Jingle Spells (8 page)

“Having fun?”

She jumped and turned toward him, wide-eyed. “Where did you come from?”

He looked into her eyes. “I'm a wizard.” In some ways, it was a relief to finally say it. “I can travel simply by wishing it.”

“You're a...” She stared at him, her face drained of all color.

“A wizard. From the Winter Clan. As you've just discovered, we're in charge of Christmas.”

“But you can't be. What about the North Pole? How does that figure in?”

“It's a decoy. The North Pole would be way too much trouble—no decent facilities at all up there. Colorado is much more convenient for our purposes.”

“So this is what you couldn't tell me.”

“That's right. And because you've breached our security, I have to take care of that. How did you, by the way?”

“I stole Belle's access card while we were in the coffee shop. Don't blame her. It's not her fault.”

“I don't. If anybody's to blame, it's me for bringing you to Gingerbread in the first place. But I'll fix that.” He held out his hand. “Hold on.”

“Why?”

“We need to go to my office, and this is the quickest way.” He gazed at her. “Trust me, please.”

“All right.” And she put her hand in his.

That simple act broke his heart. But he had a job to do, so he closed his eyes and willed them to his fifteenth-floor office. When the swirling stopped, he kept holding her hand. Anyone new to apparating needed some time to adjust.

She took a shaky breath. “Wow. How many Gs do you think we pulled?”

“Don't know. I've never tried to measure that.”

“Next time you should. It would be fun to know.”

“
Fun
? This isn't about fun, Taryn.”

“Of course it is! This is a
blast.
I just found out the man I love is a
wizard.
How cool is that?”

“I don't think you quite understand.”

“No, but I want to. Where do you live? Can you tell me now?”

He shrugged. “I suppose it can't hurt. The Winter Clan has a lodge up on Mistletoe Mountain.”

“I knew it! That's why Belle warned me not to go hiking up there.”

“You wouldn't have found it even if you had. We have it cloaked.”

“Cloaked! I love it! What about the elves? Where do they live?”

“Their village is just below the lodge. They travel to and from the workshop through underground passageways.” He looked into her shining eyes and frowned. “At this point any normal person should be hyperventilating and questioning her own sanity. Why aren't you?”

“You're kidding, right? This is me you're talking to, the woman who has read
Lord of the Rings
at least four times and has watched the movie more times than that. Cole, you're a
wizard.
Like Gandalf, only way sexier! I'm geeking out!”

“Knock, knock.” Noelle appeared in the doorway holding an ornate silver mug on a silver tray. “I have the cocoa.”

“Thanks, Noelle. You can set it on my desk.”

She did. Then she walked over to Taryn and held out her hand. “I'm Noelle Frost, temporary head of security. I don't know how you breached our system, but I'm impressed. I wish I could get to know you better.”

“Maybe you can,” Taryn said.

“I don't think so.” Noelle glanced at the cocoa and then at Cole. “It should be fine.”

“What?” Taryn whirled around to face him. “What's with the cocoa?”

Cole stepped forward and grasped her shoulders. “It's a special batch. I can't allow you to remember all you've seen, so the cocoa will erase those memories. Then you can return to your life, your family and your job as if this never happened.”

“No, I can't.”

Noelle cleared her throat. “I'll just head on back to my office. Call if you need me.”

“I will,” Cole said. Then he returned his attention to Taryn. “Yes, you can. It's the way things need to be.”

“I didn't finish my work in IT.”

“That's okay. I can do it.”

“What if I hack back in?”

He shook his head. “You won't. I've asked Noelle to brew this batch so your memories of me will be selectively removed.” He hoped Noelle had managed that.

“First of all, you may be a wizard and all, but that doesn't sound doable. I don't think it's possible to untangle my memories of you without screwing up all my memories from MIT.”

“I believe it can be done.”

“You mean you
want
to believe, but I can tell you're not a hundred percent sure.”

