Stocking Stuffer, page 2
“So, little Bailey Willis works at Trouble Inc. How on earth did I not know that?”
Bailey shuffled nervously in her sexy red heels. Fuck, she was so adorable. He wanted to peel those striped stockings down her legs and push that fur-lined skirt up and—
“There are more than seven hundred employees in a ten-story building. It’s honestly amazing we even met like this. We could have gone another decade without seeing each other if it hadn’t been for this Santa stuff.” She waved about the cottage with one hand.
“I would have noticed you anywhere,” Mack said in a soft voice as he lowered his arms. “How long have you been working here?”
“A few months. I’m in graphic design.” Bailey kept her answers short, and Mack knew she didn’t want to talk to him. He wouldn’t have either if he were her. That’s what happened when you broke someone’s heart when they were sixteen.
“Graphic design? I didn’t know you were into that.”
“There are a lot of things I’m into that you don’t know about.” Her eyes tracked up and down his body, and he couldn’t help but wonder if any of those things she mentioned involved him.
Was it possible she still felt something for him? Or was it just two adults who had a desire for each other on a physical level but nothing more? Mack knew he should keep his damn mouth shut, but something about Bailey always made him do the stupidest things.
He removed the Santa coat and slipped out of the boots. He paused when he reached for the drawstring on the red velvet Santa pants. Bailey’s eyes were glued to his crotch, and he had to fight hard not to react the way any hot-blooded man would when a gorgeous woman was looking at his groin.
“You like what you see, elf?” He slowly pulled the drawstring, loosening the pants. Bailey’s stare snapped upward, and she covered her eyes with one hand as he dropped his Santa pants to the floor. It was way too much fun messing with her. It reminded him of the good old days before the night of his senior prom, when he’d fucked everything up.
“Put on some damn pants, Mack,” Bailey growled, and it made him think of a puppy baring its teeth. He wanted to cuddle her. Which he shouldn’t do . . . because he was the bastard who had broken her heart.
Bailey bent, her hand still covering her eyes as she tossed his jeans at him. The second he caught them, she made her escape out the door. By the time he’d emerged from the back door to Santa’s cottage, he was wearing his own clothes again, and there was no sign of the sexy little elf in the crowded ballroom. Bailey Willis had escaped.
Two
“Where the hell are my clothes?” Bailey stood in the resort bathroom just outside the ballroom where she had changed earlier. There were no signs of her jeans, sweater, or boots.
She shivered and rubbed her bare arms as goosebumps broke out on her skin. Had Cheryl taken her clothes? She could go back in the ballroom, but Mack was there. She didn’t want to see him. How unfair was it that guys could be so cute in high school, and then ten years later they were hot enough to melt the panties off every woman in a half-mile radius by simply breathing? Not only that, but it was clear he was even more of a flirt than ever.
When they were kids, he had always teased her. He used to mess up her hair in the hallway when he knew she spent an hour each morning trying to tame it before school. Then he would come along and rough it up with his hand, and oooh, she had hated that so much. Now . . . now she looked back on that and saw it for what it was. A boy tugging on a girl’s pigtails. He’d liked her, she had known that then, but she’d also known he hadn’t liked her enough. He always defaulted to a big-brother role like he had the night of his senior prom when she’d only been a sophomore. But Bailey wasn’t going to let herself think about that night. Never again.
With a little growl of frustration, she pulled out her cell phone from the tiny pocket in her red velvet miniskirt. She sent a text to Cheryl’s phone, asking where her clothes were. She waited . . . and waited. No text came back. It was like a bad prank, but she knew Cheryl hadn’t done this on purpose. Most likely she was in the ballroom socializing with the other employees. Maybe Bailey could sneak back up to her hotel room and change into some other clothes while she waited for Cheryl to check her phone.
With that plan in mind, Bailey exited the resort bathroom and slipped down the hall toward the bay of elevators that would take her to the hotel rooms. She tapped one red heel impatiently and did her best to ignore the smirks of a few men in the hotel bar across from the elevators.
