Jingle Spells (15 page)

His First
Noelle

Kira Sinclair

Double winner of the National Readers' Choice Award,
KIRA SINCLAIR
writes passionate contemporary romances. Her first foray into writing fiction was for a high school English assignment. She lives out her own happily-ever-after with her husband, their two daughters and a menagerie of animals. You can visit her at
www.kirasinclair.com
.

I'd like to dedicate this book to an amazing group of women—Andrea Laurence, Rhonda Nelson and Vicki Lewis Thompson. Working together on this project has been one of the highlights of my career … well, you know, except for the tooth fairy and bloody teeth. Love you guys!

Chapter 1

“W
e have a problem,” Noelle Frost said, not bothering to knock before barging into the one room she'd been avoiding since returning to Gingerbread, Colorado.

Dash Evergreen's sharp green eyes swiveled to pierce straight through her. Noelle felt his loaded gaze catalogue everything about her body in mere seconds. From the severe cut of her black business suit down to the compact body that she considered her greatest weapon and spent hours honing. This man knew all of her weaknesses and strengths. Her knife-edged longings and pulse-pounding fears. Dash Evergreen absorbed it all and then dismissed her. Found her wanting.

Although that was nothing new.

Born of two rival clans, she'd never been completely accepted by either. She might have been raised in Gingerbread, Colorado, as a member of the Winter clan, but her Summer-blue eyes were a visually dynamic reminder to anyone who cared to look that there was a part of her—however small—that was different.

And not even the fact that her father was head of security for Evergreen Industries and a highly trusted member of the clan had stopped people from holding her at arm's length. Or the other kids from teasing her.

There had been a time in her life when she'd thought Dash was different. That he saw beyond all the conflict and accepted her for who she really was.

But then, there'd been a time when she was young and naive, too.

Noelle ground her teeth together and tried not to let his dismissal hurt. But even after eight years, her ex-husband still had the ability to wound her with nothing more than a simple glance. But she'd be damned if she'd let him know that.

Her years of CIA training had prepared her for deep-cover operations. She could kill with her bare hands, slip into some of the most secure facilities undetected and rub elbows with the elegant and elite.

Apparently that training was also useful when trying to protect herself from the man who'd broken her heart.

She'd been back in Gingerbread for several months, utilizing those skills to fill in for her father while he was recovering from a heart attack and emergency open-heart surgery. So far, she and Dash had managed to avoid each other. Mostly.

Unfortunately, thanks to this latest snag, it was going to be difficult to continue to do so.

Noelle knew just how much Dash hated to be disturbed when he was in his hot shop, and frankly, if she'd had any other choice she would have waited until he was through.

Dash all hot and sweaty, his muscles all slick and gleaming, had always been her weakness.

Pushing farther into the room, Noelle glanced around. Nothing much had changed. She could see the orange-red glow the fire emitted through the square opening in the furnace. Huge metal implements that looked more like they belonged in a medieval torture chamber rather than Dash's private lair had been placed on the tables scattered around the room.

He didn't glance at her as she moved closer to get a better look. One wide palm rolled the hollow metal rod back and forth across the raised platform of the workbench. A glowing ball of molten glass twirled in front of him as he worked it, poking, prodding and coaxing it into the shape he wanted.

Color had already been added, a breathtaking swirl of blues that reminded her of a cloudless summer sky. With quick movements, he pulled a long finger of glass from the spinning globe. A flick of his wrist here, a quick snip there. The ornament would be gorgeous—as every piece Dash produced was. For the briefest moment, Noelle fought the desire to have the ball hanging on her own Christmas tree.

But it wasn't for her.

With practiced movements, he separated the piece from the pipe and stored it in the annealer, which allowed the glass to gradually cool without cracking.

While she'd never used any of the equipment in the room, she was intimately familiar with every piece. Dash had spent hours explaining to her just what they were used for. He didn't let many people into this space—not even his brothers or sister. At the time that access had made her feel...special.

