butterscotch, and the heaping plates of Turkish Delight? Or am I okay after coming apart with your tongue in my pussy and your fingers fucking my ass?
Phoebe blushed as memory and heat swamped her, remembering what she let him do, thinking about how much more she wanted to do to him in return. Nick saw the telltale flush and she burned hotter as his eyes dipped briefly to watch the pink glow where it slid under her bodice.
“I’m fine,” she managed, “Come on, we’ll say hi to a few people and be out of here in an hour. Think you can survive that long?”
His lips quirked.
“I’ll manage.”
The two couples at the edge of the dance floor looked up as Nick and Phoebe approached, their expressions a mixture of wariness and unbridled curiosity. The wariness was mostly directed at Nick. Phoebe saw him try to relax the rigid set of his shoulders, to force a pleasant smile to his lips. The result was…uncomfortable. It reminded Phoebe of the time she’d had to give a presentation on uniform cotton candy density during a training session in the Spun Sugar department, surrounded by clouds of insanity-inducing pink fluff. Just holding herself together had left her exhausted.
It was pretty clear that Nick was not going to step forward and make friends, which meant—
“Hi, I’m Phoebe. This is Nick,” she said brightly, holding out a hand to the woman nearest her, an elegant brunette in a slinky black dress that matched her eyes.
The woman looked nonplussed for a moment, and then took her hand to shake.
“I know who you are. I’m Tasha Cordero, my husband Luis. We own Cordero Chocolates. And you’re the competition.”
She gave Phoebe a swift once-over, and Nick a much slower perusal that had Phoebe’s fingers clenching surreptitiously in the folds of her skirt as irrational annoyance swept through her.
“Hardly competition,” laughed the other gentleman, a redhead with round cheeks and a pleasant smile, “How do you compete with Santa Claus? I’m George Burke. My wife Mamie. We run a small bakery uptown. Wedding cakes and such.”
“There’s plenty of room for all of us. People love sweets. Isn’t that right, Nick?”
“Sure,” he drawled, “In fact, some people just can’t get enough.”
Phoebe fought the blush that threatened to incinerate her on the spot, not daring to look at him, hoping the others wouldn’t notice. Luckily, their eyes were trained on Nick, who’d only smiled at her discomfort and now held them captive.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been dying to ask you a question,” said George, as his mousy wife rolled her eyes.
“Now, George—“
“Oh, come on, you know you want to know,” the baker admonished his wife.
He leaned in, eyes shining.
“What’s he like?”
Nick looked confused.
“Who?”
The four pairs of human eyes looked at him like he’d grown another head.
“Santa,” said Tasha, raising a perfectly plucked brow.
Uh-oh.
Phoebe’s heart went out to Nick as he valiantly tried to make his mouth work.
“He’s— well, some people find him—I mean, we’re not exactly close--”
He gave up, jaw tensed to the point where Phoebe wondered if it would crack.
“He’s wonderful,” she said hurriedly, “Exactly as you’d imagined. Jolly and kind and wise. And maybe a little grumpy when he’s checking his list, but that’s normal.”
“Fascinating,” said Tasha.
“Awesome,” murmured George.
Nick slid Phoebe an indecipherable look and said nothing.
“Ask me anything,” said Phoebe, keeping her smile bright.
A hesitation, and the floodgates opened.
“What size shoes does he wear?”
“Do the reindeer talk?”
“What’s his favorite color?”
“How does he keep the sleigh up in the air?”
Phoebe held up her hands, laughing.
“One at a time. What was that last one?”
“Is it true that Santa can see everything?” asked Luis.
“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake…” said Tasha
Phoebe blushed as memory and heat swamped her, remembering what she let him do, thinking about how much more she wanted to do to him in return. Nick saw the telltale flush and she burned hotter as his eyes dipped briefly to watch the pink glow where it slid under her bodice.
“I’m fine,” she managed, “Come on, we’ll say hi to a few people and be out of here in an hour. Think you can survive that long?”
His lips quirked.
“I’ll manage.”
The two couples at the edge of the dance floor looked up as Nick and Phoebe approached, their expressions a mixture of wariness and unbridled curiosity. The wariness was mostly directed at Nick. Phoebe saw him try to relax the rigid set of his shoulders, to force a pleasant smile to his lips. The result was…uncomfortable. It reminded Phoebe of the time she’d had to give a presentation on uniform cotton candy density during a training session in the Spun Sugar department, surrounded by clouds of insanity-inducing pink fluff. Just holding herself together had left her exhausted.
It was pretty clear that Nick was not going to step forward and make friends, which meant—
“Hi, I’m Phoebe. This is Nick,” she said brightly, holding out a hand to the woman nearest her, an elegant brunette in a slinky black dress that matched her eyes.
The woman looked nonplussed for a moment, and then took her hand to shake.
“I know who you are. I’m Tasha Cordero, my husband Luis. We own Cordero Chocolates. And you’re the competition.”
She gave Phoebe a swift once-over, and Nick a much slower perusal that had Phoebe’s fingers clenching surreptitiously in the folds of her skirt as irrational annoyance swept through her.
“Hardly competition,” laughed the other gentleman, a redhead with round cheeks and a pleasant smile, “How do you compete with Santa Claus? I’m George Burke. My wife Mamie. We run a small bakery uptown. Wedding cakes and such.”
“There’s plenty of room for all of us. People love sweets. Isn’t that right, Nick?”
“Sure,” he drawled, “In fact, some people just can’t get enough.”
Phoebe fought the blush that threatened to incinerate her on the spot, not daring to look at him, hoping the others wouldn’t notice. Luckily, their eyes were trained on Nick, who’d only smiled at her discomfort and now held them captive.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been dying to ask you a question,” said George, as his mousy wife rolled her eyes.
“Now, George—“
“Oh, come on, you know you want to know,” the baker admonished his wife.
He leaned in, eyes shining.
“What’s he like?”
Nick looked confused.
“Who?”
The four pairs of human eyes looked at him like he’d grown another head.
“Santa,” said Tasha, raising a perfectly plucked brow.
Uh-oh.
Phoebe’s heart went out to Nick as he valiantly tried to make his mouth work.
“He’s— well, some people find him—I mean, we’re not exactly close--”
He gave up, jaw tensed to the point where Phoebe wondered if it would crack.
“He’s wonderful,” she said hurriedly, “Exactly as you’d imagined. Jolly and kind and wise. And maybe a little grumpy when he’s checking his list, but that’s normal.”
“Fascinating,” said Tasha.
“Awesome,” murmured George.
Nick slid Phoebe an indecipherable look and said nothing.
“Ask me anything,” said Phoebe, keeping her smile bright.
A hesitation, and the floodgates opened.
“What size shoes does he wear?”
“Do the reindeer talk?”
“What’s his favorite color?”
“How does he keep the sleigh up in the air?”
Phoebe held up her hands, laughing.
“One at a time. What was that last one?”
“Is it true that Santa can see everything?” asked Luis.
“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake…” said Tasha
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