“Hey, Santa baby, come and sit on my lap. I’ll tell you what I want for Christmas,” one of the men jeered. The others with him all hooted with laughter. Their faces were splotched with red, and Bailey could smell the alcohol from where she stood ten feet away.
“Don’t upset her,” one chortled. “She might put coal in your stocking.”
“I wouldn’t care, if I got her on her back. Imagine those candy cane legs thrown over my shoulders.”
Okay, that was enough. Bailey wasn’t naturally confrontational. She had a live-and-let-live approach to life, but these guys? She was ready to shove coal where the sun didn’t shine. She slowly removed the little Santa hat from her head and started to turn around.
The jeering and inappropriate remarks grew as the men stupidly assumed that she was going to respond positively to such sexist comments.
“My lap’s all warm for you.” One man slapped his thigh, and Bailey saw red. She’d always thought that was just a dramatic turn of phrase, but an actual cloud of red filled her vision. She stomped toward them, but someone grabbed her arm and spun her wildly away from the men in the bar. She smacked into a hard, warm body.
“Hey, honey, thanks for waiting for me. Ready to go up to our room?” Mack wrapped his arms around her lower back and grinned down at her like a man wildly in love. For a second, she had no idea what was going on—she just stared up at him, completely entranced by the look in his eye and the way his voice was so soft, sexy, and deep. Her skin tightened, and she basked in the warmth of his body against hers. She was in Mack’s arms. It felt so incredible, and yet she didn’t understand why he was acting like this.
“I . . .”
He leaned his head down to hers, nuzzling her nose, his lips feathering hers as he whispered, “Play along—they’re watching.”
Play along . . . Of course. He didn’t actually love her. He was taking the heat off her from those drunken jerks. Relief and disappointment battled within her, and her head dropped a slight inch away from his.
His hold on her tightened, and he jerked her attention back up to his face and the heat blazing there. Even if it was pretend, it felt real.
Well, screw it. If they were playing this game, she’d get that kiss she’d always wanted from him.
“Thanks, honey,” she purred and stood up on her tiptoes, kissing him.
His arms around her tensed for a second before he dove into the act with her. He pulled her even closer, caging her completely in his hold. His lips gently forced hers open so he could thrust his tongue into her mouth in the most decadent, sinful way possible. She’d dated a decent number of men in the last ten years, and none of them had kissed her like this. Mack’s tongue was making love to her mouth in thrusting patterns that mimicked what his body would do.
Heat exploded between her thighs, and she whimpered as he dug his fingers into her back in a sinful punishment, like a possessive wolf taming its mate. That image made her throb with a sensual need so violent that it stunned her. All she could think about was how it would feel for Mack to fuck her hard like a wild animal. Oh God . . . She tried to jerk away, but he kept her against him. She gasped for breath as he let their mouths part softly.
His lips feathered from her jaw to her ear before he bit her earlobe. Then he murmured in her ear, “That’ll teach the pricks.” He stepped back and shot a smirk at the men behind her.
“Let’s go upstairs.” He took her hand and led her into the elevator just as the doors opened. She followed, her body still flushed all over and her ears ringing from that kiss. It was like a lust bomb had been detonated in her head and no rational thoughts could penetrate the cloud of desire. So that’s what kissing a grown-up Mack felt like.
The elevator doors closed, leaving them alone, and her sanity rushed back, leaving her a little light-headed from the swift change.
“Why did you do that? I could have handled those assholes.” She hadn’t needed Mack to sweep in and rescue her, and she definitely hadn’t wanted it either.
He leaned against the back of the elevator and crossed his arms over his chest. It called attention to the muscles of his bare forearms. A flash of memory permeated her mind, a seventeen-year-old Mack leaning against his car door as she watched on her porch. Back then he’d looked irresistible. Now it was ten times worse. He was grown, his muscles were bigger, and the way he held himself spoke of the confidence of a man.