“Taryn, listen to me. We have to try so you can live a normal life. I saw the pictures on your mantel. The burden of keeping a secret like this from those you love would be
huge.
”

She gazed at him for several seconds. “Now I get it. The burden would be huge for you, because being open with those you love is so important. It's important to me, too, but if I have to keep a secret from my friends and family so I can be with you—it's no contest.”

“Taryn, I—”

She cupped his face in both hands. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. And now, on top of your brains, your sexy body and your intense love for me, you're a wizard. Do you think for one minute I'm going to dutifully swallow some iffy potion that might make me forget you? I intend to remember you for the rest of my life.”

A tiny kernel of hope took root in him and began to grow. “You need to think this through very carefully. Snap decisions are never a good idea.”

“I've been thinking it through for ten years, buster. And when I hacked into your site, I promised myself if I ever got my hands on you again, I would never let go.”

He couldn't stop the smile from spreading over his face. “Really?”

“Really.” She wiggled out of his grip and walked over to the desk. “Is this one of those fancy offices with a bathroom attached?”

“Yes. Do you need to use the facilities?”

“I do. Where are they?”

“Through that door.” He was a little perplexed, but when a woman had to go, she had to go.

“Good.” Taryn picked up the mug of cocoa and marched through the door he'd indicated.

“What are you doing?” He heard the toilet flush.

She came back bearing the mug and set it on the tray. “No more cocoa. You're stuck with me, Cole Evergreen. And you really need me, too, because you can't run this corporation and the IT department. I'll take that on.”

Heart full, he gathered her in his arms. “I just plain need you. But I was so afraid I'd ruin your life.”

She gazed up at him. “Then you don't know me as well as you think you do. Can we do that apparating thing again?”

“Why? Where do you want to go?”

“Your bedroom in the Winter Clan lodge. It's time I saw where you live.”

He drew her closer. “It's the middle of a business day.”

“Yes, but you're the CEO. Besides, I want to see your magic wand. You do have one, don't you?”

“Is that a loaded question?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it is. And that's what I love about you, Taryn Harper.” Closing his eyes, he carried them both off to begin a life more magickal than he ever could have imagined. And he had one hell of an imagination.

* * * * *

She's a
Mean One

Rhonda Nelson

NYT
bestselling author, two-time RITA
^®
Award nominee, RT Reviewers' Choice Award nominee and National Readers' Choice Award winner
RHONDA NELSON
writes hot romantic comedy. You can find her at
www.readrhondanelson.com
, follow
@RhondaRNelson
on Twitter and like her on Facebook.

For my fellow novella-mates, Vicki, Andrea and Kira. I believe this book represents what makes us work as dear friends and plotting partners—sheer magic. Love y'all bunches!

Prologue

December 24th, 1996

S
even-year-old Lark DeWynter sucked in a startled breath, and then shut her eyes tightly. “He's not there. He's not there. He's not there,” she repeatedly whispered. “And I am
not
crazy,” she added, defiantly lifting her chin, a bit of a growl entering her voice.

The scent of sugar cookies and hot cocoa suddenly wafted around her and a low chuckle sounded from directly in front of her. “Of course you're not crazy, child,” a merry voice said. “Whoever told you such nonsense?”

Lark's eyes popped open. And there he was.

Santa.

Just like he was every year. Red suit, black belt, snowy white beard tumbling from a rosy-cheeked face and the kindest, twinkling eyes Lark had ever seen. Just looking at him made bubbles of happiness burst in her chest.

Lark choked back a sob and flung herself at him, knocking a surprised grunting laugh from his big belly. She clung to him, profoundly relieved that he was real, that she wasn't crazy, but more than anything, that everyone else was
wrong
. “Oh, Santa!” she cried. “They don't believe me! They don't believe that you're real, but I know that you're real. I
know
that you are!”

“Whoa, there,” he said. “What's all this about?” he asked, drawing her away so he could look down into her face. Concern clouded his gaze. “You're not supposed to cry on Christmas Eve. You're supposed to be tucked away in bed, dreaming of toys and surprises.”

Lark scrubbed a tear off her cheek and peered up at him. “But I never do that. I always wait for you.”

