Santa Reads Romance (3 page)

She would just scrunch close to the fireplace all night and hope she didn't freeze. It seemed to be doing a fairly good job of keeping the room warm. And she had plenty of firewood.

Tomorrow she was going to go back home.

May had had all she could stand of the little hideaway.

She wanted TV, phone, CD-Rom, and home delivery.

This was the last time she would… She leaned closer to the window.
Was something moving out there?

A fuzzy blur of staggered movement seemed to weave its way through the snow. May gulped.
Something was out there.

Oh, God.

Her rapid breath fogged up the glass. Quickly she wiped the pane with a circular motion of her palm. She did not want to lose sight of it!

Squinting, she tried to get a better view through the heavily falling snow.

It was big, what ever it was.

It— it seemed to have a… huge
hump
on its back!

Oh, God.
A thin film of sweat dotted her brow.

As the figure got closer, she could discern the shape of a man. This was not necessarily comforting.

May stood on tiptoe to watch his progress through the storm, taking solace from the fact that he seemed to be having considerable trouble negotiating the pathway to the cabin. He kept slipping and sliding on the icy walkway.

When he got close enough so that the firelight from the window illuminated him better, May put her hand to her throat in utter terror. It was all she could do not to scream out loud.
He was wearing a Santa suit!

There was no doubt in her mind now that he was a homicidal maniac. There had been a very popular slasher movie where the killer had done the exact same thing. What better way to sucker in your victims than dressing as kindly old Santa?

May thought she was going to be sick.

He was making his way to the front porch now. She could hear the heavy fall of his uncoordinated feet dragging across the wooden planks.

Thinking quickly, she grabbed a hefty piece of firewood and stood behind the door. Her best chance would be in taking him unawares. She knew this because she was an author who was very good at plotting.

Carefully she inched over and unlocked the door.

And waited like a spider.

H
unter hefted the sack on his shoulder and went to knock on the door. He had been surprised at how small the house— no, cabin— was when it came into better view. How many children could live here? It seemed kind of primitive…

The door creaked slowly open.

Placing the sack down on the porch, Hunter gingerly stepped forward. “Hello?” No answer. He crossed the threshold. “Anybody here? I'm deliver—”

Something whacked him hard on the back of the head.

Hunter went down like a ton of bricks.

He was thinking he was the biggest fool of all time just before the world went black.

G
ot him!
May slammed the door shut. No sense letting out the warm air.

She ran into the kitchenette looking for the ball of twine she had spotted when she first arrived and was putting away her groceries. Grabbing it off the nail on the inside of the sink cabinet, she raced back into the main room, hoping the maniac hadn't come to yet.

There he was! Lying on his stomach just where she had left him— looking like a beached red whale.

May made short work of tying his hands behind his back. Then she wrapped the twine around his feet, which surprisingly were not clad in black Santa boots, but in rather expensive-looking brown leather shoes. His socks were soaked through, but she didn't feel the least sympathy for him or his wet feet.

May had him trussed up like a Christmas turkey in no time flat.

Now that he wasn't going anywhere without her approval, she felt confident enough to roll the scoundrel over.

She first noted that his dark lashes (which were rather long for a man) framed cheeks that looked rather pale even through his tan-colored skin. He appeared younger than she originally thought. At first glance in that suit, she had taken him for a man in his fifties. Now she saw that he was probably only in his early to mid thirties.

Which made him all the more dangerous.

Removing his stocking hat, she was surprised at the mass of luxuriant wavy brown hair that fell over her hands. It wasn't to his shoulders, but close to it, falling a few inches shorter in a tapered cut.

She hadn't seen his entire face yet, but so far he was exceedingly nice-looking. May shook her head in disgust.
Now, why would a man who looked like this have to resort to being a fiend?

Maybe he was a moron.

That really had a tendency to turn women off.

His fake beard was slightly askew. Carefully she removed the fuzzy beard, frowning as it fell apart in her hands. It looked like he had just taken some cotton balls and threaded them through a string! What a pervert!

Her mouth parted slightly as she caught her first glimpse of his completely unmasked face.

It held to the original promise, revealing a strong chin— which no doubt indicated a pugnacious streak— a classically straight nose neither too large nor too small, and well-shaped lips. The bottom lip, she noted absently, was slightly fuller than the top; the indentation below it hinting at a sensual… no, she wouldn't even think it.

He looked… familiar somehow.

Now that his whole face was visible, May noted that his tan skin did have a palish cast to it.

Maybe she had whacked him a bit too hard?

Not that she'd had a choice! Still… she couldn't stand to see any living thing suffer; even if the living thing was a maniac.

Gingerly she placed her palms on either side of his face, lifting his head a few inches off the floor.

His skin was a bit clammy, too, but he seemed to be breathing fine.

The man gave a slight moan and his lashes fluttered. Slowly his eyes opened, trying to focus on her.

May caught sight of those silver eyes and instantly recognized him.

“
You!
” She dropped his head like a hot potato.

It hit the wooden floor with a clunk.

The man's startled groan was cut off as he passed out again.

Oh, great! She had just beaned and trussed up C. Hunter Douglas, wunderkind and vice-president of Fortuna Books! Should do wonders for her career.

What on earth was he doing here?

Obviously, he had come to see her, but why? May bit her lip. Wait a minute… her first book had done remarkably well. There was a rumor going around that Fortuna was looking into starting up a romance line. That's it! Somehow he had found out she was here, probably from her agent, and had come up here to woo her away from her present publisher.

Well, it wouldn't work!

She was very happy where she was. Besides, this was rather
nervy
of him, intruding into her solitude. During Christmas. Publishers!

He would have to stay here until the morning (especially since he was out cold on her floor), but come morning he could just pick himself up and leave!

