Naughty Santa

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Joe knew the look Paris was giving him. It was the look that had dropped men to one knee, made them stupid, toppled kingdoms, and launched wars.

It was the look of a woman who wanted something from you.

And more than that, she knew she was going to get it.

Paris wore a sly, flirtatious smile that made him both wary and hard as a rock.

“We’ve definitely met.” Paris’s eyes dropped down to his crotch.

Damn.

The woman was bold, and he was shocked by his reaction to that. He was the guy who went for the sweet girl next door. This woman, with her animal print coat and purse dog, was not his type.

At.

All.

So there was no point in getting involved with a woman like that…no matter how tempting.

Joe turned to his nephew. “Did you get an after-school snack? Grandma should be back soon, and we’ll head home.”

The kid was reason number one why Joe would never leave North Pole. His sister had fallen into addiction when Jaden was a toddler, and he’d been helping his mom raise the sweet boy ever since Jenny disappeared. Jaden was a great kid, and Joe was going to be there for him, no matter what, and not from a distance. Young boys needed a man in their life.

Because if Joe wasn’t around, Jaden would spend all his afternoons with the reindeer statues at the Feed and Seed and his evenings watching Rachel Ray chop onions on TV with his mother. Not ideal for an eight-year-old boy.

Joe had his own apartment, right next door to Mom’s house, so he was around to cut the grass, take out the garbage, and toss a ball to Jaden. It wasn’t for everyone, but Joe wouldn’t have it any other way.

Family first.

Jaden nodded. “I ate.” Then he asked Paris, “Can I take Louis outside on his leash?”

“Um.” She swallowed visibly, the idea clearly making her nervous. “I don’t think he likes the cold.”

“How about we walk you home?” Joe asked her, with a friendly smile. “We’re about to close up the store anyway.” Joe had seen her suitcases in the back, so she had to be eager to get to Lydia’s house and get settled finally. “Jaden can walk the dog, and I’ll walk you.”

“Very funny. Don’t quit your day job,” Paris joked back before leveling him with a curious look. “Oh, hey. What is your day job? Do you work here too?”

“No. I own a construction business. I do renovations and general contract work.”

“So you’re good with your hands?” she asked cheekily.

Joe couldn’t help himself. This woman was bringing out a side of him—a naughty side—he very rarely revealed. “Very good,” he said in a low, gravelly voice that proved he wasn’t talking about construction work at all.

Way to stay determined, Joe. You big fucking idiot.

He mentally reprimanded himself, telling himself to STOP looking at the pretty woman.

Especially when Paris replied with a sexy-as-sin grin and a wink.

“Uncle Joe built me a treehouse.” Jaden was down on his knees now, carefully petting the small dog.

“How nice of Uncle Joe.” Paris smiled down at Jaden. “Do you want to walk Louis to Lydia’s house with me?”

Jaden hopped up excitedly. “Yes!”

“Will you drive my suitcases down to the house?” she asked Joe. “I don’t think I can walk in snow and roll my bags at the same time. I have a lot of skills but maneuvering in a blizzard isn’t one of them.”

If Paris thought a couple of inches was a blizzard, she was in for a rude awakening.

“Tell you what. I’ll walk you down, then I will bring your bags over.” Joe glanced down at her fuck-me boots. “I anticipate you needing a hand just staying on your feet.”

“I do my best work off my feet,” she teased.

For a second, Joe thought she was still flirting and was amused, but then her eyes widened as she realized how that sounded. She glanced at Jaden like she was mortified to have inadvertently sounded sexual in front of a kid. It made Joe like her even more. She may be upscale compared to North Pole standards, but she was being super cool with his nephew.

“Sleeping, I mean! I love to sleep. And I clearly need more right now. I took the red-eye and it was brutal. Loud people on phones, screaming babies, turbulence.” She wrinkled her nose and covered her cheeks. “And now I’m babbling.”

Joe felt bad for her. He didn’t travel very often, and when he did, he hated it. Delays, cramped seats on planes, not being in control. He liked to be in control. “You’re not babbling. The red-eye sounds horrible. Have you eaten anything today?”

