4. Cole

4

COLE

Time stands still as I stare at the frozen bundle on my doorstep. I thought I was hearing things—debris or ice or clumps of snow hitting the walls from the storm. But something called me to open this door. Something called me to her for the second time today. And this time I’m not going to knock myself out.

“S-S-Santa?” she stammers through chittering teeth as time speeds back up.

She takes a step forward, falters, and every protective instinct inside me surges as I take her in my arms and pull her inside, kicking the door shut behind us.

“What are you doing out there?” My voice comes out harsh. It’s gruff and mean. I can’t help it. The thought of losing her in a storm like this is shredding me. How did she find herself this far up the mountain? It takes me half an hour to climb it in my truck on a good day.

“I-I-I,” she chatters before I cut her off.

“No need to speak. Let me get you warmed up.”

Frozen snow sluices off her clothes as I carry her to the fire, grabbing a chair from the kitchen on my way. Its wooden legs scrape against the ground as I set it down and then my girl shortly after.

I kneel, pulling off her hood and hat. Jesus, she’s gorgeous. Her red hair, damp and matted clings to her skin.

“I-Is th-this real?”

She’s delirious. Frozen. She needs to see a doctor but there’s no chance of that in this weather. I’ll toss her in a sled and drag her to Griff in the morning if she’s not better. I pull off her soaked gloves, take her hands in mine, and blow.

“This is real,” I rasp. “Do you feel this?”

I keep blowing, holding her icicle fingers in my palms as I try to bring them back to life.

“A little.”

Her voice is so brittle. So soft and fragile. And I’m doing my best to keep my cool. Not even the most seasoned mountain man would face a storm like this.

I inspect her hands in the light. No frostbite. I cover them again and keep blowing until I feel warmth returning to them.

“Better?”

I glance up and my heart skips a dozen beats. Her eyes are gorgeous. Green and glittering as life finally returns to them. It feels like she’s staring into my soul, piercing my being. I’ve never felt anything like it, and all I want is more.

“Yes. I can feel them again.”

“And your teeth aren’t chattering.”

She smiles and then works her lips and cheeks. “I can feel my face.”

“Progress.”

But there’s still more to go. There’s… a muffled sound. Music? I hadn’t noticed it until now.

“What’s that noise?” I ask as I begin to unlace her boots. The snow that had been caked on them is no longer frozen but the laces are. They’re a bit difficult to manage but after a few seconds, I’m able to unknot one of them.

“My sweater,” she says.

I glance up at her. At her lips as she chews the bottom briefly. What I wouldn’t give to take it into my mouth. Taste her. Warm her the old— shit.

My girl was a few minutes away from becoming a popsicle, and all I’m thinking about is devouring her—stripping her bare and having her for dessert. I need to calm down and take care of her needs. I slide her boot off her foot. Thankfully, it’s dry.

“Your sweater?”

I watch as she reaches for her zipper but after a few moments, she stops.

“I can’t do it.” She shakes her head. “My fingers don’t want to work.”

I envelop her hand with mine. “I’ve got a few I can spare you,” I rasp, blowing warm air against her fingers, my eyes never leaving hers. I swear I see a smile. A flicker of something in her eyes.

I let her hand go and pull the zipper down as the music gets louder.

“I can’t seem to turn it off,” she says as I stare at the spectacle in front of me.

Who needs lamps, overhead lighting, or the fire behind me when this sweater has more lights than stars in the night sky? Add it to the list of objects that can be seen with the naked eye from space.

“Have you tried burying it in the snow?”

I stare at it again. And then up at her. Have I fallen for a Christmas fanatic? Looks like it, but the truth is I don’t care. I’d make gingerbread houses, bake sugar cookies, trim trees, sing Christmas carols, or watch marathons of Love Actually if it means she’s my girl.

She snorts. “That’s what made it angry. On the bright side, it kept me warm.”

I swallow. Maybe she’s not a Christmas fanatic. Maybe… “I could burn it if you’d like.”

“You mean Santa Claus would be okay with destroying something with this much Christmas spirit?”

“Santa?”

She makes a face and then smiles. That smile will be the death of me, but I need more of it in my life. I need it every second of every day. I’ve only seen it twice but I’m addicted.

“Have you looked in the mirror?” She brushes my beard with her fingertips.

My mind blanks as blood rushes out of my head and into another. Never thought a soft touch like that would drive me wild, but I have a feeling there’s nothing about this girl that wouldn’t elicit the same reaction.

“You’re wearing the suit too.”

I glance down and she’s right. Shit, I didn’t even change after I got home. I reach for my head and the damn Santa cap is still on it. Maybe I bumped my head a little harder than I thought. I’d gotten the all-clear from the paramedics and even finished out my last stint as Santa.

“Forgot to take off the costume,” I say, moving on to the next boot.

“D-do you normally dress like Santa Claus?”

I glance up and she’s nervous. Scared, even. I don’t blame her. Running into a man dressed like Santa Claus in a remote cabin is nightmare fuel.

“No,” I mutter, removing her last boot and setting it aside. “It’s a family tradition. This was my first year. I take turns with my brothers. Drew the short candy cane this year.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, still uncertain. And then there’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Were you the Santa from earlier? In the park?”