His eyes softened and his especially pink lips curled into a warm smile. “That you do,” he said fondly. “You're one of the very, very special few who do that, Lark. Did you know that?”

Her? Special? Really? “But they don't believe me.”

He inclined his head, a grave expression on his face, though she sensed that he was merely pretending. “Ah,” he said, as though giving it some thought. “Well, that's hardly surprising. Adults have a hard time believing in magic,” he said. “Isn't that sad?” He cast a significant glance around the living room. “They can see the tinsel and the lights and the stockings, but the actual
magic
of Christmas?” He gave his head a tragic shake and tsked. “It eludes them, the poor dears.”

She'd never thought about it that way before and for a moment felt pity for her parents and for sad Dr. Nancy, who had lots of wrinkles and smelled like mothballs. How terrible that they couldn't see Santa, that they didn't notice the occasional wink of a toy soldier, the flash of a smile from a nutcracker, the flutter of angel wings from the topper on their tree, the extra shimmer on many of the other ornaments.

There was one, in particular, that seemed to shine with an internal glow.

The snowman.

It was pearly white, like moonlight on ice, and seemed to change a bit from year to year. This time he had ivy sprigs on his top hat instead of holly berries, reindeer on the scarf around his neck in place of the snowflakes that were there the year before—even his expression changed. Some years he looked happier than others, when his eyes beamed with a mischievous twinkle. There were years, too, when he looked almost bored. It was odd, but in a strange sort of way it was comforting.

Naturally, that ornament was her favorite, and every year when it came time to dismantle the tree, she fought to keep him out. She had even gone so far as to hide him in her room. It seemed a tragedy to put away all of the decorations, but even more so when it came to her special snowman. He wasn't merely a “Frosty,” Lark had decided, and had renamed him Mr. Cool.

She glanced at him now, where he hung front and center on the tree, nestled between a handprint reindeer and a green glass ball, and grinned when his raisin smile widened, his button eyes gleaming with encouragement.

An upside-down head suddenly emerged from the chimney. “Oy, what's the hold up? We're on a schedule here, Big Red,” the little man hissed impatiently, the point of his cap dangling dangerously close to the flames. He cast a glance around the living room, stopping short when he spotted the pair of them.

“Oh. It's you.” He rolled his eyes—which looked especially odd since he was upside down—and heaved a put upon sigh. “I should have known.”

Lark smiled at the elf, despite his surly greeting. “Hello, Edgar.”

“Edgar,” Santa admonished with a significant arch of his brow. “What did I tell you?”

Edgar's guilty gaze slid away and his mouth flattened. “Christmas is for children,” he said glumly.

“And what is Lark?”

He released a long breath and looked everywhere but at Santa. “She's a child.”

“And what does that mean?” he prodded.

“She's more important than the schedule,” he said, a hint of resentment creeping into his voice. Edgar reminded her of her older brother, John, who at thirteen was a champion door-slammer and could communicate his displeasure with a scowling huff of breath that never failed to make their mother grit her teeth.

Santa beamed at him all the same. “Excellent! You're learning.”

Considering that they had the same argument every year, Lark thought Santa's optimism was impressive.

“Nevertheless,” the older man said with a regretful grin as he returned his attention to her. “I'm afraid Edgar is right, my dear. Lots of houses left to visit before the dawn.”

She nodded. This, too, was a familiar conversation.

He patted her on the head, turned and made his way over to the chimney, then withdrew a handful of glittery purple powder from his pocket and tossed it onto the flames, which instantly died down. Pausing before stepping into the fireplace, he shot her a look over his shoulder. “And, Lark, always remember this—believing is believing.”

She frowned. Believing is believing? Didn't he mean
seeing
is believing? “But—”

He chuckled at her expression. “Anybody can see and believe,” he told her, anticipating her next question. “But not just anyone can believe without proof. Those people are special, and you're one of them.”

She smiled, pleased. “All right, then,” she said. “See you next year, Santa.”

“See you next year, Lark.” He winked, then stepped into the fireplace and disappeared...permanently, it would turn out, from her childhood.