Food ruled Joe’s life. But then again, he was a guy. He needed protein every two hours, or he wanted to chew nails.

She shook her head. “Just organic chickpea puffs.”

“I don’t even know what the hell that is, but it sounds about as filling as swallowing sawdust.” Joe went behind the desk and opened the drawer. “Lydia’s house key.” He held it up to show her. “Let’s get you home and feed you. We can order takeout, or I bet I can rustle up some spaghetti out of Lydia’s cupboard.”

“Thanks,” she said, looking a little confused but a lot appreciative. “That’s really sweet of you. But…”

“But what?” Joe asked.

She shook her head a little. “But you don’t even know me.”

That surprised him. “So? You’re Lydia’s niece. You’re new in town. It’s called being neighborly.”

“I think Louis needs to poop.” Jaden pointed to the little dog anxiously pacing back and forth on the concrete floor.

“Jaden…” Joe felt like he should reprimand his nephew, but the truth was, the dog did look like he was desperate to appease the call of nature.

Paris looked grateful for the interruption. “Oh, I bet you’re right! It’s been all day. He doesn’t know what to do in the snow.”

“Let’s go,” Joe said, skipping his coat. He’d come back for it when he got the bags. He could use a little fresh air because he was doing it, doing the same fucking thing he always did—looking at a pair of pretty eyes and getting sucked in.

He was annoyed with himself. She was flirting with him a little, sure, but she probably flirted without even knowing she was doing it. Joe needed to not be a dumbass.

Jaden took Louis’s leash and led the dog out the front door. At first, the little fluffball seemed startled and sniffed cautiously, bouncing on his paws. Then he stuck his nose into some new-fallen snow and tossed it up into the air. It was at that moment he became a real dog, not some California pampered purse pooch. He started to jump around, flinging snow, and Jaden encouraged him by jogging alongside him.

The dog didn’t even look back as they took off down the sidewalk.

“At least he likes the snow,” Joe said as he closed the front door to the store.

“Just leave Mommy in the dust, Louis, it’s fine,” she called after her dog, sounding amused. “And after all I’ve done for you.” Paris took a few tentative steps and glanced at Joe. “Aren’t you going to lock the door?”

“Nah. I’m coming right back.”

Or would be eventually. Paris walked with a speed that would make a snail look like a sprinter. She was staring at her feet, arms splayed out for balance, and making noises with each step she took.

“Oh!” Step. “Oh my God.” Another tiny step. “Ack!” A step that turned into a slight slide. “Shit!” Her head popped up to look for Jaden. “I mean shoot. He didn’t hear me, did he?”

“I don’t think so.” Joe was having a hard time walking as slow as Paris. He had long legs, and it was challenging not to charge ten feet ahead. “He’s going to be in the next county by the time you catch up with him at the pace you’re going.”

She shot him a look of irritation and took another wobbly step. “You try walking in heels.”

“Uh, no, thanks. Not my style.”

“What is your style?” Paris swiped at her hair, which had blown into her face. “Ugh. It’s so cold. I can’t see. My eyelashes are covered in snow.”

Joe’s style? Taking charge. That was him. Not a whole lot of talking but a whole lot of doing. Which was why he couldn’t walk this slow anymore. It was physically impossible.

“Paris.”

“What?” She grabbed on to his arm when she slipped again.

“Come here.” Joe wrapped his arm around her ass and hauled her up, tossing her over his shoulder while she screamed.

“What are you doing? Put me down!”

“Showing you my style and getting you home before midnight.”

“Oh.” Her squirming instantly stopped. “I see.” Her voice changed, grew husky, curious. Ah hell, that wasn’t good.

Paris weighed almost nothing, so carrying her down the sidewalk took no effort whatsoever. But with each step, Joe became more and more aware of how her breasts were pressed against him, her hair dangling over his shoulder, and her pert little ass inches above his forearm.

