Don't Open Till Christmas Read online

  Counting on some non-Grinchy millionaires was one recourse, but she also had to make contingency plans to come up with more money. Her vacation fund would help. January’s rent money would, too. And heck, she could live on grilled cheese and canned green beans for a month.

  Still not enough. Not for food, decorations, clothes, blankets and a few little toys for the children of the families they served. But she’d find a way, and it would not involve poor, guilty Alice having to mortgage her old age.

  “I really do appreciate this, honey,” Sue said, sounding a little more relaxed. “I know you hate coming to town at any time of the year, but this month is going to be hell for you.”

  No kidding. Her cousin knew that better than anyone, since she and Noelle had grown up together at the Candy Cane Inn, which had been started by their mothers. Unlike Noelle, Sue had never let the overdose of everything Christmas destroy her genuine enjoyment of the holiday. Maybe because Sue’s birthday was in July, she wasn’t stuck with a glaringly seasonal first name, her father hadn’t walked out on his wife and daughter on December 26, and Sue hadn’t been practically left at the altar last Christmas Eve.

  Instead, Sue had developed a real love for their weird hometown and its weird people. So much so that when Sue’s father had died eighteen months ago, and both their mothers had decided to retire and move to Arizona, Sue had offered to take over the inn. She swore she’d never regretted it. Neither had Randy, her husband of two years.

  Nobody, however, had figured on a difficult pregnancy in the near future. Since Sue and Randy had saved Noelle from any feelings of guilt for not continuing the family legacy—allowing her to happily live her new life in Chicago—she was more than willing to help in whatever way she could. Even if it included a short trip back to hell.

  “It’s okay,” Noelle repeated. “I had a sucky day at work yesterday, anyway, so the distraction will do me good.”

  It wasn’t just the distraction from the robbery she needed. She also needed to put the image of Detective Mark Santori out of her mind for a couple of days. It might have been easier if he’d been arrogant, or a jerk. But he hadn’t. He’d been charming and flirtatious, confident and assured in her office.

  And then, God, during those strange, almost surreal moments outside on the front walk, he’d been so intense. Moody. Intriguing. Seductive. As if he’d left her office earlier in the day, stewed over thoughts of her hooking up with a stranger, and come back to remind her that nobody else was going to do.

  She greatly feared his plan had worked.

  No. It couldn’t happen, not with him. It didn’t matter that Mark was hot and sexy, cute and charming. Because he was too much. Too…too close.

  Her lover needed to be someone far, far away. Because only by being absolutely certain she’d never run into whatever amazing stranger she chose to have her wild fling with could Noelle get as outrageously wicked as she planned to be.

  And oh, she planned to get outrageous. Eight years worth of sensual fantasies were stored in her brain. Those fantasies had been building since her first lousy sexual experience with Carl Ritter after a winter dance in high school. He’d been the resident stud who’d turned out to be a dud when they’d done it in his father’s golf cart, which was decorated to look like Santa’s sleigh. To this day, whenever she kissed a sloppy, drooly kind of guy, she instantly visualized Mr. Ritter’s makeshift sleigh, complete with eight plastic reindeer spiked on two long sections of rebar. From Dasher to Blitzen, they’d looked like tiny horses speared by Vlad the Impaler.

  God, no wonder she hated Christmas.

  Mark hadn’t been a sloppy kisser. Far, far from it.

  She sighed deeply, reminding herself to put him out of her mind. There were plenty of other men in the world. Men who could make her forget that all of her previous sexual experiences had ranged from mediocre to mildly interesting. Men who could give her the kind of mind-blowing sex she’d only dreamed about. Oh, how Noelle wanted mind-blowing.

  All kinds of blowing.

  But not with him. It didn’t matter that she had already found someone who’d instantly made her fantasize about all the erotic things she wanted to do, because Mark was one man she just couldn’t do them with. Because with Mark, her emotions would come into it…she knew it with an inexplicable certainty. At this time of year in particular, she knew better than to risk getting her heart broken again by any man. She only hoped this weekend away would be enough time for her to get that entrenched in her all-too-imaginative mind.

