Kitty Valentine Dates Santa Read online

  And I think I actually have.

  I was sort of stuck on the idea of dating, like, the real Santa Claus. Going to the North Pole with the elves and the reindeer, but making that sexy just didn’t really fit. I’m pretty sure Mr. and Mrs. Claus don’t have sex because, otherwise, they would have children, and he wouldn’t have to live forever.

  And then I remember when Bryce dressed up as Santa at the firehouse last year to hand out presents. And I think that will be my angle. Hero of the book is dressed as Santa for a charity event. He meets the heroine in a cute way—maybe she spills a drink on him like that girl did to Paxton. She later ends up sitting on his lap and telling him a secret wish. Something she needs for her sick mother perhaps. Whatever—something heartwarming. And on Christmas Eve, he will fulfill her wish, dressed as Santa. And they will kiss. And now, you know they will be together forever. Which is really a good jumping-off point. Because it will take my readers back to the sweeter version of me before I actually go back to writing it. This book will definitely be the sweetest of all the trope books. I think it has to be. Because even though Bryce was sexy under the suit, I just—

  Cannot.

  Picture.

  Doing it with Santa.

  And I hope Maggie can understand that.

  I’m getting up to grab my laptop when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” I hear along with the sound of jingling bells.

  I swivel my head from the door toward the television, wondering if I hit the wrong button and didn’t shut it off. But the screen is blank.

  “Weird,” I say to myself. But then I hear it again.

  A knock.

  And more ho, hos.

  I fling open the door to find Matt and Phoebe. Phoebe looks adorable in a red Santa hat with white fur trim and a jingle-bell collar around her neck. She’s wagging her tail, and she wants me to pet her, but I can scarcely move.

  Because Matt is dressed up too. His hat matches Phoebe’s. There’s a fake mustache and beard combination carelessly hanging around his neck. My eyes trail down to his naked chest, washboard stomach, and deep V line. The only thing covering his upper half is a pair of red suspenders decorated with little red-and-white Christmas trees. Further down are red velvet pants with white fur cuffs and shiny black shoes.

  I’m pretty sure drool is coming out of my mouth. It’s definitely hanging wide open at the sight of him.

  “What are you doing?” is all I can think to say because scratch my earlier plot.

  I want to do sexy things to this Santa. I want to jingle his bells, sit on his lap, and tell him just how naughty I want to be. I want to talk about big packages, unwrapping his gifts, and going down the chimney. I want to lick his candy cane, make him come to town, and be his Vixen.

  Matt gives me a wide grin and then says, “A little birdie told me you needed some inspiration. Figured this might be better than you trolling the malls.”

  “Oh, Santa baby,” I say, pulling him inside before pushing him onto the couch and taking a seat on his lap.

  Kris showed up at her door, wearing only part of a Santa suit. His naked chest glistened with new-fallen snow, indicating that he had driven all the way over there in his red Ford sleigh like this to see her. When they had talked about having a cozy night of drinking hot chocolate by the fire, this was not what she’d had in mind.

  But she’d take it.

  “Have you been a good little girl this year?” he said to her, a grin playing across his face.

  I’ve been really good this year, she thought.

  At least, she had been until Kristopher—Kris for short—rode up on his motorcycle a week ago, stopped in front of her gift shop, shook his long hair out of his helmet, and strode inside. He was a man who had moved with purpose that day, looking for Christmas cookie exchange invitations for his mother.

  “I had been until you showed up, Santa,” she cooed. “Now, I plan on being very, very naughty.”

  Kris swept her off her feet and carried her over to the fire. She’d spent hours setting the perfect scene—a roaring fire, plaid blankets and holiday pillows spread across the floor, a tray of fresh gingerbread cookies she’d spent the morning baking and decorating, peppermint schnapps–spiked hot chocolate in a thermos, and Santa mugs with marshmallows already in them—imagining a sweet, romantic night of cuddling and getting to know each other.

  When he set her on the floor, she reached up and grabbed his neck, pulling him to her lips. He kissed her in a way that was almost violent, his desire apparent. She was pushing the suspenders holding up the Santa pants off his shoulders while he unbuttoned the ugly green garland cardigan sweater that she was wearing before tossing it somewhere.

  “Santa approves of this,” he said, running his hand across the red silk camisole she’d also carefully picked out. You know, just in case. “Very festive. Want to jingle my bells?”

  She didn’t bother to answer, just slipped her hand inside his Christmas tree-covered boxers. He really had gone all out on this. For her.

  And it made her love him even more.

  Which was crazy. She’d only known him for a week. She’d never fallen in love in a week. Never even considered sleeping with someone she’d known for such a short time. Maybe it was just the holiday spirit or the fact that he was the sexiest man—and Santa—ever, but she did.

  She’d had lovers before, but they were nothing like this. Everything was surprising, like how effortlessly he pulled her onto his lap. The funny little sexual jokes he made about his big package and giving her a gift. And the pleasure she felt.

  They had sex. Naughty Santa sex for a long while, never able to get enough of each other. But later, after they finally remembered the cookies and hot chocolate and ate a few, they made love. Slow, sweet, tender, and utterly incredible love.

