide grin that threatens to send my fingers straight to the button on his jeans. "Because you hate me."

  "I don't always hate you," I object. It's true. It’s more of an eighty-twenty split between hate and lust. Eighty percent lust, obviously.

  "That's good to know. Do you hate me right now?" He looks oddly… vulnerable? What is even happening right now? I feel as if the world is tilting beneath my feet.

  "Not so much, no." I shake my head, confused. Yet not. I'm a mess.

  "Good to know." He dips his head towards mine again but I put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

  "Nick, what about Taryn?"

  "Taryn?" He frowns, clearly confused by both the interruption and the question.

  "You're not dating her?"

  "No, we're just friends."

  I think about that for a moment, contemplating all the meanings of ‘friends.’ "Are you naked friends?" I press.

  He shakes his head, seemingly amused with my description. "Fully clothed friends."

  "Okay." I nod, leaning in toward him then stopping myself before our lips touch again. "I broke up with Santana." I say it without a hint of irony then fist my fingers into Nick's jacket to tug him closer.

  "Glad to hear it." Nick smiles, his lips brushing against mine in a whisper. There's something about the hover of his lips over mine that makes my heart stop. That makes me wet in the place I want him most. That makes my heart beat in anticipation and sets loose a gaggle of butterflies in my stomach.

  "How long have you wanted to kiss me?" I ask, my voice barely audible. Wondering if this interest of his is going to disappear as fast as it's appeared.

  "Since the first day."

  "The first day?" I lean back with a doubtful frown. "When I brought reindeer cupcakes to the office and you made fun of me?"

  "That exact day," he murmurs while pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. "But to be fair, it was the middle of June."

  I shrug. It is fair, but they were reindeer cupcakes to celebrate his uncle’s last day and Nick's first day at the Reindeer Falls Toy Company, so it'd made sense to me.

  "You're scowling," Nick says while simultaneously running his hand along my thigh. The thigh that's somehow found itself wrapped around his waist again. And we're no longer on the balcony, because Nick has somehow walked us backward a few steps to the alcove at the top of the stairs.

  "I am not. I don't scowl. You scowl." I rub my chest against his and wind my fingers into the hair at his nape.

  "It's not a scowl when it's directed at you. It's pent-up sexual frustration," he murmurs into my ear.

  Oh.

  Hmm.

  "What are you doing?" I manage to ask when he's slipped his hand into my pants. I mean, I sort of get where he's going with this, but I have just enough sense of propriety left in me to wonder if we should change locations first. "Should we move this back to the hotel?"

  "You can't wait that long."

  Accurate. Still I manage to push the words "we're in a church" past my lips. But only just barely, because his fingers have slid low enough to part me while the tip of his middle finger brushes my clit with a gentle stroke.

  "No one's around." He tugs the lobe of my ear between his lips as he murmurs into my ear. "Let me take care of you."

  There's not a lot of spea
king after that. It's mostly me breathing heavily as if I'm being fingered on the balcony of a church, because that is indeed what's happening.

  "You've been driving me crazy since the day I got back to Reindeer Falls," Nick murmurs into my ear between erotic kisses that trail up and down my throat, pressing softly against my lips and running over my jaw.

  Nick knows what he's doing with his fingers. He's focused and deliberate with each tap of his forefinger, each circle drawn, every slide downward to rim my opening. It's the most intense experience I've ever had with my clothes on, or off for that matter. He's gentle in a way that makes me take long deep breaths as sensation washes over me in waves. When he slips a single finger inside, my head drops back and I groan loud enough to echo.

  "You're prickly and a little uptight."

  "Am not," I deny. His thumb brushes my clit now that his finger is otherwise detained and this seems like a very unfair time to accuse me of being uptight. I'm the exact opposite of uptight. At least right at this moment.

  "I'm into it," he says, his voice hot and gruff in my ear. I clench around his finger in a tiny needy spasm.

  Okay. Maybe I am those things. "You're kind of a jerk," I point out.

  "Maybe I am." He smiles against my neck. "But you're into it too." Then he covers my mouth with his so I don't have to respond. His tongue makes a slow sweep across my bottom lip and I shiver, not because I'm cold but because I'm so close to coming I might die from needing it. Because Nick knows exactly how to touch me, every movement precise and exacting. He adds a second finger to the first and pumps them into me, softly, stroking my inner walls with deft skill while his thumb brushes across my clit and his tongue wrangles with mine.

  His fingers are coated with me, easing his manipulation of every sensitive nerve ending. And I know—even if I live to be one hundred I'll never experience anything quite like this again.

  When he massages the exact right spot inside of me while pressing firmly on my clit with his thumb, I shatter. Because Nick is a master at eliciting my feelings. Annoyance, antagonism, indignation, passion, lust in one explosive bundle between my thighs.