  Somehow, though, she was afraid it wouldn’t be. Which, she suspected, was exactly what the man had intended when he’d appeared out of the shadows, kissed the taste buds out of her mouth, then disappeared again.

  And for that, she didn’t know whether to hate him…or to simply beg him for more.

  MARK HAD THE WEEKEND OFF. During most other weekends of the year, he’d probably have been hanging out with his folks. The Santori clan typically gathered at the family-owned pizzeria on Taylor Avenue every Sunday, as well as the usual drop-ins for a beer or a calzone during the week.

  But this Sunday fell during the month of December. The Christmas season. Meaning Pop would be griping about money and reminiscing about holidays in the old country when an orange and a peppermint stick had seemed like a wealth of treasures. No one—not even Lottie the mouth—would remind Pop that he’d been born in Brooklyn. They were well used to him channeling his immigrant father.

  Mama would be distributing the names for the family’s Secret Santa exchange, arranging the “random” drawing to her own liking. Tony’s four-year-old son would be bouncing off the walls on a pre-Christmas high that was more potent than ten pounds of Pixie Stix. Newlyweds Luke and Rachel would be cooing over their first Christmas together, and Joe and Meg would be cooing over their baby Marie’s first Christmas altogether.

  Painful.

  Maybe if his twin brother, Nick, were in town it’d be bearable. But Nick was currently serving his third tour in Iraq with the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force. Mark was already worried enough about his ten-minutes younger brother without seeing his parents’ dismay over not having their baby boy home for Christmas again. He couldn’t stand to hear “Jesus, Mary and all’a da saints help us, what if a telegram arrives about our leetle Nicky?” coming out of his father’s mouth one more time.

  Nick was okay. Mark would know it if he wasn’t…he’d just know.

  To top it all off, if he was at the restaurant, he’d be hearing the not-so-subtle reminders from his mother and sisters-in-law that he should find a good woman and settle down.

  He shifted in his seat as a quick thought flashed through his mind about a glorious brunette in black panties. He might not want to settle down, but he’d like to go down, that was for damn sure. And there would be no settling about it. Some seriously pleasurable oral sex was just one thing he wanted to do with Noelle Bradenton.

  That was another good reason to get out of town. Being away from Chicago would keep him from doing something stupid like going by the shelter to see if Noelle worked on Saturdays.

  No, man, forget it. He’d taken his shot and she’d turned him down. Yeah, she’d turned him down for a reason no man ever expected to hear from a beautiful woman—because she only wanted a sexy fling with a stranger, not somebody whose name she already knew. But a brush-off was a brush-off, no matter the reason.

  So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

  Probably because she’d admitted she was looking for sex. And she’d admitted silently—in her kiss, in her smile, in the hitchy little sound she made in the back of her throat whenever they were close—that she wanted that sex to be with him.

  Her body was screaming yes. Her mind was saying no. It was his bad luck that he was crazy-hot for a woman whose mind was winning the battle.

  Going back to the shelter and kissing her one more time—just to determine once and for all whether their first kiss had been as incredible as he remembered it to be—had been a
crazy idea, but one he couldn’t shake. After he’d left her office and returned to work Friday, he’d thought about Noelle hooking up with some stranger, and he’d broken out into a cold sweat. But returning there and kissing her again…well, it’d been impulsive. Unexpected.

  Fantastic.

  “Hell, maybe I shoulda gone to the restaurant,” he muttered. Because being surrounded by Santoris and their madness might be just the thing to make him forget about the brunette who’d cost him another night’s sleep the previous night.

  Nah. He’d rather torture himself with images of what he wasn’t going to have than with the realities of his big, loud, nosy family. Jolly, happy Santori’s restaurant was definitely a place to avoid during the holiday season. Which made this weekend’s excursion pretty damned ironic. Because he was going to Christmas…Noelle Bradenton’s hometown.

