Unwrapping Mr. Roth (4 page)

Stop touching him.

She took a step back and threaded her fingers behind her back.

“You’re lying, Gilly. You’re
not
going to show up tomorrow, and you keep forgetting that I’m Santa, and that I know when you’re being dishonest. Get your jammies and a pair of panties so we can go or I’ll show up here at a
very
inopportune time tomorrow to fetch you. ‘He knows when you are sleeping’—isn’t that how the song goes? I also know when you’re
naked
. We have a deal, remember?”

She sighed. “Fine. I’m coming.”

“Not in the way I’d like, and no time soon if you insist on mouthing off.”

It took her a moment to catch the implication of his words, but when she did, she zipped her lips.

Just in case.

Nick put Gillian up at the North Pole compound’s dorm after she flat-out refused to go home with him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t curious. In fact, she was
very
interested in seeing where the supposedly jolliest man on Earth spent his free time, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

The young elves in her assigned suite scattered from the common area upon spying Nick at the door and mumbled excuses about having presents to wrap.

The smell of bullshit was ripe with that bunch.

Nick seemed oblivious to their bluffing. He sat on the raggedy floral-print sofa, crossed his legs, and then swept one arm around the room demonstrably. “So, what do you think?” He was wearing that smirk again, which Gillian knew even after only two days of being in his acquaintance was a harbinger of upcoming aggravation.

She pulled her gaze away from his hypnotic, pupil-less stare and made a quick examination of the cluster of rooms. The common area—which was an open living space with entertainment system, sofas, and an attached kitchen—connected to four bedrooms, each having a set of bunk beds and an en suite bathroom. Only one bed was unmade, and it was a top bunk.

She walked over to Nick and jabbed his shoulder with her index finger. “I’m not sleeping on that. I’m pretty sure that’s a doll bed. That thing will collapse under my weight.”

Nick looked down at the digit pressing against his right shoulder and circled his own fingers around it.

She expected him to politely drop her hand, but instead he wrapped his lips around the base of her finger and sucked it up to the tip as if he were cleaning sweet whipped cream from it.

She let out a plaintive whimper, imagining the tug of her clit between those lips, and obviously—judging by his soft growl—that was his intent.

He dropped her hand.

She didn’t know what to do except stare.

Nick was unperturbed. He picked up a copy of an Icelandic music magazine from the coffee table and started flipping through it.

“That’s usually one of my tricks,” she accused in a voice just above a whisper. “The finger thing.”

“Mm-hmm,” he acknowledged without looking up.

“What else do you know about me? Are you some kind of telepath?”

Nick shrugged. “Not quite.”

She sat down on the sofa cushion furthest away from him. “You need to start telling me some things, or I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“Because you’re a brat and that’s what brats do. They want their dominants’ attention and they very often seek it in some very annoying ways.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Come now, pet. Me not being human doesn’t mean I’m ignorant about kink. We have that here, too.”

Cheeks burning, she noticed a few girls lingering near their bedroom doors.

Nick must have observed them, too, because he looked in the direction of one room, which was just enough of a chastisement for the girls to close the door. Three other doors followed in suit.

“It goes back to the naughty and nice thing,” he said. “I can see what people
want
and what their desires are.”

“What are mine?”

Nick flicked the magazine back onto the table and scooted over one sofa cushion. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer, and pressed his lips against her ear. “Item number one is
me
.”

She ducked under his arm and stood.

“And don’t bother telling me that’s a lie. I don’t have to work this hard for affection. Consider yourself lucky I’m bothering.”

She leaned her elbows onto the low countertop. “Oh, well, if you put it that way, I’m
so
flattered that the fact I can see through your abracadabra makes you have work a little harder.” She blinked, and the next thing she knew, Nick was in front of her with his hands clamped around her arms.

His expression was dark—more Krampus than Saint Nicholas—and that did something to her. Made her wet. Made her want.

Jeez.
Thirsty. As. Hell.

“Gillian, your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

“I hope so,” she whispered. She squirmed beneath his strong grip, which only caused him to pull her in tighter. Her heart pounded so hard that she could hear her pulse in her ears, blocking out all other sound. With a great deal of apprehension, she looked up into his face expecting to see anger, but instead read something else in the hard set of his jaw and the icy blue gaze: a kind of neediness that seemed untouchable. Or at least Nick must have thought it was.

