Mistress Christmas (Wild West Boys 1)

“Ah ah ah. Not before we toast.”

“To what?”

“Come now, I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve made a toast in here.”

How wrong he was. Holly racked her brain for a clever phrase. “How about…to Christmas wishes coming true?” Heaven help her, this man appeared to be everything she’d ever wished for.

“Don’t you think that’s a little vague, Mistress Christmas?”

Lord. His sexy voice was as dangerous as his sexy smirk. She managed, “Do you have a specific wish in mind?”

His burning gaze raked her from the tips of her pointed ears to the tips of her pointed nipples. “I’ve got a very explicit wish. Would you like to hear it?”

Her body vibrated as if he’d whispered very explicit across every inch of her passion-soaked skin. “Maybe you should tell me your name before we start sharing wishes and dreams.”

“Nick.”

“Hmm. Are you anything like your namesake, Saint Nick?”

“Not even close, darlin’. I’ll offer no apologies that I’ve always been more sinner than saint material.”

“You do have that devilish look about you, Not-So-Saint Nick.”

Nick stared at her mouth, virtually growling, “I like the way my name sounds tumbling from your sweet lips.”

Playing with fire, Holly.

But she wasn’t brainy Holly North, shy accountant. She was bold Mistress Christmas, embodiment of sexual fantasies. And she’d milk that persona, live the dream of being the object of men’s physical desire, if only for a single night.

Holly lifted the glass to her mouth and ran her tongue around the rim, licking at the thick liquid clinging to the edge. The man’s gaze darkened; another thrill zipped through her. “Where’d you learn to talk so sweet?”

“Wyoming.”

“Does that make you a real cowboy?”

“Yep. Born and bred, dust on my boots, sage in my blood, dyed-in-the-wool gen-u-wine, native Wyoming hell-raiser.” He raised his glass to hers. “You impressed?”

“Very.”

“So let’s toast to overcoming first impressions.”

Weird toast, but she smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”

They chinked their glasses and knocked back the schnapps.

Holly welcomed the sweet fire flowing down her throat and slammed the empty glass on the bar with a heartfelt, “Ah.”

“Another?”

She automatically started to decline, but her inner vixen cooed, “Why not?”

“Coming right up.” Nick signaled the bartender.

The next shot boosted Holly’s confidence. “Tell me, Nick, if you’re really a cowboy, where’s your hat?”

“Same place as my horse—at home in Wyoming.”

“Do you live there?”

“Nope. I’m riding a steel horse in Denver these days. What about you?”

“No hat or horse,” she hedged playfully. “Not that it matters because I don’t know the first thing about riding.”

A twinkle brightened his eyes. “Really?”

She cautioned, “Before you ask, no, I don’t want to save a horse and ride a cowboy.”

“Pity.”

Nick’s you-caught-me-with-naughty-thoughts grin made her stomach cartwheel as fast as Wyoming tumbleweeds.

“I’d be more than willing to show you a few secret cowboy tricks once you mounted up.”

“I’ll just bet you could,” she murmured.

“I’ll just bet you were born to ride. You’d look amazing on top. Your thighs clamped tight, your back arched just so, your head held high as you find the natural rhythm of moving on a powerful body. This gorgeous mane”—he twirled a section around his index finger—“trailing between your shoulder blades as you buck bareback. Every part of you bouncing as you’re pushing faster and harder, until you explode from the sheer joy of the ultimate ride.”

Holly didn’t dare look away from the sexual challenge in Nick’s eyes, but she couldn’t keep the heat from rising in her cheeks, nor from hearing her mother’s warning: If you keep playing with matches, child, you’re gonna get burned.

A mischievous grin tilted his mouth as he leaned forward. “You’re awful quiet all of a sudden, darlin’. You okay?”

Smug man. If she were going up in flames, she’d drag Nick right along with her. “Oh, I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Something you oughta remember, cowboy. Not all women mount up the same or crave that type of wild ride. See, you’re all about fast, furious, pulse-pounding action. I imagined a slower, sweeter pace for the first go-round. Taking time to learn the subtle signals before handing over the reins. Not rushing headlong to the glorious end, all hot and sweaty and tired.” Holly bit her lip, as if deep in thought. A little buzz fizzed in her blood when Nick’s gaze zoomed to her mouth.

