Hot for Santa Read online

  Hot for Santa

  Cathryn Fox

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Afterword

  Seaside Seduction

  About Cathryn Fox

  Also by Cathryn Fox

  Copyright

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Discover other titles by Cathryn Fox at www.cathrynfox.com.

  Please sign up for Cathryn’s Newsletter for freebies, ebooks, news and contests: https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/c1f8n1

  Originally published with NAL HEAT 2009

  ISBN-978-1-928056-36-2

  1

  ’Twas two weeks before Christmas . . .

  Nick Grant . . .

  God, just thinking about him made her wet.

  Wet, wild, and wanton.

  Seated at her mother’s kitchen table, advertising executive Rachel Reddy briefly closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift to Nick.

  As her body flooded with warmth, it had her craving sex. Hard, carnal, unapologetic, handcuffed-to-the-bed-and-make-her-beg-for-it kind of sex. A far cry from the wham-bam, thank-you-ma’am drivel she was accustomed to, that’s for sure.

  Rachel wasn’t sure if it was her client’s killer smile, rock-hard physique, big, rugged hands, or hewn thigh muscles that had her mind conjuring up erotic fantasies about him. Or perhaps it was the way he took such painstaking care of his customers’ needs at his sporting goods store that had her feeling feverish with lust. Either way, she wanted him. Up against the wall, down against a mattress, but mostly, between her legs.

  She wasn’t normally so lascivious, but something about a guy who paid such special attention to others led her to believe he’d take that same meticulous care with her naked body between the sheets. And that got to her in a way that made her sex throb like it had never throbbed before. Heat and desire prowled through her as she visualized herself held hostage to his bed, tortured and tormented by his deft hands and skillful ministration.

  Yummy . . .

  Rachel shivered in sensual delight, then worked diligently to redirect her thoughts. Here she was in Haven, New Hampshire, watching her mother mill about in the old homestead kitchen, which was so not the place to be fantasizing about a client; someone who’d simply hired her firm to create a professional advertising campaign for his new outerwear line.

  Commanding herself to focus on something else, she drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and watched the wind whip light, fluffy snowflakes past the windowpane. As she contemplated what to wear to the town’s annual outdoor skating party later that night, she caught sight of her father, Thomas Reddy, trudging down the long icy driveway with his trusty ax in hand, and his loyal Labrador retriever, Murphy, in tow. Thomas was off to help out Old Man Denby with his woodpile, no doubt. She smiled to herself, pleased at how some things never changed. She took a moment to think about Old Man Denby, his wife, Gracie, and their son, Travis—a man Rachel had always thought would one day be her brother-in-law. Unfortunately, things just hadn’t worked out between Travis and Rachel’s younger sister, Tori.

  The old house creaked and groaned in distress as another huge gust battled the exterior, and Rachel hugged herself tighter, comforted by the warmth and coziness inside. It was an unusually cold day in Haven, blustery even—not a great day to be outdoors. She crinkled her nose in dismay and glanced at the ominous gray sky overhead. Perhaps she’d have to rethink the annual skating party that evening.

  Her gaze wandered to her father’s beaten-down snowmobile path. Even though she would love to head out, to stretch her legs on one of the cross-county ski trails, go sliding on the frozen duck pond, or take Murphy for a hike up to Grandma Reddy’s cottage, she suspected it was little too nippy for such extended exposure to the elements.

  The falling temperatures might be keeping her—a lover of the great outdoors—inside, but Rachel really didn’t mind, because she’d been back in the old homestead for the holidays for a couple of days now, and was feeling quite happy and content, despite the fact that she didn’t have someone special to share the Christmas festivities with. Someone intelligent. Someone with integrity. Someone lip-smacking scrumptious.

  Someone like Nick Grant.

  Nick . . .

  Rachel bit down on her bottom lip to suppress a moan as fantasies of Nick kept intruding upon her thoughts. Everything about him aroused her. Intrigued her. Heated her up in a way the hot, burning embers in the living room fireplace never could. Good Lord, drop her in a snowbank and her scorching body would likely melt a path around her. No need for sidewalk salt when she was thinking about Nick.

  What the heck happened to her hard-fought battle to pull herself together and block Nick from her mind? Once again she quickly recognized that now was not the time or place for such scandalous thoughts. She’d wait until later tonight when she was nestled all snug in her bed, visions of sugarplums dancing in her head. And by sugarplums, she meant Nick.

  Marshaling her libido for the time being, she ran her fingertips around her steaming mug of hot chocolate, and turned her attention to her mother, Margaret Reddy, who was bustling around the big farmhouse kitchen, cooking up a storm in celebration of the season. Her eyes were bright with laughter, anxious and excited to have all her children come together under one roof for the holidays.