  “You really think you’re going to find something on this Wallace guy in some town that has gingerbread men statues outside City Hall?” His partner Harriet’s gravelly voice was made deeper by cell phone static. The closer he’d gotten to Christmas, the worse the reception had become.

  “Not saying it’ll pan out,” he admitted—to both of them. “But I have the time and it’s not too far. Might as well check since nothing else seems to be turning up.”

  Harriet fell silent, obviously still not convinced he wasn’t wasting his time. Mark was used to the reaction. His partner—who was twenty years older and twenty pounds heavier than he—was a full-fledged pessimist.

  She was also sharp as one of those stiletto-heeled shoes…which she’d never be caught dead in. And she’d taught him a lot in the two years they’d been partnered up. If the other guys in the squad had a problem with Harriet’s gruffness and suspected sexual orientation, well, tough shit. Mark liked her, respected her, and valued her opinion. “You think I’m wasting my time?”

  The woman grunted into the phone. “What do I know? Everything about this case is screwy. Who’d imagine a midget in an elf suit crawling through the heating ducts of Riley’s Department Store to raid the jewelry cases in broad daylight, when the place was open?”

  Not him. Particularly since the elf had then passed the stolen goods—worth at least fifty grand—off to the store’s costumed Santa. The guy had breezed out with the stuff literally stuffed into his oversized red suit. “I guess he was inspired by that Bad Santa movie that came out a couple of years ago,” he said.

  She grunted. It wouldn’t be the first time either one of them had seen some criminal inspired by Hollywood, TV or music.

  “Keep me posted on what you do find out, okay?” Harriet said. “Hell, who knows? Maybe you could be onto something since that informant from 21st Street mentioned some kind of training grounds for thieves not too far from Chicago.”

  “Exactly why I’m going there.”

  “Just keep your head down…wouldn’t want you to be clobbered by the hooves of any low-flying reindeer.” Harriet’s snicker made Mark chuckle and roll his eyes as he hung up.

  When he pulled off the highway to the main road leading to Christmas, however, Mark stopped chuckling. Because this had to be a joke. He’d assumed everything he’d heard about the town, or seen in commercials, had been exaggerated.

  It wasn’t.

  From the red and white striped picket fences in front of every house, to the stained glass Santa-and-his-sleigh window encompassing the entire front of the library, to the ropes of greenery draped along the rooflines of every building in sight, this place screamed holiday cheer. Not only screamed it, but batted it upside the head like a nail-studded two-by-four.

  Cruising through the downtown area of Christmas, he noted the cutesy names of the stores. Jolly Jim’s offered the latest and greatest in lighted ornaments. The front window display was a battlefield where tacky lit-up tin soldiers, snowmen, Santas and elves competed for space with smiling baby Jesuses and singing angels. Holly’s Holly boasted the biggest selection of mistletoe in town. Did mistletoe come in different varieties? And Kris Kringle’s diner had on special Whoville Roast Beast.

  No doubt about it, he’d fallen through a black hole into the Nightmare Before Christmas. Or, in this instance, the Nightmare That Was Christmas.

  A couple of hours of walking around the place confirmed it. If there was ever an entire town that needed to be locked into an enormous padded room, this was it. God, no wonder Noelle hadn’t wanted to talk about her hometown…it was certifiable.

  After his visit to the Institute of Rotudifical Purveyors of Goodwill—aka the Santa College—he decided the trip had been a wasted one. The owner of the place hadn’t been in, and the woman he’d found in the office hadn’t exactly been a font of information.

  If it had looked as if the lead might actually have been important, Mark might have pushed her on the current location of the owner, some guy named Taggert. But he had to admit it…the trip out here had been more of a whim to get out of town for the day. His cop instincts hadn’t been on alert and he had no solid information that had led him to his place. A couple of hours in Christmas was nearly enough to make him scratch it off his list of possible leads.

  Besides, if something more came of it, he could always return on a weekday and tackle the dean of Santas during office hours. But for now, it was time to get outta Creepsville.