She was really fucking hot, and he was regretting his inability to be the guy who just took a woman he didn’t know home to bang her brains out. Even if he was that guy, Joe had Jaden with him, so there was no point in getting turned on when he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Paris wiggled a little, and the only thing that saved him from spontaneously combusting was the biting wind and fat snowflakes hitting him in the face.

They were nearly to Lydia’s house when he spotted his mom, pulled up to the curb, talking to Jaden.

She rolled her eyes as Joe walked up to the truck with Paris slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Put Paris down, Joe.”

Paris twisted, attempting to see his mom, but he didn’t let her down.

“Hi, Sandy,” she said, waving awkwardly. “Heels and ice don’t mix.”

“I’m aware. You all close the shop?” Sandy asked.

Joe nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to run back there after I get Paris settled in to grab her bags and lock everything up.”

“Great. My mouth is killing me. Jaden, hand Joe that leash and come on home with me. I need to pop a few Advil and lay down.”

Jaden reluctantly gave him the leash, which Joe immediately handed to Paris. Then his nephew bent down to pet the dog one more time before climbing in the cab of the truck. “See you at home, Uncle Joe.”

He nodded his goodbye and watched the two of them drive away.

Paris wiggled again and started to slide off his shoulder. Joe hoisted her more securely, his hand on her ass. Once he had a good grip on her, he patted her ass playfully and started up the sidewalk to her front door as she laughed.

“Spank it a little harder next time,” she teased.

Resistance was going to be fucking futile if she kept flirting with him like that.

And then, because she issued the invitation, Joe swatted her ass again. Harder.

She moaned a little, and that was when Joe knew he was a goner.

He set her down at the front door and unlocked it, gesturing for her to walk in first.

Paris’s gaze traveled around the front room of Lydia’s house, and it didn’t take a genius to see the city girl wasn’t impressed. It wasn’t that Lydia had a bad house. But it was definitely better suited to an older woman, with the antique furniture that had “been in the family since the beginning of time,” according to Lydia. Every flat surface was covered with lace doilies, and chintz curtains hung in the windows. There was plastic covering the green-and-gold velvet settee in the parlor and an oriental rug covering the hardwood floor.

“Wow,” Paris half whispered, half mouthed.

“Lydia didn’t spend much time in this room,” Joe quickly explained. “There’s a family room at the back of the house where she usually kicked back at night to knit and read.” Of course, the decor in that room wasn’t much better than this room he realized, as he recalled the mountain scene wallpaper that adorned one whole wall, the rest covered in wood paneling that screamed 1970, and the green shag carpeting. Maybe he better let her discover that room on her own.

Her stomach growled, reminding him that she hadn’t eaten all day. “How about we head to the kitch?—”

That was all he managed to say before Louis started barking and jumping like he’d been bitten by a snake. Then Joe heard a hiss and a ferocious growl.

“Shit,” he said. “I forgot about Roscoe.”

Paris glanced his direction for a hot second before Louis reclaimed her attention, the small dog literally trying to climb up her leg in his efforts to escape Lydia’s big old tomcat, Roscoe.

“A cat?” she asked, picking Louis up just before the cat sprung. Roscoe circled the three of them, like a tiger stalking its prey.

“Go on, Roscoe,” Joe said, snapping his fingers at the grumpy beast. He’d been feeding the cat since Lydia’s passing, but apparently providing sustenance wasn’t enough to endear the asshole to him.

Roscoe gave him the evil eye, then slunk upstairs, probably to his usual hiding spot under Lydia’s bed. He’d have to warn Paris the cat was a master of sneak attacks when anyone walked too close to him.

“She has a cat.” She sighed, sounding more tired by the minute. “What the hell am I going to do with a cat?”

“Sorry I forgot to mention that. Come on. Let’s get you something to eat, and then I’ll run back to the store for your bags.”

She followed Joe to the kitchen, dropping heavily onto one of the wooden chairs while he rummaged through the cabinets. Sure enough, he found a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. He was no Bobby Flay, but he could whip up pasta easy enough.