I nod. She remembers. My girl remembers me. Did she feel the same way? Like she was drawn to me through some invisible rope, tugging and guiding her to me.

“You hit your head pretty hard.”

Shit. Guess not.

I swallow. “Good thing I have a thick skull.”

It garners another smile, and I feel a little better. No matter if she doesn’t feel the same way. Give me a few days and she’ll come around. She may not know it now, but we belong together.

She shivers and my pulse races. “Let’s get you out of these pants. Afraid your replacements might not fit, but they’ll be warm.”

“I don’t mind.”

I offer my hand and she grabs it. “You’re warming up,” I say, pulling her from the chair.

She stumbles and I wrap my arms around her reflexively, pulling her against me. She feels like a dream against my body.

She clears her throat, and then says, “Yup.”

I breathe her in one last time and then sigh, letting her go. “This way,” I rasp, turning on my heel and guiding her to my bedroom.

“Think some sweats might be the best bet. I’ve got some sweaters that might work.” I glance back at her, smiling as she stands in the doorway watching me. “Afraid they’re not as festive.”

“I could go for something not festive.”

“Then I’m your guy,” I say, turning to my closet.

In more ways than one.

She laughs. “It’s a little hard to believe that, coming from a man in a Santa suit.”

I grab my favorite sweater, toss it on the bed, and then grab another.

“And coming from a girl in a sweater like that, I’m wondering why she’s not feeling the Christmas spirit anymore.”

Her eyes flare as I pull off my overcoat. I feel the heat of her gaze on my arms. She opens her mouth, closing it when I pull my sweater over my undershirt. “About time I change into something else. You might want to turn around. The Santa pants are coming off next.”

Her face flushes and damn near matches the color of my suit, but she’s not turning around.

“Fair warning,” I say, unbuckling the thick leather belt, bells jingling as I free it from the belt loops. It rips her from her trance and she immediately turns around.

“It’s a long story,” she says, crossing her arms. Uncrossing. Leaning against the door frame. “The sweater. All of it really.”

My pants hit the floor and she jumps.

“Well, we’ve got all the time in the world. That blizzard won’t be ending any time soon,” I say, grabbing a pair of jeans. “And it might take a few days before we can make it back to town.”

She spins around. “Do you think it—” Her eyes bug out and her jaw drops as she stares at my legs, including the third one that’s been hard from the moment I laid eyes on her. Look all you want. It’s yours.

“Sorry,” she squeals, slapping her hand over her eyes and spinning back around.

I laugh softly. “Not a problem. I’m decent,” I rasp a few seconds later, and I head toward her.

She turns around right as I make it to her, and she lets out a soft gasp before swallowing and taking a step back.

“Never met a Santa Claus with ink before.”

“Good thing I’m not Santa Claus. Name’s Cole. Cole Kringle.”

“You’re joking.”

I resist the urge to pin a stray tendril behind her ear. Resist the even more prescient urge to cup her cheek and claim those cherry-red lips. The urges she’s stirring in me are fierce, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to fend them off.

“Never joked in my life,” I say, raising two fingers in the air. “Mountain man’s honor.”

She smiles again. And again it lights a fire in my chest.

“Cole… Kringle,” she says as though feeling it out with her tongue.

Feels good hearing it cross those lips. Bet it would be even better if she screamed it. I swallow hard. Urges. They just won’t quit.

“Kate,” she says. “Kate Sherman.”

It would sound better if that last name was Kringle. The voice rises from deep inside of me. It’s unsettling but I don’t disagree.

“Well, Kate Sherman. I’d love to hear what happened to you today.”

“Okay,” she says.

“I’ll grab us something warm to eat. Do you like stew?”

She nods. “I could eat about anything.”

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Anything but eggnog.”

I laugh. “A woman after my own heart.”

She takes her bottom lip into her mouth and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing. Although the more time I spend with her, I’m sure I’ll find something even sexier.

“I’ll take that sweater off your hands,” I say, the music nothing more than a murmur now. The light’s flickering like dying embers.

She reaches for the bottom edge and pulls. Fuuuuuuck…. There it is. Something even sexier. As Kate pulls the sweater over her head, she reveals a nice little stomach. A belly I’d like to fill with my—I rub my face roughly.

Stew. Stew is all I’d like to fill her belly with and nothing else.

“Here you go,” she says, shoving it into my hands before heading into the bedroom. “Might want to turn around,” she says over her shoulder. “Everything’s about to come off.”

Jesus. Jesus. I need this girl like I need air in my lungs.

“Fair warning,” she says, teasing the waistband of her jeans as mine stretch painfully between my legs.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I grit out because I know she’s messing around.

I step back, and then shut the door, imagining every bit of clothing being stripped from her lithe body. And when I hear her clothes hit the floor I take her sweater to my face and huff. I breathe in again and again, savoring her scent. Needing her scent. It’s like it’s unlocking a part of me that’s been dormant my entire life.

Awakened. I’m not letting this sweater go. I’m not letting her go. Kate’s mine. It’s only a matter of time before she finds out.