  Now that her mom and dad were retired from the university, and their children were all grown up and gone, Margaret had embraced the Christmas season wholeheartedly. It was the time of year for celebration and family. That, and it allowed her to show off her exceptional culinary skill, none of which Rachel had inherited, thank you very much.

  Truthfully, it felt good to be home, to enjoy a home-cooked meal instead of Chinese takeout or nuked food that had intimately introduced itself to her hips. Not great for a girl who loved physical activity yet no longer seemed to have time for it. It also felt good to climb back into her favorite comfy sweats, and let her long curly hair down for a change. Back in New York she wouldn’t be caught dead out in such an outfit, but here in Haven she could kick back in comfort because she didn’t have to dress to impress.

  Humming along off beat to a Bing Crosby Christmas tune drifting in from the dining room stereo, her mother plopped a tray of cookies onto the Santa place mat smack-dab in the middle of the long oaken table and wiped her hands on her gingham apron. Rachel pulled the warm sweet scent of fresh
gingerbread into her lungs, letting the scent awaken her olfactory senses and bring back childhood memories.

  She smiled and recalled her girlish dreams of moving to New York. She’d always envisioned herself living in a big, spacious apartment in the village, a place where she’d make her mark in the business world, and find herself a knight in shining armor.

  Of course, as a few of her friends had recently told her, and Meat Loaf had so eloquently put to music: two out of three ain’t bad. Except it was bad, or at least the guys she attracted were bad. Bad with a capital B. Greedy, insensitive jerks who were merely concerned about their own needs. Men who wanted her at their beck and call, and who had no respect for her long hours or dedication to her job. Sure, it was fine for them to have professional careers, but if those needy New Yorkers were looking for a mother figure or expected a Susie Homemaker because she’d come from a small town in New Hampshire, they had another thought coming. Having grown up in a family with two scholarly parents, education, goals, and professional pursuits were most important to the four Reddy offspring.

  Despite her ever-expanding hips, Rachel scooped a hot cookie from the tray and let out a long-suffering sigh, wondering why all the good guys were either taken or gay. She thought about her younger and only brother, Mason. He was definitely one of the good guys. Any woman would be lucky to have him, except he was happily playing for the other team and had been for quite some time now.

  And then there was Nick . . .

  Nick Grant, owner and CEO of Hilltop Gear. A gorgeous hunk of a guy who had been completely off-limits.

  Until now.

  Now that the campaign had been put to bed, so to speak, the only thing separating them were a few hundred miles. But that would soon be rectified when she went back to New York after the holidays. Then she’d see about putting something else, or rather someone else, to bed. Until then she planned on spending the next two weeks relaxing in the homestead while visions of Saint Nick danced in her head.

  “So what’s he like?”

  Rachel shot her mother a glance in time to see her pull a new bag of sugar from the floor-to-ceiling pantry, a beautiful yet functional addition to the home that helped bring the country kitchen up-to-date. Rachel did a slow perusal of the room, noting that her parents had invested quite a bit of time and money into modernizing the old homestead. Everything from the new appliances, warm cranberry-colored walls, ivory-painted cupboards, and rich granite countertop had the kitchen looking like a real-estate show home. Not that her parents ever planned to put the place up for sale, however.

  Rachel’s glance roamed back to her mother, who was studying her, awaiting a response. “What’s who like?” Rachel asked around a mouthful of warm gingerbread. Little pieces of cookie crumbs fell onto her white knit turtleneck sweater, and she concentrated on brushing them away while trying to feign innocence.

  Margaret Reddy laughed, and Rachel knew the jig was up. Busted. Cripes, it’s not like any of the Reddy offspring could ever get anything past their mother. Even into her retirement years, she was far too quick on her feet and far too astute for any of them.

  “Come on, Rachel. You’ve got that look in your eyes again. The one you used to get when you were a little girl daydreaming about Prince Charming. So tell me, who is he?” Margaret wagged her finger and quickly slipped back into mother mode. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  Rachel swallowed, and took a sip of her hot chocolate, not really wanting to tell her mother about Nick—especially all the delicious ways she wanted him to take command of her body—but desperately wanting to talk about him just the same.

  “He’s just a guy who hired my firm for a job.” Oh, but he wasn’t just any guy. He was a guy who seemed to respect her as a professional, and with the way his eyes caressed her body in admiration, it was clear that he’d never forgotten she was a woman. He was sweet, funny, and thoughtful, the antithesis of the men she usually attracted.

  Margaret narrowed her blue eyes and tucked a silver lock behind her ear. “And . . .” she prompted.

  Rachel shrugged. “And, well, he’s nice.” Nice and hot with a panty-soaking smile that had her itching to shed her clothes, as well as her inhibitions.

  With her eyes alive with curiosity, her mother questioned, “Nice, huh?”

  “Yeah, nice.”

  “Does this guy have a name?”

  “Nick,” was all she offered. Once again, just thinking about his name made her wet.

  “So you’ve gone out?”