“I’ve never seen so many tins in my life,” Paris said, gesturing to Lydia’s collection of vintage tins. They lined the top of the cupboards, stacked three high. “Lydia was clearly into antiques.”

Joe nodded as he filled a pot with water. “What are you into, Paris? Besides fluffy little dogs and impractical shoes?” He lifted the lid on the glass jar filled with cat treats and bent down to offer one to Louis.

The bichon wasn’t above taking whatever he could get, so he eagerly ate it out of his hand.

“I own a pet boutique. I like music festivals, wine, and traveling. Though I don’t get to travel very often right now while I’m establishing my business.”

Yep. Nothing in common. “It’s very impressive that you opened your own store at your age.” Joe slid the pasta into the water and unscrewed the lid of the sauce.

“Is that a meat sauce?” she asked. “I’m a vegetarian.”

Of course she was. They probably required that before they let you into California. He glanced at the jar. “It’s just tomato and basil.”

“Okay, good. Not to be needy or anything. But I can’t do beef. I don’t think I could even put meat in my mouth, let alone swallow.”

He waited, amused, eyeing her.

She got it a heartbeat later. She shook her head and gave him a grin. “Shit. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“So you do swallow?”

Her look was sly, flirtatious. “In certain circumstances.”

Joe groaned quietly. “Tell me, Paris. You got a boyfriend in Los Angeles?”

What the fuck was that, you lunatic?

Unfortunately, his idiot side won the argument, quickly convincing him that it was a fine question.

This was called making conversation. Getting to know someone.

Paris smiled. “Nope. No boyfriend. Not for the last eighteen months. What about you? You look like the kind of guy who always has a girlfriend.”

It was true. Joe was that guy, or he used to be anyway. “I’m single. I’ve run out of options in North Pole. If you don’t lock and load a woman by your early twenties, you get left flying solo.”

“So why didn’t you lock and load some lucky girl? You’re not ugly,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows appreciatively.

That made Joe laugh. “Thanks. Let’s just say I chose poorly. I went on that silly love emotion when I should have been practical about who I asked out.”

Paris shook her head. “Relationships shouldn’t be practical at all. I tried to be practical, dating a man who looked good on paper, and trust me, it was all wrong.”

“What happened?”

“He proposed to me, and I threw up into my duck confit. The idea of marrying him made me physically ill.”

Holy shit.

“Are you serious?” Joe asked.

“You don’t joke about puking in public. So yes, I’m serious.” Paris stood up and opened the fridge. “Does Lydia have any wine?”

Joe dumped the sauce into a pan. “I take it your boyfriend didn’t appreciate your response.”

“Nope. He ended it, and I don’t blame him. My biggest feeling was relief. I’ll never do that again—date someone just because they’re a good guy and everything is smooth and easy.”

“What is it you want?” Joe asked, sorry he had.

She stood up and spun, triumphantly holding up a bottle. “I found wine! I mean, it’s a screw-top, but beggars can’t be choosers.” She opened it, then started rummaging for glasses. As she looked, she answered his question. “Passion. That’s what I want. I want passion and love and big, dramatic romance.”

Jesus.

What Paris described was right in Joe’s wheelhouse.

Then he had to remind himself again that Paris wasn’t the type to rusticate in Indiana. So he forced himself to tear off the Band-Aid. “You’re not keeping the store, are you?” he asked without preamble.

Her face fell. Then she shook her head. “No. I can’t. I have a business in L.A. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my life.”

Joe nodded. “I get that.” He did. And it meant she was off-limits. For anything serious anyway. “Does my mom know?”

“No. I promise I’ll tell her soon. I just feel bad. She’s being very nice to me. So are you.”

Joe picked a piece of pasta out of the boiling water to test it. “I won’t say anything to Mom. And I’ll continue to be nice, but you should know, what I really want to do with you is be naughty.”

Paris gave up her hunt for glasses, lifted the bottle of wine straight to her mouth, and took a swig.

She eyed him as she swallowed and lowered the bottle, then hit him with one doozy of a question.

“Can you give me a good reason why we shouldn’t do that?”