  He was still inside her when he ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “I love you, Kitty. I want you to meet my family.”

  Oh crap.

  Backspace. Backspace. Delete.

  He was still inside her when he ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “I love you, Mary. And I want you to meet my mother.”

  He reached for the Santa pants that were flung over a nearby chair and pulled out an invitation. The one he’d bought at her store. Inviting her to his mother’s cookie exchange.

  “How’s it going?” Matt asks. It’s nearly four in the morning, and he is lying across my bed, the sheet not covering much and seriously distracting me even though he’s been asleep for a few hours.

  “I wrote, like, a gazillion words,” I tell him. “Thank you for letting me get it all down. I had so much in my head, just screaming to come out.”

  He raises his eyebrows and chuckles at me.

  “You, Santa,” I say, quickly hitting Save on my manuscript before sauntering over to him, “have a dirty mind.”

  “And if you want Santa to bring you any presents this year, you’re going to have to be very nice to him.”

  I jump on the bed, give him a passionate kiss, and notice his North Pole springing to attention.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I wake up but don’t bother opening my eyes. I’m not ready to yet, and there’s soft snoring coming from behind me. I can tell there is sunlight streaming in through the windows and am surprised that Matt would still be in bed at this hour.

  I squint open one eye, glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s nearly noon.

  Which causes me to freak out, wondering if he’s okay. Like, surely, I didn’t kill my sexy Santa. Or he didn’t die in his sleep.

  Oh wait. I hear snoring. He’s not dead.

  Wake up, Kitty.

  I roll over, putting my arm around him, planning to snuggle up with him. Only I connect with fur.

  “Phoebe! What are you doing on the bed?” I say.

  Matt is pretty strict about that with her.

  She replies by rolling over, licking my face, and letting me scratch her belly.

  “
You were a cute elf yesterday,” I say in the high-pitched voice I seem to only use when I’m talking to her. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. Your dad distracted me.”

  I expect her to give me another kiss, but instead, her body jerks still, her nose goes up into the air, and she sniffs. She jumps off the bed, flies out of the bedroom, and starts scratching at my door.

  But then I hear my apartment door open and Matt’s voice talking softly to her, quickly followed by the smell of my favorite food.

  “You got Chinese?!” I yell out.

  “Don’t move,” he says. “I’m bringing it to you.”

  A few moments later, he comes into my room with a heap of food spread out on a tray.

  “You’re my hero,” I tell him.

  He sets the tray down just as Phoebe jumps onto my bed.

  “Phoebe!” he says sternly. “Get down. You know you’re not supposed to get on Kitty’s bed.”

  Phoebe does as she was told, but she doesn’t look happy about it.

  “I woke up next to her instead of you. She was sleeping in your spot. Snoring.”

  “You need to be firm with her.”

  “Hard to be firm when I’m sleeping. And don’t be to upset. If I couldn’t wake up with you, it was nice to have the company. Whatcha got there?”

  “Lunch.”

  “You really are a good neighbor,” I tease, leaning in to give him a kiss as he sits on the bed with me.

  “So, does that mean you enjoyed Santa’s visit?”

  “Oh, very much so.”

  “Me too,” he says, feeding me my first bite and then handing me the container. “Sesame tofu for you.”

  I love that he knows what I like. In fact, he knows me better than just about anybody but Hayley. What I’d like to do is forget about the food and wrap my legs around him, but this is important.

  “I wanted to tell you something yesterday, but then you were Santa. Anyway, I had a call with Maggie. I told her I don’t want to do tropes anymore.”

  That gets his attention away from his food. He lifts his head and looks at me, his brows raised. “Really? What did she say?”

  “Well, it’s sort of complicated. I negotiated. One more book, Santa—which is practically writing itself, thanks to you—and then I can go back to writing what I want.”

  “Why’s that complicated?” he asks, taking another bite of rice.

  By the time I’m finished explaining how things went with Maggie, he’s gritting his teeth, and the muscles in his cheeks are jumping. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe she threw you under the bus like that!”

  “Did she really throw me under the bus? Does this count as bus throwage?”

  “Joke about semantics all you want, but in the end, she just made a huge decision without discussing it with you first. I can’t believe she would do that.”

  “Trust me, I’ve known her a lot longer, and I can’t believe it either. Though I guess it makes sense in a way. It’s not like she keeps me in the dark about how difficult things are for the entire industry. If anything, she talks about it enough that it makes me wonder if I should find a new career.”

  “That’s still not an excuse! You can’t let her walk all over you like that.”

  “You’re right, but I got her to agree with me in the end. I turn in the Santa book and do the publicity stuff for her, and then I can go on and do what I want.”

  “What she did is unethical.”

  “Is it though?” I wonder.

  She is trying to help my career. Hers too, obviously, but still.

  “I guess I don’t understand. Are you happy about this?”