“I know you could’ve handled them,” he chuckled, the soft, sexy sound rumbling out of him. “You would have handled them so well, in fact, that they would all have ended up in hospital beds.”
She frowned. She wasn’t violent, really, but she didn’t let men be sexist jerks either.
“I remember when you kicked Dean Farris in the crotch after he made fun of your boobs on the first day of school when you were eight,” he added. “Dean couldn’t walk for a whole week. I can only imagine what a grown-up Bailey could do.”
Mortification turned Bailey’s face hot. “I didn’t even have boobs back then. That’s why I got so mad when he said that.”
“Yeah, well, he was an idiot,” Mack acknowledged.
“He was.” She laughed a little at the memory. “He was actually a lot nicer to me when we got to high school.” She hadn’t minded Dean so much then. He never made fun of her again, and he was quiet.
“No man ever insults a woman who knees him with a nut shot. Trust me. He probably remembered that pain every time you looked at him,” Mack said with far too much glee.
“It’s not funny,” Bailey growled. “I got sent to the principal’s office, and you laughed at me.”
That was something she wouldn’t forget either. Mack had passed by the main office while he was running an errand for his fourth grade teacher, and he had seen her sitting on the dreaded wooden bench outside the principal’s office. He had walked over and asked, “What did you do wrong, champ?” and patted her on the head. She had smacked his hand away, and he had walked off laughing . . . just like he was laughing now.
Boy, nothing ever really changed?
The elevator door chimed for her floor, and she stomped past him toward her room. He followed on her heels as she paused in front of her room and searched the flimsy elf costume for her room key . . . and came up empty-handed.
No key. No clothes. God, she was so screwed.
She growled and kicked her hotel door with one red shoe.
“Problem?” Mack asked.
She pressed her forehead to the door and sighed. “Just go away, Mack. Let me wallow in peace.”
“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” he asked.
“Because Cheryl took my clothes, and I can’t get a hold of her.”
“Now you can’t get into your room to get your other clothes,” he surmised.
“Wow, you’re on a roll today.” She didn’t normally like to be sarcastic, but her mood had soured since she couldn’t get away from him.
“Look, why don’t you stay in my room, and I’ll go find this Cheryl person?”
“Mack—”
“Bailey Willis, I’m older and wiser, and you better do what I say.” He fixed her with a mock glare that brought back a hundred memories of being a little girl and hearing him say that.
She reacted purely out of habit and stuck her tongue out at him the way she had as a kid. A blaze of dangerous fire lit his gray eyes until they were fascinatingly mercurial, and she couldn’t look away. For a long second neither of them moved. Then he blinked, severing the spell he had cast on her. He walked a few feet down the hall to the room next to hers and used a key card to open the door.
“You’re seriously in the room next door?” Bailey groaned. The universe had clearly taped a Kick Me sign to her back.
He pushed his door wide open and waved for her to go inside.
“Wait here. I’ll find Cheryl. What’s her last name?”
“Morton.”
“Right. Cheryl Morton from the graphic design department.” He paused at the door, one hand braced, keeping it open as he looked at her. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
The hint of something she couldn’t quite identify in his tone made her banish all thoughts of sneaking out of the room once he was gone. Mack could still read her mind, even after ten years apart.
“Yes, sir,” she replied cheekily, hoping to defuse the girlish hope that his tone created inside her.
“Smart-ass.” He chuckled and left her alone in his hotel room.
She waited a full minute before she gave in to her desire to snoop. He had brought a small weekender bag with him, probably planning to spend one night here as did she. Not everyone was staying at the hotel tonight. She knew some employees had opted to do so, but those with families would likely head home.
