Santa Viking (10 page)

His wink—a mere wink—caused her heart to lurch and her breasts to swell. Even in a ridiculous Santa wig and beard, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous and utterly charming. Quickly she turned her face away, not wanting him to see her heated blush or her attraction to him.

As her eyes scanned the room, Jessica smiled. If she’d entertained any misgivings about their drawing undue attention, wearing Santa outfits and handcuffed together, she’d worried in vain. A stereo speaker belted out old chipmunk Christmas carols, and the customers went about their business browsing the wares.

To her amazement, two other Santas cruised the aisles, one of them schnockered and the other eyeing a pair of padded handcuffs with a matching velvet whip—probably a Christmas present for his spouse.
Gawd!
There were also a sophisticated-looking yuppie couple—definitely lovers, by the seductive glances they exchanged repeatedly; a young guy in a jeans jacket, cowboy hat, and boots; and two twenty-something women who giggled as they handled a pair of red satin men’s bikini briefs that played “Jingle Bells” when a string was pulled.

“Gee, this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” she whispered, tugging on Erik’s handcuffed wrist. “We should pretend that we’re regular customers until the shop empties out a little, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you say, Tiffany. You’re the boss.”

“Hmmmph!”

She immediately changed her mind about the shop not being so bad when she backed into Rita, a life-size balloon of a nude, flame-haired woman with breasts the size of cantaloupes and red nipples resembling maraschino cherries. Two of the bimbo’s plastic girlfriends, Bridget and Trish, stood next to her—a blonde and a brunette.

Do men really buy garbage like this?
When the drunk Santa put his arm around the blond balloon’s waist and hauled her up to the cash register, Jessica answered her own question.
Yep, they do.

“Would you like a Bruce Balloon, honey?” Erik chuckled.

She looked where he pointed his free hand and saw a six-foot tall male balloon whose endowments were impressive, to say the least. Bruce. Jessica’s eyes almost bugged out.

“Uh, I don’t think so,
honey,
”
she responded, trying to appear casual.

Erik’s devilish blue eyes crinkled with mirth as he guided her over toward the video shelves and began to peruse the offerings nonchalantly. After flicking through
A-cup Cuties, Breaststrokes, Porking Miss Piggy, and Hot to Trot, he turned to the “legitimate” movie section. Hah! There is no such thing as legitimate in this place. There he snickered as he read the titles aloud. Hannah Does Her Two Sisters, Forrest Hump, High Nooner, Close Encounters of the Lewdest Kind, Lord of the Fly, The Breasts of Madison County, and Three Days of the Condom.

“Let’s get out of this section,” she urged.

“No, no, no.” He rebelled as his eyes latched onto something new. “How about this, sweetie?” he asked brightly, shoving a video case in her face. “
Tiffany
’
s Great Adventure.
”

She made a gurgling sound of revulsion as her face heated up some more. At a sudden blast of cold air, her eyes darted to the doorway where the teenage boy exited, followed by the plastered Santa and the yuppie couple, who’d bought some assorted lotions and a video.

“Merry Christmas,” the proprietor called out after them cheerfully. “Hope you have a great night. Ho, ho, ho!”

The other Santa followed soon after, purchasing nothing.

Okay, only three more to go—the two women and the cowboy. With any luck, there wouldn’t be any new customers at this time of night.

“Have you ever tried these?” asked one of the women next to her. Her friend had moved to the register where she was paying for the Jingle Bells jock strap.

Me? Is she talking to me?

She was. “Have you ever tried these?” the woman repeated, holding up two eggs connected by a thin electric wire to a battery-operated controller which began to vibrate when she pressed a button. The woman twittered, and Jessica’s mouth dropped open. She refused to look at Erik to see what he was doing.

“What
is
that?” she blurted out, and immediately regretted her loose tongue when Erik answered, “Love eggs.”

She and the woman both looked at him, and he shrugged. “I read about them in a magazine.”

“Sure you did,” Jessica muttered under her breath.

But he heard her. “Hey, I haven’t been in one of these places since I was a teenager. Not my style.”

Soon after, the two women left the store, and the cowboy headed toward the back of the shop where a weary-looking woman dressed only in a black teddy, garter belt, and stiletto heels emerged through a set of swinging, western-style doors. She was crooking a long painted fingernail toward the cowboy, who shuffled back with a puppy-dog grin. Jessica wasn’t sure if it was the dude’s turn for a nude massage or a body piercing.

No matter. That left her and Erik alone with the proprietor.

“Can I help you folks?” the old guy asked. “Great handcuffs, by the way.”

Jessica was about to pull out her gun when Erik pinched her fingers in warning and handed the owner a bottle. “Yeah, I’ll buy this.”

She hadn’t realized he still carried the warming oil.

“That’ll be nine ninety-five.”

One-handed, Erik fished out his wallet and laid a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

Okay, this is it.
Now
’
s the time.
Oh, geez, oh, geez!
Jessica reached in her pocket for the empty pistol, but in the process accidentally elbowed a display on the counter. To her horror, she knocked over a sort of vibrator thing with a huge wiggly tongue on the end, which began to jiggle madly. With two fingers, she distastefully tried to pick the thing up and turn it off, but it shimmied away from her, right off the counter to the floor. She dropped down to her knees, pulling Erik with her, and tried to catch the obscene object.