She looked away.

He may have had magical insight to her desires, but she felt reading his emotions was invasive for some reason. They were private things she couldn’t concern herself with. She didn’t want to know anything else about him, because God forbid he be too interesting. As it was, they were already breaking way too many rules of workplace decorum.

When she looked up again, his expression was softer and giving less away. “If you dislike my mouth so much, fire me,” she said.

“You don’t want that.”

“It’s just a job, Nick.”

“Truly?”

She finally shrugged off his arms and backed up a few paces. “I’m in a North Pole dormitory and being hit on by a six-foot-tall elf.”

He scoffed and jammed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “You think this is mere workplace flirting?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. There’s a lot at play you don’t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“I can’t. Not now.” He shook his head and walked out of the kitchen and toward the outer door. “Get some sleep. I’m sure the girls won’t bother you. There should be some spare blankets around somewhere.”

“I’m—”

“Goodnight, Gilly.”

“You can’t just—”

He shut the door, and the elves came out.

With her jaw still flapping wordlessly, Gillian scanned the souls lurking in the doorways. At first, the girls kept their distance. Then one intrepid youngster—the one who slept in the room with the extra bed—crept forward in her stocking-covered feet and landed a couple of yards from where Gillian was leaning against the kitchen counter. The girl was around five feet tall. Gillian was no expert at guessing elf ages, but she pegged the girl for around thirteen. She was nearly Gillian’s height.

“Are you the new house matron?” the girl asked after shoving her hair greenish-blond hair back from her eyes.

The tint made Gillian squint. It was probably one of the best dye jobs she’d ever seen. “I’m sorry. The new
what
?”

“House matron. The woman who feeds us and makes sure we finish our homeschooling lessons and stuff. Camellia used to hire them. We haven’t had a matron since she quit.”

“Huh. So that’s what Nick meant by kids with different needs.” Gillian straightened up and noticed then that the rest of the girls, all of similar age and height to the one who’d obviously drawn the short straw, were filing out of their rooms.

And they
all
had weird hair—pastel hues Gillian usually saw in flowers or in sunsets.

What in the hell?

They clumped around the sofas and stared at Gillian, evidently waiting for an answer.

“Um, no, honey, I’m not. I’m just crashing on the sofa tonight because I’m supposed to go to Alaska tomorrow.”

“Oh,” they said collectively, and performed synchronized slumps.

Gillian tried to add some sunshine to her voice like she did with the preschoolers whenever they were sad about the red paint running out. “Well, you girls seem like you’re mature enough to take care of each other for the most part, right?”

The seven girls just blinked at her.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Gillian turned to the mint-haired waif standing closest to her. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Kori. I’m seventeen. I’m the oldest, and that makes me the ambassador, I guess.”

“Yikes, you look young.”

She shrugged. “Supernatural genetics.”

“Does that explain the hair tint, too?”

Kori nodded. “It’ll fade by the time I’m twenty.”

“Oh. Neat. Well, my name is Gillian. I’m Nick’s new assistant.” She extended her hand for Kori to shake and Kori looked down at it warily.

Gillian raised a brow and looked at the other girls. Their eyes were all wide and they were sitting very, very still. The only things moving in the room were their eyelids as they blinked. Gillian jutted her hand out a little further. “It’s okay. I don’t bite.”

Kori furrowed her brow. “You
want
to touch my hand?”

“Sure. Why not? Wait…” Gillian snatched her hand back, wondering if she’d already committed some major faux pas. “Is there some elf custom about not shaking hands? I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Kori stole a glance at her peers and a few nodded encouragingly at her. She put her hand out slowly, palm up. “That’s why,” she said.

She stared down at Kori’s open hand, and saw nothing but a very long lifeline and pale, creamy skin. “Um…am I missing something?”

“You can’t see it?” Kori asked, gray eyes suddenly wide and bright.

“See what?”

Without warning, Kori leapt forward and hugged her. “She can’t see it!” she shrieked to the girls who all came running over.

“What about me?” one asked.