In the meantime, May thought it best to untie him.

She rolled him over, unwrapped his hands, then flipped him back. It wasn't easy— the man seemed to be six feet plus of solid muscle. Apparently, wrestling writers to the ground like heifers from a shoot on a regular basis did wonders for toning the body.

Better check his breathing. She grimaced, reaching inside his shirt to place her palm over his heart.

Something licked her fingers. May screamed.

“Ahhh!” She fell backward on the floor.

A small furry head poked out of the red velvet, tongue lolling.

A puppy! Her face lit up with a huge grin at the sight of the silly-looking thing. Until she realized that Mr. Douglas had probably counted on such a reaction from her. The nerve! Using a sweet animal to get under her defenses.

Now that she knew his game, she would be totally immune.

The small dog wiggled out from his host's garment, shaking his body in an attempt to smooth out his fur. The action only caused the silky strands to fly in every direction with static electricity. He looked at her and grinned.

Awww
… May melted completely.

“C'mere, boy!” The dog trotted over to her with a frisky step. “Aren't you the sweetest wittle fellow?” She rubbed the soft face, and his small, wispy tail thumped on the floor.

He was the cutest little wiener dog! She was a goner; already she was speaking baby-talk to him. When a person did that with an animal, the animal knew he had you. Didn't matter if it was a cat or a dog, they all gave you that same smug look which said quite clearly, “personal sucker.”

“Let me check on your owner and then I'll see about you.” Leaning over Douglas again, she placed her hand over his chest, feeling the steady thump thump thump of his heart.

Then she opened his eyelids to check his pupils. They were slightly dilated, but he didn't seem too bad off.

In any case, she had no telephone to call for help. There was a radio in the cellar, but she hadn't had any reason to use it before this and doubted she could find and work it in the dark. Besides, the electricity was out.

She figured Douglas would sleep the night through and wake up in the morning with a gargantuan headache and a temper to match.

The best she could do was keep an eye on him throughout the night.

M
ay was really starting to get worried.

She had sat on the bed watching the publisher all night. The temperature in the cabin had soon plummeted with the heaters not working.

She had put on her heavy coat and, knowing it had to be freezing on the floor, had rolled him in the bed quilt.

It had not been an easy task.

She practically had to sweep him around the whole floor like a human rolling pin before she could get him situated on the quilt properly.

After that, the dog had sat up near the foot of her bed, and with his stubby paws waving madly, begged her to pick him up. As soon as she did, he dived under her coat for warmth and had not come out since.

Of course, the up side was that he was also acting as a small hot water bottle for her.

Her gaze went worriedly to the windows. It had been snowing steadily all night; in fact, it was a downright blizzard. The wind had picked up at around midnight, shaking the rafters and lending a weird howling sound to the scene.

Even though Douglas couldn't exactly be considered company, especially since he was still out cold, May was almost glad for his bizarre intrusion. At least she wasn't alone in this storm. Not that she would ever admit that she was even remotely pleased with the man's intrusion.

Around dawn, he finally regained consciousness with a loud, protesting groan.

Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his head, silver eyes narrowing slightly when he came across the goose egg on the back of his head.

She must have made a slight sound, because his head snapped up.

The action caused him to wince. He watched her for a few moments silently. When he spoke, his words reflected his anger.

“If this is some type of kidnapping scheme, you can tell your accomplice with the white beard it won't work. I plan on—”

May cut him off. “
Kidnapping scheme?
You've got to be kidding!
You
came here, Mr. Douglas. Completely uninvited, I might add. And you can just forget your little ploy to win me over!”

Hunter squinted his eyes, fighting down a wave of nausea from his throbbing head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don't you remember me, Mr. Douglas? You came here to see me.” He examined her face. A little too long. Her black hair was a snarled mass around her shoulders.

“Honey, I'm sure I would remember someone who looked like you.”

She made a face at him.

“If you're not trying to kidnap me, why did you hit me on the head? And where are the kids?”

He wasn't making any sense. Uh-oh. Maybe she
had
conked him too hard. “Kids?” she asked tentatively.

“Yeah, the kids. I brought them their Christmas gifts just like your friend asked.”

“I don't think so. You came here to see me.”

He stopped rubbing the back of his head to stare at her, disbelieving. None of this made any sense. Which meant he was either concussed or he was dealing with a… He didn't want to think of the possibility. “I did?”

She nodded. The bump on his head was probably making him foggy. “I'm a writer,” she proudly informed him.

Hunter closed his eyes and groaned. Better he was concussed. He had to be cursed. He was certainly in the wrong place.

“Look, I don't know how this happened but I ran over Santa Claus last night and—”

May snorted. “Did you skin him before or after you ‘bagged’ him?” She let her gaze travel insultingly up and down his body, letting him know her opinion of his attire.

Hunter tried to explain. “He made me deliver some gifts for him to the children, so I had to—”

She held up her hand. “Please. Don't embarrass yourself further.”

He opened his mouth to respond; she cut him off.

“The point is, Mr. Douglas, you've wasted your time. I'm perfectly happy with my present publisher. I'm really sorry about the bump on your head, but what did you expect? Sneaking up on a writer in the Maine woods was not very smart. I can't imagine you've had much success with the technique.”

He stared at her dumbfounded. “Do you actually believe I—”

“After all, this is my retreat, my
ashram…
” She stopped speaking because his eyes had suddenly thinned into two silver slits.

“What did you say?” His voice had gone dangerously soft.

“Um, never mind.” May ran her fingers through her tangled hair.

“Who the hell
are
you?”

“You know—” she began.

“Humor me.”

“May Forrester. Well, that's the name you would know me by.”