Apparently all he'd really wanted was inside her panties. Noelle couldn't fight down the twist of a sickly smile as it crossed her face. She might have been impressed with his talent and turned on by the heat of his sweat-slicked skin, but her parents had raised her right. She'd still held out until he'd asked her to marry him.

If she'd known the high price of agreeing to that handfasting she probably would have saved herself the trouble and just let him have her here. Maybe then it would have just been hot sex instead of a soul-crushing disaster.

Dash stalked back across the room toward her, a soft, worn T-shirt clinging to his impressive chest. Damp patches arrowed down leading straight to the valley where she knew a six-pack was hidden. Tattered jeans clung to narrow hips, the thighs so threadbare she could see through to the bare skin underneath.

Most women would probably swoon at seeing Dash Evergreen in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. And he definitely knew how to rock that look. But this,
this,
was what she dreamed about. Not the perfectly polished businessman or the responsible member of the Winter clan ruling family.

Nope, her fantasies were filled with the man—his dark hair disheveled and slightly damp and his green eyes snapping from an internal fire he worked hard to bank around most people. But she'd seen it. Knew the dangerous edge, the prowling restlessness and the burning passion.

Noelle's muscles began to quiver, a fine tremble that she seriously hoped he wouldn't notice. Dammit! What was it about this man that cut through every single shred of self-preservation she possessed?

As if she hadn't learned her lesson.

Her head might have, but apparently her body still craved more sweet punishment.

He stopped in front of her, arms crossed over his wide chest. The hard line of his jaw tensed. A single muscle ticked rhythmically just below his left ear. The only sign that he was thoroughly pissed that she'd interrupted him.

Tough.

“We have a problem,” she said again, modulating her voice to something crisp and professional even as awareness and need crackled across the surface of her skin.

“So what's new? All we seem to have lately are problems. Let Cole or Ethan handle whatever it is. My plate's already full preparing the sleigh and overseeing the packaging.”

She didn't want to hear the thin line of weariness buried deep inside his words, but Noelle couldn't help it. Fine lines of strain flared out from the corners of his eyes, and the faint smudge of exhaustion bruised just below them. What was the idiotic man doing in the hot shop when he should obviously be in bed catching up on some much-needed sleep?

Exasperation flickered through her, and she almost stepped closer, intent on running her hand down the slope of his shoulders and convincing him to get some rest. But somehow she managed to stop herself. It wasn't her job to care about him anymore. Hadn't been for a very long time.

Unfortunately, what she was about to say was going to add to the strain. But there was nothing she could do about that.

With a deep breath she said, “Kris has decided not to take the sleigh this year.”

The dark slash of his eyebrows winged up in confusion. Noelle completely understood. That had been her initial reaction, as well.

“What are you talking about? Of course he's taking the sleigh. How the hell else is he going to get around the world in twenty-four hours?”

At her sides, Noelle clenched her hands into fists. He wasn't going to like this any more than she had.

“He wants to take the Corvette.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Noelle cringed, preparing for the inevitable explosion. But it didn't come. Instead, Dash blinked at her and waited...possibly for a punch line that would never come.

Silence stretched between them. Noelle's gaze darted across his face looking for any clue to his reaction, but there really wasn't one. His face was thoroughly blank.

Just as she thought the tension building between them might actually crack like one of his pieces of glass, he said, “The damn thing is yellow. Yellow.”

His voice dipped down, the smooth, even cadence going slippery with horror and temper.

“How the hell are we supposed to hide a yellow convertible flying across the sky?”

* * *

Dash had really hoped she'd been kidding. He should have known she wasn't. Just the fact that she'd entered his domain after months of avoiding him should have been clue enough.

Noelle Frost certainly wouldn't have come all the way down to the lower levels of the lodge just for some sick joke. That wasn't her style. Actually, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her crack a smile, let alone laugh.

It made him sad, but there was nothing he could do to change it. She wanted nothing to do with him, and that was probably for the best.

There'd been a time when he'd known every nuance of Noelle—her body, her mind, her soul. She'd shared pieces of herself with him she'd held in check from everyone else. And he'd done the same.

But eight years was a long time, and she wasn't the quiet, passionate girl he remembered.

