Santa’s reindeers will sprinkle magic dust over all the land and make us rich.”
Lori gave her the puppy dog eyes. “Are you really going to suck all the spirit out of the holiday?”
Hope rolled her eyes, but then shook her head. “No.”
“Then wish , dammit.”
“Fine.” Hope snatched the mistletoe and closed her eyes. “I wish that the DA would shake my money out of Joey so I can pay back my brother before he calls the loan that’s due on January first, which is in . . .” She mentally calculated. Oh, God . “Twenty-one days.”
“Oh, Hope,” Lori said sadly, making Hope realize she was doing it, she was sucking the spirit out of the holiday.
“Okay, you’re right. Let’s try this.” Hope paused, the only sound being the vicious storm currently rattling the windows. “I wish for someone to hang up all the Christmas decorations for me. And . . . clear them up after Christmas.”
Lori’s eyes were censoring. “Stop thinking of the B&B first; think of you. You , Hope. Wish for . . . sex . Yeah, now there’s something you could use. How long has it been anyway, six months?”
Six months sounded pathetic, but the truth was even more so. She lifted a shoulder.
“ Eight months?”
Fourteen, but who was counting? Oh, wait. She was. She was counting.
“Give me that.” Lori grabbed the sprig back, once again pressing it to her heart and closing her eyes. In sweet earnest, she said, “Hope’s too busy and stressed to think of herself so I’m doing it for her. I wish for a penis for her. One that’s attached to a man who knows how to use it.”
“It’s no use.” Hope shook her head even as she laughed. “I’m done with badasses, penises and all.”
“A really good man,” Lori went on, eyes still closed. “Not a badass, but a kind, gentle soul—but good in bed. I can’t stress that enough.”
“That’s funny.”
Lori opened her eyes and reached into her pocket, from which she pulled out a string of four condoms. “Merry early Christmas.”
“You are not serious.”
Lori merely stuffed them into Hope’s jean pocket.
Hope laughed again, then raised a brow when someone knocked on the front door of the B&B. Though it was only six in the evening, it was pitch-black, with the snowstorm still raging out there. “Huh.”
“Maybe it’s him,” Lori whispered.
“Him who?”
“The man I just wished for you, the one with the kind, gentle soul. And the penis he knows how to use.”
Hope rose from the dining room table where they’d been sitting. She supposed it could be an unexpected guest. She had six guest rooms, and only two were filled at the moment; her guests either in their rooms or in front of the fire she had roaring in the living room. She’d be happier with more paying guests, but what with the B&B being out in the boondocks two hours north of Denver, and the economy in the toilet, things were slow.
Of course now was the worst possible time for her to be slow, what with her bank accounts emptied and all. She was hanging on by a thread—a thread that had come from her stepbrother Edward, a guy who made Scrooge look like Santa Claus.
It was killing her, knowing she’d been forced to borrow from him, but it was also temporary.
As in a lump payment was due to him in LA by January 1 . . .
Twenty-one days . . .
She’d e-mailed Edward—he didn’t do personal contact—to ask for a little teeny tiny extension, but she hadn’t heard back yet.
Don’t go there now, she told herself, and moved toward the foyer, followed by Lori. She opened the front door and was immediately assaulted by the wind and snow. She squinted past it to take in the tall, dark stranger who was dressed as if he’d just walked off the cover of a glossy man’s magazine.
“Does it always snow like this?” he asked, stomping the snow from his boots, his voice low and husky as if he was half frozen.
Tall, dark and irritated, she corrected. “In December, yes. Can I help you?”
He
Lori gave her the puppy dog eyes. “Are you really going to suck all the spirit out of the holiday?”
Hope rolled her eyes, but then shook her head. “No.”
“Then wish , dammit.”
“Fine.” Hope snatched the mistletoe and closed her eyes. “I wish that the DA would shake my money out of Joey so I can pay back my brother before he calls the loan that’s due on January first, which is in . . .” She mentally calculated. Oh, God . “Twenty-one days.”
“Oh, Hope,” Lori said sadly, making Hope realize she was doing it, she was sucking the spirit out of the holiday.
“Okay, you’re right. Let’s try this.” Hope paused, the only sound being the vicious storm currently rattling the windows. “I wish for someone to hang up all the Christmas decorations for me. And . . . clear them up after Christmas.”
Lori’s eyes were censoring. “Stop thinking of the B&B first; think of you. You , Hope. Wish for . . . sex . Yeah, now there’s something you could use. How long has it been anyway, six months?”
Six months sounded pathetic, but the truth was even more so. She lifted a shoulder.
“ Eight months?”
Fourteen, but who was counting? Oh, wait. She was. She was counting.
“Give me that.” Lori grabbed the sprig back, once again pressing it to her heart and closing her eyes. In sweet earnest, she said, “Hope’s too busy and stressed to think of herself so I’m doing it for her. I wish for a penis for her. One that’s attached to a man who knows how to use it.”
“It’s no use.” Hope shook her head even as she laughed. “I’m done with badasses, penises and all.”
“A really good man,” Lori went on, eyes still closed. “Not a badass, but a kind, gentle soul—but good in bed. I can’t stress that enough.”
“That’s funny.”
Lori opened her eyes and reached into her pocket, from which she pulled out a string of four condoms. “Merry early Christmas.”
“You are not serious.”
Lori merely stuffed them into Hope’s jean pocket.
Hope laughed again, then raised a brow when someone knocked on the front door of the B&B. Though it was only six in the evening, it was pitch-black, with the snowstorm still raging out there. “Huh.”
“Maybe it’s him,” Lori whispered.
“Him who?”
“The man I just wished for you, the one with the kind, gentle soul. And the penis he knows how to use.”
Hope rose from the dining room table where they’d been sitting. She supposed it could be an unexpected guest. She had six guest rooms, and only two were filled at the moment; her guests either in their rooms or in front of the fire she had roaring in the living room. She’d be happier with more paying guests, but what with the B&B being out in the boondocks two hours north of Denver, and the economy in the toilet, things were slow.
Of course now was the worst possible time for her to be slow, what with her bank accounts emptied and all. She was hanging on by a thread—a thread that had come from her stepbrother Edward, a guy who made Scrooge look like Santa Claus.
It was killing her, knowing she’d been forced to borrow from him, but it was also temporary.
As in a lump payment was due to him in LA by January 1 . . .
Twenty-one days . . .
She’d e-mailed Edward—he didn’t do personal contact—to ask for a little teeny tiny extension, but she hadn’t heard back yet.
Don’t go there now, she told herself, and moved toward the foyer, followed by Lori. She opened the front door and was immediately assaulted by the wind and snow. She squinted past it to take in the tall, dark stranger who was dressed as if he’d just walked off the cover of a glossy man’s magazine.
“Does it always snow like this?” he asked, stomping the snow from his boots, his voice low and husky as if he was half frozen.
Tall, dark and irritated, she corrected. “In December, yes. Can I help you?”
He
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