Erik and the shop owner were laughing hysterically at her antics. Angry now, she gave the thing a kick, which shut it off.

When she stood up, shaking with mortification, her cap and wig slipped, and her long hair billowed out in a flaming explosion midway down her back.

Erik gaped at her as if someone had just handed him a bomb. “I can’t believe it! You look like Little Orphan Annie,” he exclaimed, fingering one of the corkscrew curls—the bane of her life. At least he’d stopped laughing at her.

The fact that he added, “You’re beautiful,” came too late. Comparing her to Little Orphan Annie was not a compliment in her book—not now, and not when she’d been a real orphan. And there was no way she was beautiful with her wild mop of red hair. No way!

She fought the tears that filled her eyes. Angry with herself and Erik, she jerked out her revolver and started to aim it at the guy behind the counter, who was holding his sides as he continued to howl. With a quivering voice, she shouted, “This
 . . .
is
 . . .
a
 . . .
stick—”

“No!” Erik roared, and with one swift motion he hefted her into the air and over his shoulder, the gun dangling from her fingers. As he headed toward the door with his free hand clamped over her struggling behind, he informed Sam the Sleaze, who’d just noticed the gun and was making hyperventilating noises, “Don’t worry, this is a game my wife likes to play every Christmas.”

Sam expelled a wheeze of relief. “Hey, I see this kind of thing all the time. It’s the curse of my business.”

“I’ll give you a curse,” Jessica raged.

“Merry Christmas,” Erik laughed.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Sam chortled.

Love strikes at the oddest times
 . . .

“You scum! You slimeball! Put me down. Right now. I can’t believe you did this. Oooh, oooh, this is awful. I needed that money. You don’t know what this means.”

Kicking and screaming and thrashing, she pounded his back with her free hand. She dug her fingernails into the palm of his cuffed hand. She landed a pointed toe on his thigh.

“Ouch!”

Finally he set Little Orphan Tiffany down next to his car and immediately raised both her flailing arms over her head and held them on the car roof by the wrists with his cuffed hand. He pressed his lower body against hers to keep her from escaping or doing him more bodily harm, not an easy task with both of their pillow-bellies.

Angry himself now and sick of this game which had gotten way out of hand, he tore off his disguise, tossing the cap and beard and wig to the snow-covered ground. Then he yanked off her beard. Finally he got his first good gander at his surprising Santa.

Time seemed to stand still.

An ethereal silence surrounded them as snowflakes as big as golf balls came down, landing with feather lightness on her mane of curly red hair, in her eyelashes
 . . .
on her parted lips.

She no longer struggled. In fact, she stared at him with equal awe.

Tears burned in his eyes for reasons he couldn’t explain. All he knew was that the tight knot surrounding his heart—a knot he hadn’t even realized was there—began to unravel. And he felt as light as the snowflakes caressing his face. And hopeful.

It was so strange.

“Are you an angel? A Christmas mirage?” he murmured. Lowering his lips toward hers—those luscious lips that had drawn him from the start, he sighed.

Instead of protesting, she arched upward, meeting him halfway. “I’m no angel.”

“Thank God.”

Against his lips she whispered, “I’m not really a nun, either.”

“I know,” he smiled, then repeated, “Thank God.”

“You shouldn’t kiss me,” she demurred even as she parted her lips. “My Christmas Curse might rub off on you.”

“Rub all you want, babe,” he growled, grinding his big belly against hers. “I’m cursed already.”

“What’s that hard thing?” she asked suddenly.

He laughed.

“Not
that.
Under your jacket.”

“A bulletproof vest.”

She raised a brow. “So, you weren’t afraid of me at all.”

“Oh, I was afraid of what you’d do. I still am.”

She smiled enigmatically, as if he’d better be.

But he couldn’t think about that now. All he could think about was this tempting redhead in his arms.

Cupping her jaw with his free hand to hold her in place, he slanted his lips over hers, shaping her for his kiss, relishing the contrast of cool lips and hot breath. Hard and demanding, soft and cajoling.

She whimpered.

He groaned.

Powerful, bone-melting sensations overwhelmed him. Suddenly he wanted so many things, and they all seemed to revolve around this woman—this stranger. Pulling away slightly, he studied her face—misty eyes locked with his in question, mouth already swollen from his kisses. Their warm breaths, panting, frosted in the cold air between them. Hearts thudding in unison, they tried to comprehend what was happening.

In that instant, he understood. Blood hammered in his ears as the realization hit Erik like a thunderbolt.

I love her,
he thought, disbelieving, at first. Then he smiled, happier than he’d been in ages.
I love her.

He’d never believed in love at first sight before. He did now.
I love her.
He couldn’t stop saying the words in his head.

Should he tell her?

No, not yet. He didn’t want to scare her away. Besides, he needed more time to think. He rolled the words around in his mind with a joyous relish:
I love her.

“I feel weird,” she said, as if reading his mind.

“So do I, babe. So do I.”