available women who’d blatantly hit on him at the bar. The only one Nick longed to spend his nights with was the shapely, raven-haired, sky-blue-eyed temptress, Vixen White—who never bothered to give him the time of day. She was of the keep to yourself and don’t flirt with the town rowdies variety. Nick being one of them, of course. Along with Kris and Rudy.
Spending an evening with Vix, as he’d called her since grade school, was an even farther-fetched dream than conversing with North Pole’s icon, Santa Claus himself.
Vix’s granddaddy—the dearly departed department store Santa they’d all loved—had warned her about Nick long ago, he suspected. Nick couldn’t hold a grudge against Mr. White, who’d been right about Nick back then. Though...not recently. Of late, Nick had secretly vowed to give up his carousing ways if Vixen would stop sidestepping him whenever she saw him coming and give him a shot at romancing her. Sometimes, she’d actually cross the street if he headed in her direction.
He had no idea what that was all about, because on those rare occasions when he caught her off guard, she was always a bit breathless, with a distinct sparkle in her big blue eyes. He didn’t know if she even realized it, but Nick never missed stuff like that—especially when it came to Vixen White.
Still... He’d apparently dug too deep a hole for himself to ever climb out and win her over. Once he’d graduated high school and had started working as a sleigh mechanic, fixing up the old-fashioned horse-drawn ones that pulled the kids and the tourists around town on wintry days and nights, he’d nailed his coffin shut.
Naughty Nick the Sleigh Mechanic. Yeah, that’d win over Traditional Good-Girl Vixen.
Not .
The frustrating part was that he wasn’t just a mechanic. He’d parlayed his extensive knowledge into designing elaborate sleighs that sold-out in showrooms all over the world. He still helped to maintain them occasionally. But, mostly, he was known for his designs now, rather than his tune-up capabilities. Though, he was still called upon from time to time. Even Santa wanted him to hop-up the Christmas sleigh and—
Whoa!
Nick bolted upright in bed—and his head nearly exploded from the exertion.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelped as a thousand needles pricked the backs of his eyes, making them water. The pressure in his head burst wide open, sending pain shooting in all directions. He dropped back to the mattress, his head cradled in a fluffy down pillow.
“Urgh,” he mumbled miserably. “What kind of a dumbass are you?”
When the throbbing dimmed to a somewhat tolerable degree, he tried to sit up again. Slowly. Carefully.
Okay, good. Take it easy, man.
He gently swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His chin dropped to his chest.
Lord have mercy.
His bare feet pressed to the hardwood floor. Either he or Jenny had removed his dusty tan suede boots and socks, though he wasn’t sure which one had done it. No matter. He was glad to be free of them, because it was hotter than hell in his room and he was sweltering with the rest of his clothes still on.
A heat wave at Christmastime in North Pole, Maine was about the silliest damn thing he’d ever heard of—aside from that ridiculous dream about Santa.
Christ, what had they been drinking at Yule Tide’s? Some beers, yes. A few shots. Rudy was buying, so what the hell, right? Then, just before Jenny had come into the bar, they’d been served some sort of rich, frothy cocktail that had actually tasted like Christmas, garnished with a peppermint stick. After that...well, things had gotten hazy.
And, obviously, they’d stayed that way.
Despite his hangover, Nick let out a soft chuckle at how absurd his subconscious mind could be. Santa asking him to install a state-of-the-art GPS system in the dashboard of the sleigh, along with 4G phone and data service, an iPad and high-def speakers so he could crank the Christmas tunes...? What a
Spending an evening with Vix, as he’d called her since grade school, was an even farther-fetched dream than conversing with North Pole’s icon, Santa Claus himself.
Vix’s granddaddy—the dearly departed department store Santa they’d all loved—had warned her about Nick long ago, he suspected. Nick couldn’t hold a grudge against Mr. White, who’d been right about Nick back then. Though...not recently. Of late, Nick had secretly vowed to give up his carousing ways if Vixen would stop sidestepping him whenever she saw him coming and give him a shot at romancing her. Sometimes, she’d actually cross the street if he headed in her direction.
He had no idea what that was all about, because on those rare occasions when he caught her off guard, she was always a bit breathless, with a distinct sparkle in her big blue eyes. He didn’t know if she even realized it, but Nick never missed stuff like that—especially when it came to Vixen White.
Still... He’d apparently dug too deep a hole for himself to ever climb out and win her over. Once he’d graduated high school and had started working as a sleigh mechanic, fixing up the old-fashioned horse-drawn ones that pulled the kids and the tourists around town on wintry days and nights, he’d nailed his coffin shut.
Naughty Nick the Sleigh Mechanic. Yeah, that’d win over Traditional Good-Girl Vixen.
Not .
The frustrating part was that he wasn’t just a mechanic. He’d parlayed his extensive knowledge into designing elaborate sleighs that sold-out in showrooms all over the world. He still helped to maintain them occasionally. But, mostly, he was known for his designs now, rather than his tune-up capabilities. Though, he was still called upon from time to time. Even Santa wanted him to hop-up the Christmas sleigh and—
Whoa!
Nick bolted upright in bed—and his head nearly exploded from the exertion.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelped as a thousand needles pricked the backs of his eyes, making them water. The pressure in his head burst wide open, sending pain shooting in all directions. He dropped back to the mattress, his head cradled in a fluffy down pillow.
“Urgh,” he mumbled miserably. “What kind of a dumbass are you?”
When the throbbing dimmed to a somewhat tolerable degree, he tried to sit up again. Slowly. Carefully.
Okay, good. Take it easy, man.
He gently swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His chin dropped to his chest.
Lord have mercy.
His bare feet pressed to the hardwood floor. Either he or Jenny had removed his dusty tan suede boots and socks, though he wasn’t sure which one had done it. No matter. He was glad to be free of them, because it was hotter than hell in his room and he was sweltering with the rest of his clothes still on.
A heat wave at Christmastime in North Pole, Maine was about the silliest damn thing he’d ever heard of—aside from that ridiculous dream about Santa.
Christ, what had they been drinking at Yule Tide’s? Some beers, yes. A few shots. Rudy was buying, so what the hell, right? Then, just before Jenny had come into the bar, they’d been served some sort of rich, frothy cocktail that had actually tasted like Christmas, garnished with a peppermint stick. After that...well, things had gotten hazy.
And, obviously, they’d stayed that way.
Despite his hangover, Nick let out a soft chuckle at how absurd his subconscious mind could be. Santa asking him to install a state-of-the-art GPS system in the dashboard of the sleigh, along with 4G phone and data service, an iPad and high-def speakers so he could crank the Christmas tunes...? What a
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