  “Endgame? Yes. Doing the interview stuff? Not so happy. I mean, hello, this is me we’re talking about. I have a hard enough time in one-on-one conversations with people I actually know. How the heck am I supposed to get through an interview? I’ll end up making a huge fool of myself, and then nobody will want to buy my books. The entire thing is going to blow up in all of our faces.”

  “That’s my point.” He cocks his head to the side like he doesn’t understand. “But it’s more than that. A lot more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People are going to gravitate toward your story. I’m sure your publisher has tons of public relations people who will spin this in whatever way it takes to make you go viral.”

  Viral. The word rings out like a gong in my head.

  And it’s not a nice sensation.

  “I didn’t think about that,” I admit.

  “Your books will probably sell better than they ever have, but good luck ever getting a minute to yourself. You’ll be lucky if you aren’t mobbed on the street.”

  “Now, that, I have a hard time believing.” I can’t help but chuckle softly. “I thought I was the one who usually imagined the worst-case scenarios. Aren’t you usually the one who stays calm?”

  “I don’t usually have to worry about someone I care about having her life shredded by a bunch of people who only want to make a quick buck. They’re not the ones who’ll have to deal with people asking rude, uncomfortable questions. And if you start doing actual interviews, like the kind where your face is visible, you’re going to be recognized.”

  “We live in New York City. Do you have any idea how many people live here?”

  “Millions.”

  “I seriously doubt I’m going to end up famous, Matt. Not, like, to the point where people are going to recognize me on the street. I’m more nervous about having to do interviews.”

  “I’m sure if it’s what you decide to do, Maggie or Lois could coach you through the things you should talk about.”

  “Lois?” I have to snort. “I’m sure she forgets she even has a client. But she doesn’t have any trouble taking a percentage of my royalties—that’s for sure.”

  “Either way, somebody will help you. There’s too much on the line for them to let you go out there and say whatever comes into your head. The way you make it sound, they’re putting a lot of eggs in this basket.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “You’ll be fine. You always end up landing on your feet.” He smirks. “I guess the name Kitty suits you, come to think of it,” he teases.

  “Oh, Chinese food and bad puns. I love it.”

  “I love that you stood up to her. Or at least tried to,” he says, taking my hand in his.

  “You sure you’re not just excited because I don’t have to date anyone else?”

  “What I don’t like is that Maggie acts like they own you. And you allow it. No matter what you signed with them, they do not own you.” He strokes his chin with a thoughtful expression. “It’s a shame you don’t know a lawyer who could maybe help you look over your contract and figure out whether it’s possible to get out of it. Like a lawyer who happens to be your best friend and who works with tons of other lawyers.”

  “And I’m thinking, my other best friend—”

  “Are you referring to me?” he says, moving the tray of food over to my desk before diving back in bed with me. “Your boyfriend? Your lover? Your Santa Claus?”

  “My boyfriend. That makes me feel like a teenager.”

  His hand slides up under my shirt. “Is that good or bad?”

  “I think we’re more than that, Matt. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. Have been for a long time.”

  He smiles at me and kisses me deeply. “Pretty sure? Or sure?”

  “Um, well, the other night you told me you were pretty sure. I’m reciprocating. But if you’d like to answer the question first, I’d be happy to reciprocate again.”

  “That’s how it works in your romance novels, doesn’t it? The guy always tells the girl first.”

  “Mostly, yes. Actually, always. At least so far. But maybe you’ll inspire me to change that.”

  “I hope I inspire you to change a lot of things about your life in the near future, Valentine,” he says. “And to answer the question, I’m positive that I’m crazy in love with you.”

>   CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’m just supposed to fill out answers to the questions they sent over?” I scroll down, down, down the list.

  “Piece of cake, right?” Lois sounds downright proud of herself. “See, this interview thing isn’t going to be such a big deal after all.”

  She’s not wrong. My relief is very real as I sit and scan over the email I received this morning. They’re all pretty much softball questions—whose idea this was, how did I feel about it. Obviously, I can’t tell the full truth. I don’t think my publisher or my editor would like it very much if I shared exactly what happened the day Maggie informed me that I would need to change my entire approach.

  Nobody wanted to hear about a girl getting drunk just so she could write a sex scene and then throwing up in her neighbor’s living room, stripping off all her clothes, and passing out in his bed. Not my proudest moment, not something I want to share with the world.

  “Okay, I can do this. Let’s try to encourage written interviews.”

  “I don’t know, doll. I talked to Maggie, and she made it sound like the higher-ups want you to show your face around. I’m already fielding phone calls from a bunch of different networks.”

  I almost pass out at the word. “Networks? Like, actual channels with actual news shows?”

  “What did you think this would mean?”

  “I don’t know. Bloggers? Review sites? That’s what Maggie alluded to.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. This is much bigger than that.”

  Yeah, no kidding. People keep telling me that.

  “And you’ll make plenty of dough from these interviews too. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I wasn’t exactly worried about that part.”

  She snickers loudly. “Well, aren’t you lucky then? Because for lots of people, that would be their first concern. Making a little extra money on the side just for the sake of getting their bills paid.”

  She has a way about her, Lois does. She’s good at making me cringe.