Bailey was staying just one night before she left. This would be the first time in two years she would be home for Christmas. She and Mack had, without talking to each other since that night at prom, somehow fallen into a schedule of returning home for Christmas on the opposite years so they never had to see each other. It made Bailey wonder where Mack would go this year, since it was his year to stay away. She had heard from her mother that he often went to tropical beaches or faraway places on the years that he didn’t come home. It always left a hollow ache in her chest to think of Mack on a sunny beach, sipping a cocktail and kissing some buxom beach bunny every year.
Bailey trailed her fingertips over the buttery-smooth leather of his bag before she peeked inside. One of his dress shirts was on top, and she touched the light blue fabric. Feeling completely ridiculous, she lifted it to her face and breathed in his scent, which clung to the clothing. She closed her eyes, and the past blindsided her.
Ten years ago
The ballroom was packed with people gyrating excitedly to the music. Colored lights swept over the room in dizzying patterns. Bailey grinned as her date, Ty Evans, led her to the dance floor. She was just a sophomore, but one of the hottest senior football players had asked her to prom. Sophomores had to be asked by a junior or senior, and they had to get a permission slip signed by their parents. Thankfully, her parents hadn’t seen a problem with it. Mack would be there, of course, to watch over her. He had decided to go with some of his friends from the tennis team, but he’d promised her parents he would keep an eye on her. It was so embarrassing, but at least she got to go to prom, while most of her friends couldn’t.
Ty pulled Bailey close, his hands gripping her hips as they started to dance. The music was fast, and Bailey tried to move, but Ty kept grinding against her. It wasn’t that fun or comfortable, but she tried to enjoy it. After a few songs, she saw Mack a dozen feet away with one of the seniors, a gorgeous brunette named Allison, a girl Bailey knew from French club. Allison was nice, and Bailey liked her. Allison and Mack were laughing and spinning around, dancing the way that Bailey wanted to dance.
“Ty!” She tried to shout her partner’s name over the loud music pumping out of the speakers around the room.
“Yeah?” he hollered back.
“Can we dance like that?” She pointed at Mack and Allison.
Ty followed her finger and frowned. “Aw, come on, Bailey. That’s no fun. You’re so hot, and this is so much better.” He pulled her tighter to him, and Bailey sighed. This really sucked. She’d thought coming here tonight would be fun, that somehow Mack would see her, maybe ask her to dance when Ty went off to hang with his friends. She hadn’t thought Ty would stick to her like glue and try to dry hump her all night.
“Can we get a drink?” she asked him.
He rolled his eyes but led her off the dance floor. When she cast one glance back at Mack, he was still dancing with Allison, but his eyes caught and held hers for a brief second, a clear question in his gaze as if to ask if she was okay. She gave him a tiny nod, and he focused back on his dance partner.
Ty stopped at one of the tables and grabbed two cups of red punch. Then they headed to the edge of the dance floor. He opened his black tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small flask and dumped part of its contents in his cup.
“Want some?” He held out the flask.
“No, I don’t—” she started, but when she saw Mack lean down and kiss Allison, Bailey’s chest crushed in on itself, her ribs stabbing her heart and obliterating it.
“Yeah, give me some.” She grabbed the flask and poured some into her punch cup and downed the entire cup in a few deep gulps.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Ty laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Let’s get out of here. Dancing is boring as fuck anyways.”
They left the dance hall and headed into the parking lot. Ty had picked her up in his Range Rover, which she’d thought was fun. But now she was all too aware of how big the back seat was, especially when she and Ty sat in it together.
“So, Bailey, how are you enjoying your first prom?” Ty asked as he pulled a second flask out from underneath the driver’s seat of the car. Where had he gotten all these flasks?
“It’s been fun,” she lied. This was the farthest thing from fun she could think of. Seeing Mack and Allison kissing . . . a wave of nausea rolled over her.
“Here, have a little more,” Ty suggested and offered her the second flask.
“No thanks.” Bailey was starting to regret the alcohol she’d had in her punch.
“Suit yourself.” Ty lounged back on his side of the seat and casually stretched an arm behind her shoulders. After a moment, he let it drop to touch her.