“Can you see mine?” asked another.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Gillian extricated herself from the huddle and put up her hands. “What exactly am I supposed to be seeing that I’m not?”

“How ugly we are,” a voice in the back of the pack said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Kori backed away from Gillian and explained, “Uncle Nick had it done so they wouldn’t want to take us.”

“So
who
wouldn’t want to take you?”

Kori shrugged. “It’s complicated. You should probably have Uncle Nick explain.”

“Um, okay…
Uncle
Nick isn’t so great at explaining stuff. Also, I never knew Santa had siblings.”

“A few of them, actually, and they’re all crazy.”

“Oh. Sounds like my family. I guess we have something in common.” Gillian rooted her phone out of her purse and said a silent cheer upon discovering she could actually get a cellular signal. “Listen, honey. What’s your uncle’s phone number? I need to ask him something important.”

“Hold on. I’ll get it. It’s really long.”

Kori disappeared into her room and returned a moment later carrying a journal with a furry purple cover and that had a wrinkled Lisa Frank bookmark stuck between the sheets. She flipped to a page near the front and turned the book around for Gillian to see it.

Gillian typed in the impossibly long string of numbers and put her phone to her ear.

“Yes, pet?” Nick answered.

“Tell me what’s going on
now
or you let me go home. I’m pretty sure you’re in breach of contract by holding me here against my will.”

“Perhaps you should try reading the contract. I’ll see you in the morning.” He disconnected.

Gillian growled, and one of the younger elves—at least Gillian
guessed
she was amongst the youngest—tugged at her sleeve.

“I’m hungry,” she said, her sad brown eyes daggers to Gillian’s spirit.

Gillian sighed and pulled her in close for the hug she obviously needed.

For that matter, Gillian needed one, too. Apparently they’d all been dumped there by cruel, heartless, thirst-inducing Santa.

“All right. Let’s see what we can rustle up together.”

I’ll figure out how to kill Santa later.

***

Even wild-eyed with tangled hair and mussed clothes, Gillian looked like a perfect angel. That effect wasn’t alleviated any by the unholy sound coming out of her throat as she advanced at Nick the following afternoon.

“You
asshole
.”

He stood in the doorway fastening the buttons of his peacoat and then pulled his loose hair out of his collar. “I’ve earned numerous titles throughout the years, and that’s certainly not a new one.”

“So you know what you are, then.”

“Of course. If it soothes your disposition any, however, feel free to tell me what I’ve done to deserve the name.”

She jammed her hands on her hips, and the plackets of her bathrobe fell open to reveal a threadbare T-shirt that, like her tank top, did next to nothing to disguise her tempting dark nipples, perked and attentive in the cold room.

Because it was his will—and his prerogative—he dragged his thumb over one and tugged it between his fingers.

On a delay, she pushed his hand away and tightened her robe’s belt. “Quit it. I’m on the clock, and even if I weren’t, you’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to do that.”

“I see. Not your
boyfriend
.” He ground his teeth and held his tongue. He could tell her the truth—that he was just being an elf and his compulsion was to touch her whenever and wherever—but he didn’t think that would assuage her annoyance any. If anything, it’d make her ask even more questions he wasn’t ready to give answers to.

Besides, she’d learn soon enough when she started doing the same thing to him. As true mates, their physical connection was unavoidable.

“Why did you lock me into this place?” she asked.

“I didn’t lock you in. I locked the
girls
in. Just like I do every night.”

“Why?”

“What did they tell you?”

“They told me to ask
you
.”

“Smart girlies. Let’s go, we’re going to be late.”

“Late for what?”

“For
work
, Gillian.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, but she squirmed out of his grip so he couldn’t teleport her out of there.

Kori poked her head out of her room. “Uncle Nick?” She blew her hair out of her eyes. “Can we order pizza?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. They were probably hard up for a hot meal, and with security being so tight around the dorms, there hadn’t been anyone else going in or out of their quarters in two weeks. He’d intended to do a little better for them, but he’d simply had too many pans in the fire. “Who’s going to deliver it, darling? This is the North Pole.”

“Well, we’ll call it in and you can pick them up from that place in Queens?” She offered him an oversized grin and batted her eyelashes behind her thick veil of hair.