On an Edge of Glass

For Stephanie, who read it first
,

and
for the music that inspired.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

EPILOGUE

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Santa’s Helper

There’s nothing like a missed opportunity to ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee.

It’
s Monday and I’m sitting in a high-back chair, trying unsuccessfully to wrap up an essay that’s due for one of my classes.  I have about, oh, twenty minutes until the deadline, so I’m frantically typing on my laptop, rechecking facts from the textbook balanced on my knee. 

A line of i
mpatient caffeine addicts snakes out the door just behind me, letting in an unsettling gust of cool air.  It ruffles my hair and the pages spread out on the low table in front of me.  I’m attempting to ignore the obnoxious little boy bent over the armrest of my chair, but it’s a tad tricky to concentrate on the conclusion to an academic paper when a kid is holding a plastic gun in your direction. 

I glance
up from my frenzied typing to give him the stink-eye.  I figure there is no way that this blue-eyed, blonde-haired monkey can possibly stand up to my glare when I want to turn it on.  My looks are epic.  Known around five counties and purported to have the power to bring about a doomsday type scenario.   

But this time it doesn’t work.  The kid actually sti
cks his tongue out at me. 

Such nerve!

I switch tactics.  Using the most sugary voice I can muster, I lean to my left and turn on a candy-coated smile.  “Sweetie, would you mind not doing that?  I have got to get this paper emailed to my professor ASAP.  Okay?”

I
magine my surprise when he grins gleefully, exposing bare pink gums from where he’s missing teeth.  “Yes, I mind!  You’re dead lady,” he declares loudly with his small chest puffed out in front of him.  In addition to the gun, he’s now holding up some sort of silver flashing device that screams cheapo Happy Meal toy.

My lower jaw
drops.  I look up to the kid’s mother for help, but she’s engrossed in the business of relaying the amazingly interesting details of her latest hair appointment to whoever is on the other end of her phone call.   

At this p
oint, it should be noted that I’m not so hot with children.  I’m the only child of two only children, and my intellectually superior parents’ idea of a play date was to take me with them to an art gallery opening where we could mingle with the other popular up and coming attorneys and discuss at length, the benefits of the macro diet.  My mother read me
How to Win Friends and Influence People
as a bedtime story when I was three.  Seriously. 

I
force my eyes down to the keys of my laptop, refusing to give the little pest the satisfaction of any more of my attention.  The lady at the front of the line with the ridiculously complicated order will get her drink soon.  Subsequently, everyone will move forward a few steps and this kid will be gone from my life forever. I’ll be able to finish my paper in peace and in time. 

And
, let’s face it, I’ll probably get an A on it, and Dr. Barden is going to recommend me for that summer internship.  Along with the knockout LSAT scores I’m going to get, I’ll be shoo-in for acceptance to Columbia Law.  Everything is going to fall into place according to the master plan.

But
then the plastic gun is actually in my hair.  As in:
scraping against my scalp
.  God, I’m going to rip that thing out of his sticky little fingers and throw it right into the trash can!  I twist in my chair, intending to threaten just that, when a low voice infused with the slightest hint of a southern drawl sifts into the space between us. 

“Look kid, I happen to be an undercover agent for the North Pole
, and if you don’t stop harassing this young woman then I will have no choice but to turn your name and information in to Santa himself.  You can forget about getting the things you want for Christmas this year.”

The kid
’s eyes widen and we both look up—a long way up—at the speaker.  Tall, dark, and handsome would all be pretty accurate descriptions of my savior.  He meets my eyes head-on and flashes a quick smile that makes my heart dip unexpectedly.  When he turns his attention back to the boy, I let my eyes wander over the side of his face, taking in the scruffy jawline and narrow nose.  A warm heat spreads under the skin of my cheeks and my stomach begins to twist itself into a knot. 

“But if you keep your hands
to yourself from now on, we’ll pretend like this never happened and Santa and Mrs. Claus will never be the wiser.”  He cocks his head to one side and winks at the kid.  “Do we have a deal?”

The little mo
nster looks properly shamed.  Under his breath, he mumbles something unintelligible that may or may not be an apology.  Then he hops to the other side of his mom’s thigh and grabs onto her free hand in the most angelic fashion that a demon spawn can muster. 

I swivel, my hands still clamped
to the armrest of the chair.  “I cannot believe he fell for that,” I half-laugh.  “Thank you.”

Tall,
dark and handsome leans closer to me.  I get a whiff of soap and something light and woodsy on him.  It’s decidedly delicious and I involuntarily inhale deeply. 

“
No problem.  I have four little brothers and I’m sort of an expert when it comes to dealing with brats.”

My eyebrows sho
ot up.  “
Four
younger brothers?  Your poor mother!”

He smiles
at me then, one dimple emerging on his cheek.  His eyes are crinkled at the corners.  Whoa.  My pulse spikes noticeably. 

This guy is ridiculous.
  And dangerous.

He’s
got a face that you might pass over at first glance.  But once you really look—really
see
the dark eyebrows falling over the straight-edged angles that make up his features, you can’t look away. 

I would say that h
e’s got the type of arousing attraction that has girls dropping their panties with one crooked grin and a few cliché words.  I’ve seen it happen to too many of my friends.  The fall is hard and fast and not easy to pick yourself up from.

“
Are you going to sit there and say that you wouldn’t like to deal with five of me?”  He points at his chest with a mocking smile that kills me.

I sputter out a cough. 

Admittedly, the first answer that comes to mind is not accompanied by a PG rating.  All the pores in my body seem to be opening up.  I fumble over my tongue to say something witty, and cute, and
not
laced with a sexual innuendo.  But, before I manage to botch my response, the line shifts forward and Sir Hotness steps away. 

I take a
long, jagged breath into my lungs and release it slowly.  Honestly, it’s probably a good thing that the conversation ended when it did.  Lord knows that I do not need that kind of complication in my life right now. 

De
spite my best intentions toward indifference, I spend the next six minutes simultaneously finishing the closing paragraph of my essay and darting looks at my sexy savior.

Sl
im, dark brown pants cover his long legs.  Up top, he’s wearing a thin navy blue tee that fits him snugly in all the right places and exposes his sinewy forearms.  A black corded leather band circles his left wrist, and I think that I catch the glimmer of a silver ring on his thumb.  His long brown hair is tucked behind his ears so that I can clearly see the strong line of his unshaven jaw.  Absently, he touches the soft skin just below his ear and I suck in an uneven breath. 

I remember that his eyes are
somewhere in between brown and gold.  I also remember the tingle that coursed through my entire body when he looked at me.  I think my skin actually started to hum. 

That i
sn’t normal, right? 

Maybe for Payton, one of my roommates, w
ho falls in lust with someone new nearly every other month, and drops him once she gets involved enough to learn his middle name.  But,
I
am not the type of girl to get goose bumps over some random guy—especially not a stranger with long hair who looks like he could use a good shave.

I shake
my head to clear it and turn back to my work.  After a final read-through, I click the send button to turn in the paper.  Checking the time, I note that I have about two and a half minutes to spare until the deadline.  Cake.  I lift my hands in a sort of silent cheer and stretch out my neck muscles.  As I turn my head, I look up and directly into brown eyes staring back at me from the cream and sugar counter.  A shot of something electric and warm buzzes through my entire body.  He smiles and I feel an answering grin spread across my face.