“Kids, please. Santa is not a Christmas tree,” I say as a little girl strings lights around his horns.
“What an odd choice for Santa,” one mother adds as five kids climb all over the huge zyanthan warrior in the too-small Santa suit. “Though he’s a fabulous jungle gym.”
“Yeah, I don’t think he understood what he was volunteering for.” I’m still holding the Santa hat I never had a chance to give him after I cut out two holes for his horns.
“Thank you for the toys,” a father says as he collects three items with his children’s names on them.
Part of me wants to rescue Nikkov, and yet watching him with those kids, talking to them, lifting them high and letting them touch anddecoratehis horns and skin with tinsel, gives me a warmth inside, different from when we kissed on the Incline. God, I don’t know what came over me. Getting involved with him, now, of all times, is risky as fuck.
“Anything for me?” a rough voice says behind me.
I glance at the bald guy, he’s huge, scowling, and makes the little hairs at the back of my neck to rise. I pick up the clipboard. “What’s your kid’s name?”
“Tiny Tim.”
Adrenaline shoots through me as my spine straightens and my hand itches to reach for something to defend myself. Calmly, I look up and smile as I reach into my coat pocket. “This is for little Timmy. Merry Christmas.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” he says in a flat voice as he snatches the box, turns, and hurries out of the food distribution center.
“Some parents don’t like accepting charity, especially for Christmas,” Mrs. Anderson says before hugging me once more. “But we appreciate what you’re doing here. Thank you. Kids, time to head home. Don’t forget to thank Santa for your presents.”
Two little girls no more than four and six, and an older boy throw themselves against Nikkov’s enormous legs and hug him. A huge open palm cups the back of the kids’ heads in turn. “Merry Christmas, younglings. Listen to your eema and zayda.”
“You’re a natural with kids,” I say as the rest of the parents collect their children.
“Younglings are innocents, no matter the species. It’s the adults that often can’t be trusted.”
I wonder if he’s talking about me or if that’s just guilt setting in.
As I unwrap the Christmas lights from his horns, he pulls me between his legs. “I scare you.”
“Hardly. It’s just…” I sigh and don’t finish the thought. He smells like a mug of hot chocolate and a fireplace—sweet, warm, and tempting enough to make me lean closer, to soak in his heat. I can’t indulge, not until after Christmas. By then the gifts will be gone… and so will he.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NOELLE
An hour before dawn, I slip into the warehouse to finish wrapping the last of mypersonalgifts. During the past three days, we’ve distributed over three hundred toys all over the city despite a truck that keeps breaking down and weather that refuses to cooperate. Through it all, Nikkov has been the one person to show up day after day, playing Santa, even learning to smile for the kids. He’s been the only one I’ve been able to rely on.
Fuck me, I keep forgetting he’s here on a mission, not because he wants to be here.
Why do I keep forgetting that? Part of me wants to believe he is using magical powers to keep me passive, something I am not. I fought to get where I am, ahead of all the males who think they’re stronger, smarter, more skilled than I. But I don’t believe in magic.
Which means what? That I cave to Nikkov because of his unrelenting, subtle charm?
You need to get laid, Noelle. That’ll take care of this intense burn for the guy.
I kick a chair out of my way, something I’d never do in front of the volunteers here because I’d have to explain my frustration and that’s not something I care to do. Piling so many lies sky high will only cause them to crash down on me at some point. But there’s no one here today. I told everyone to sleep in, arrive after lunch since we have two evening deliveries.
I reach for another component in my purse and start wrapping it in my special candy-cane paper, trying to forget about my sexy alien warrior and focus on work.
Three more wrapped ‘gifts’ later, a tall figure stands over the wrapping table. I never heard him enter the warehouse.
Immediately, my body hums to life and my senses kick into gear. I quickly tape the last flap of wrapping paper over the charge conduit before he sees what I’m hiding and arrests me.
With a big smile that I hope will distract my big blue Santa, I look up to greet him, all while praying he didn’t see what I was wrapping.
Except it’s not Nikkov leaning over me. It’s a huge bald man—my contact from the toy giveaway on Mount Washington.