  Rachel averted her gaze, suspecting her mother could read her every lusty thought. “I have strict rules about dating clients.” But, of course, now that the ad was completed, technically Nick was no longer an active client. He was just a hot hunk of a guy ripe for the picking—providing he wasn’t taken or gay. Rachel was pretty sure he wasn’t. At least she hoped. But she still couldn’t help wonder why a great guy like Nick was still single.

  Her mother quirked a brow and probed, “Is he cute?”

  Desire slammed into her and heat ambushed her sex as she conjured up memories of his roguish good looks and blatant masculinity. She steadied herself and strived for normalcy.

  “Yeah, he’s cute. . . .”

  “And?”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Without conscious thought her gaze wandered to the porch door. “And, well, he’s . . . he’s . . . he’s . . .”

  Out of her peripheral vision she caught her mother’s curious glance. “He’s what, Rachel?”

  He’s standing in the archway!

  Rachel’s pulse leaped, and she swallowed. Hard. Why the heck was Nick standing in her mother’s doorway, under the mistletoe no less, looking like sex incarnate?

  As though moving of its own accord, her finger pointed to the doorway. Margaret spun around, clasped her hands together in front of her chest, and let out a laugh of joy.

  “Mason,” she cried out, and made short work of the distance between them. Mason wrapped his arms around their mother and spun her in a circle. “You’re early. I didn’t expect you for two more days,” Margaret added.

  Always the smart-ass, Mason said, “Well, if you want me to go and come back later . . .” His green eyes glistened with laughter as he teased her, and her mother playfully swatted him in return.

  Rachel sat in her chair with her jaw practically dangling on the floor as she looked past the festive reunion and kept her gaze locked on the gorgeous hunk leaning casually against the doorjamb. Nick’s seductive blue eyes moved over her face with intimate recognition, and a half grin curled up his sensuous mouth. The wet snow covering his dark hair and broad shoulders like a thick coat of dander did little to diminish his masculine allure. In fact, it only added to it.

  His movements were easy, lazy, and his gaze never left hers as he went to work on removing his jacket and hanging it on the coatrack. He looked natural, comfy, and laid-back in his faded blue jeans that displayed athletic muscles, and a blue sweater that showed off a lean stomach and hard pectorals. His thigh-melting virility and killer smile stole her very next breath and Rachel found herself clenching her legs in response. The mere sight of him practically rendered her senseless.

  She wet her lips and gripped her chair, feeling like she’d just been pumped full of aphrodisiacs as heat and need enveloped her. Sensual overload nearly fried her brain, and the gush of moisture between her legs hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. Hands down, he was the hottest guy she’d ever had the pleasure of setting her eyes on.

  At six foot four, Nick towered over her brother and could easily see Rachel huddled at the kitchen table, and could, undoubtedly, see the color blooming high on her cheeks as a mixture of arousal and surprise worked its way through her bloodstream. Rachel swallowed and diligently fought to clear her lust-drunk brain.

  Her efforts proved futile.

  She stared at Nick, despite her attempt not to gawk. When he turned his attention to Margaret, to exchange a few pleasantries, it gave her a moment of reprie
ve from his mesmerizing, baby blues. With her lascivious mind still focused on his rock-hard body, she was only half listening to the conversation, but her ears immediately perked up when her brother introduced Nick as his “partner” and informed them all that he would be spending the holidays with them.

  Partner?

  Shock weakened her limbs as understanding dawned in small increments. Nick was Mason’s partner. Oh God. Rachel felt her blood drain to her feet.

  Nick was gay!

  “Rachel. Hello. Earth to Rachel,” Mason said, and it suddenly occurred to her that Mason had asked her a question.

  Jesus, she had no idea how long she’d been sitting there both stunned and distraught by that announcement. She slammed her mouth shut and took a quick second to regroup. For a moment, silence stretched on as everyone looked at her, then Rachel blinked her mind into focus and gathered her wits. Ignoring the erotic pulse of pleasure between her legs, she forced a smile, jumped from her seat, and advanced with purpose. She threw her arms around Mason and worked to sound casual. “Hey, baby bro, long time no see.”

  He polished his knuckles on her head and managed to knot her curls, an annoying little habit he’d kept from childhood. She scowled, suddenly annoyed that some things never changed.

  “Hey, big sis. You’re looking good.”

  His teasing words reminded her that she was dressed in her unattractive, oversize sweatpants, looking like she’d just crawled out of bed, hardly the well-groomed, put-together Rachel that Nick was accustomed to seeing in New York. Not that it mattered. Not now. Not with Nick batting for the other team. Rachel bit back a frustrated groan.

  Why, oh why, are all the good ones gay?

  After she inched back, she went to work on finger-combing out the tangles as her mother herded them all to the kitchen table. “Come on, sit down and I’ll make coffee to help warm you both up.”