“I’d prefer drawing out the excitement. Gliding along with abandon. Building the pace one step at a time until that moment you dig your heels in and break free, reveling in the rush of an unbridled, unbound, rigorous ride.”

Nick just blinked at her and then he swallowed hard.

Hah. “You’re awful quiet all of a sudden, darlin’,” she teased. “You okay?”

“You’re good at that.”

Holly cocked her head saucily. “Good at what, cowboy?”

“Reminding me you’re a professional.”

A professional? What the hell? He’d started it.

“Hey, shweetheart, lemme buy you a drink,” a man slurred behind them.

She froze. Indulging in verbal foreplay meant she’d neglected her mingling duties with other customers. She shouldn’t have allowed one hot, sexy Wyoming cowboy to monopolize her time and attention.

Before she addressed the man, Nick stepped in front of her and snapped, “Back off, buddy. The lady is occupied.”

Boozy breath sliced the air between them. “You can’t just act like she’s yours—”

“Yes, I can, because tonight, she is.”

The DJ’s voice cut through the music. Conversation around them stopped. “Gentleman, come closer because it’s time for a sweet treat from Miss Divinity.”

“Take a hint.” Nick loomed over the guy. “Or do I hafta spell it out for you?”

“No. We’re cool. I’m going.” The man held up his hands.

Another round of whoops rent the air as Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blasted from the speakers.

Nick and the man automatically looked to the stage.

Holly needed a moment to clear the effects of the booze and of this domineering man from her addled brain. Seeing his distraction, she ducked around another portly patron and hightailed it past the bar, vanishing behind the screens.

Chapter Two

Nick made sure the drunken as**ole was good and gone before he turned around…only to find Mistress Christmas gone as well.

What the hell?

He scanned the crowd surrounding the stripper on stage. No sign of Mistress Christmas. Why’d she pull the disappearing act when he’d set himself up to be an easy mark? Nick figured after knocking back shots on his dime and teasing him to distraction, she’d be raring to kick it to the next level: a private lap dance.

His lower gut muscles knotted as he imagined her rubbing that sweet, round ass across his crotch. Seeing her tits swaying as she shimmied her chest in his face, bringing her ni**les close enough to taste. The bump and grind coupled with that sexy lip-biting thing she did? Whoo-ee. It’d be damn near impossible not to explode in his jeans and maintain professional restraint.

Man. Mistress Christmas was good. For a while he’d almost believed she’d stuck around because she liked him, not because she was being paid to like him.

Talk about being pegged a sucker.

But her vanishing act didn’t make sense. She’d hooked him; why didn’t she reel him in?

Frustrated, Nick skirted the bar and headed toward the privacy screens. There she was, arguing with a spandex clad bouncer who looked like an escapee from the WWE Smackdown! Neither one noticed his approach.

“—the big deal is?” she asked.

“Just following instructions, Holly.”

Holly. Hmm. Was that her real name? Or a holiday-themed alias to fit with the atmosphere?

“But I’m not going to—”

“Sorry to interrupt”—Nick flashed a quick smile—“but I wondered where you’d wandered off to. We have some unfinished business to attend to, darlin’.”

The bouncer pivoted. “This is a private conversation. Scram.”

“Doesn’t look private. Nice costume.” Nick let his gaze wander up the green tights covering the man’s tree-trunk sized thighs, and across the red sports shorts and the matching green and red striped T-shirt. “What superhero are you supposed to be?”

“I’m not supposed to be a superhero, lame brain. I’m supposed to be an elf.”

“Whoa. Doncha think you’re a little big to pull off the elf gig?”

“I think if you don’t watch your smart mouth I’ll put my big elf boot straight up your smart ass.”

“Stop it. Both of you.”

Nick clammed up, keeping his comment about the differences between bells and balls to himself. Getting thrown out of here on his ear by Santa’s monster helper wouldn’t help Rudy.

“You want me to get rid of him?” the gigantic elf demanded.

She shook her head.

“Who is he? Do you know him?”

“Sort of. Actually I, ah, met him earlier, and I ah…promised him…”

“What?”

Without meeting Nick’s eyes, she blurted, “A lap dance.”

“You?” The bouncer scowled. “Does boss lady know about this?”

“No. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”