  At least one good thing had come of his visit here: Mark was never going to complain about the crime or fast pace of Chicago again. Because anything was better than having undiluted joy and goodwill shoved down his throat whether he wanted to swallow it or not. At least in Chicago you could flip somebody off if they wished you a Merry Christmas when you weren’t in the mood to hear it.

  Yeah. A quick getaway was definitely in order. But as he drove down Nativity Avenue—one of the two main streets criss-crossing through the tiny town—he spied something out of the corner of his eye that made him reassess his plan. Actually, he spied someone who made him do that. Standing beside the lollipop light post on the porch of a place called the Candy Cane Inn was the most delicious-looking elf he’d ever seen.

  An elf named Noelle Bradenton.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN you’ve rented out my room?”

  Noelle stared in shock at Randy, her cousin’s husband, who stood behind the reception desk at the Candy Cane Inn, wearing a sheepish expression and a blush. Not unusual for Randy, who’d been the shyest boy in Noelle’s class at Christmas High. Good thing Sue was the take-charge type, or fair-haired, tall and lanky Randy might still be twiddling his thumbs, trying to figure out a way to ask her perky ex-cheerleader cousin out. Instead, he and Sue were happily awaiting the birth of their first child, due just after New Year’s.

  Noelle still hadn’t quite forgiven her cousin for that—foisting a holiday birthday on her baby. If and when Noelle ever settled down and started having a family, her legs were staying closed during the months of March and April…no way was any child of hers going to have to share his or her birthday with the savior of the world.

  “I’m sorry, Noelle, this stranger just offered so much above our normal going rate I couldn’t refuse. We really are trying to bring in as much as we can to pay for either Sue’s mom or yours to fly up from Arizona for the rest of the month. And with a baby in the house, we know we’re going to have to bring in fewer guests for a few months. So I guess when I saw a chance to bank a little bit, I grabbed it.”

  Noelle had just come from Sue’s bedroom, where her cousin was on bed rest for the final few weeks of her pregnancy, so she knew what Randy meant. Still, she couldn’t believe someone had come into the inn and laid down a boatload of money to rent the one remaining room—Noelle’s old room—in the twenty minutes she’d been visiting her cousin.

  “Who is this person who couldn’t take no for an answer?” she asked, still wishing she’d stuck her luggage in her old room the moment she’d arrived, instead of leaving it piled by the back door in the kitchen. Randy might have had a harder time selling her bed out from under her if her pan
ties had been strewn across it.

  “His name’s—”

  “Not important,” someone said, smoothly cutting Randy off before he could finish.

  Noelle swung around, her heart pounding and her pulse racing. Because something told her she knew whose voice that had been, whose face she was about to see. The instant flood of moisture between her legs confirmed it.

  “Oh, my God,” she murmured.

  It was him. Detective Mark Santori. The man she was dying to go to bed with but who she’d convinced herself she could never have. Somehow, he was here, in Christmas—in her childhood home—looking at her with heat and speculation and deep, intense interest.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said as he stepped across the foyer. He’d apparently been lurking around in the garland-and-ribbon-bedecked parlor. Probably wondering, as she often had throughout her childhood, why, exactly, the Virgin Mary was sitting on Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in one of the four nativities in the room.

  “It’s you.”

  He smiled lazily. “No, it’s not. I’m someone you’ve never met, just passing through town.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not going to be here long, so absolutely no introductions are necessary.”

  Noelle’s jaw dropped. She could only stare at him, wondering what kind of game the man was playing. At the same time, she was also wondered how on earth she’d had the strength to let him walk away from her last night outside the shelter without experiencing—at least once more—the delight of his mouth. Even now, if she closed her eyes and thought about it, she knew she’d be able to taste his tongue against hers, to feel the heat of his breath.

  There was no use denying it, even to herself. She wanted him desperately, and no one else was going to do, especially after today. Her nights were going to be even more plagued with fantasies of the man. Because he looked so incredibly sexy, clad in a worn, soft pair of jeans. His dark brown turtleneck sweater emphasized the breadth of his chest and the width of his shoulders.