Nope, now she had a hard edge to her that made him want to tear into whatever had put the wary caution in her soft blue eyes. She insisted on keeping her beautiful dark hair pulled ruthlessly into a knot at the nape of her neck. And the holster resting beneath the cut of her suit coat...the first time she'd popped it open and he'd gotten a look at it he'd wanted to rush her to the nearest room, lock her inside and make sure there was never a reason for her to need the damn thing.

When she'd walked into his hot shop just now, he'd first thought she was a figment of his imagination. Breathed to life from the thoughts whirling around inside his overly tired brain. He needed sleep. The weeks leading up to Christmas were always his busiest. But no matter how exhausted, the moment his head hit the pillow and his eyes closed images of Noelle were burned into the backs of his eyelids.

And if he did manage to drift off, those images would change from still photographs to flickering images with movements that left him panting and frustrated with a raging hard-on he couldn't do anything with.

So, to exorcise his demons, he'd come down to the one place he always found peace. But she'd even invaded there. He hadn't realized the ornament he was working on was the exact color of her eyes until it was too late.

And then she'd been standing there, her mouth tight and her eyes burning as she watched him work. Did she remember the feel of his hands on her body as he'd tried to teach her how to work the glass? Did her body ache with memories and unfulfilled needs?

There was no way to know by looking at her. The CIA had worked her over well. Her expression was always perfectly, pleasantly blank. Initially, he'd thought it was him. But then he'd realized that was her new default position. Or it had been when she'd first returned. After a few months some of the severe reserve had begun to fade. He'd seen her let her guard down, a little, with Belle, Taryn, Lark and his brothers.

The mask was still firmly in place with him.

Although he wasn't really surprised. Their history didn't exactly breed open friendliness. The passion that crackled between them had always been too explosive for that kind of easy camaraderie. They burned hot, just like the furnace at his back.

But now wasn't the time to think about any of this. Not if what she was saying was true.

“Surely to God someone can talk some sense into the man. A Corvette? The damn thing is barely bigger than a Tinkertoy. How does he expect to get all the deliveries packed inside?”

Noelle's eyebrow swooped up into a silent version of “did you really just ask me that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Magick. But we both know there are limits to what I can do. Especially less than two weeks before Christmas. Maybe if I'd had a year to prepare...the cloaking spell alone is going to be almost impossible.”

She sighed, the heavy weight of it lifting her shoulders and breasts tight against the dark cut of her jacket. “I know. But...I've already spoken to Cole, Ethan and Belle. With all the other ‘issues' going on, we're agreed that it's probably in everyone's best interest to accommodate this request.”

Irritation rolled through Dash's chest. “The man is having a midlife crisis and the rest of us have to pay the price?”

The mountain was already buzzing with the muted whispers of gossip mingled with suppressed panic. He had no idea what they were going to do with a Santa who'd taken up jogging and refused to eat cookies. In a few weeks millions of children would be leaving him enough to counteract twenty years' worth of exercise.

And he didn't even want to think about the snowy white beard the man had shaved off. At least that could be fixed with some strategically glued stage makeup.

Making a damn car fly was going to be the last straw.

Even if Dash was a little miffed at being left out of the family discussion—probably because they already knew what his answer would be—he grudgingly recognized their point. Everyone was walking on eggshells around Kris. Personally, Dash thought it was useless. The guy's wife was going to leave him. Everyone could see it. The sooner he accepted the reality and moved on the better it would be for everyone.

Dash's wife had walked away from him without even bothering to tell him she was leaving. He'd managed to survive. Somehow. So would Kris. Just not in a Corvette flying across the sky.

If this crisis had struck at any other time during the year, Dash would have dug his heels in and refused. He would have forced everyone—Kris, Cole, Belle, Merry—to deal with the reality of what was happening.

But it was two weeks before Christmas, and the last thing they needed was for Kris to go comatose with heartache. Hell, he could barely remember the first few weeks after Noelle had left. They were a whiskey- and fire-fueled haze. And he had the scars to prove alcohol and molten glass were a lethal mix.