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CHAPTER2
Jenny
Good lord, this man is like no Santa I’ve ever seen before. He’s tall and doesn’t have the jolly old belly Santa is known for, though he still manages to fill out his red suit, just not in the traditional sense.
More like there’s a slab of sexy all up in there. I just know that underneath that suit the man is pure muscle.
He’s a mountain of a man. I’m not short by any means. At five-foot-eight, I’m no little fairy. I’ve often been told I was tall and thin enough to be a model if I wanted to do that—which I don’t. Nothing against the girls who do. More power to them. I love playing dress up and shopping as much as the next girl, but the catwalk just isn’t my thing. Never has been.
Back to this god in a Santa suit…I’m no shortie, but even I have to crane my neck up to look at him. It makes me feel small and petite, two things I’ve never really felt. For the first time, I think I’m getting a glimpse of how Eve must feel looking up at everyone.
I can’t see many of his features clearly. He’s hidden behind the suit and Santa’s quintessential beard that I can tell is fake and isn’t his real facial hair.
Yet, the way my breath instantly caught in my throat when I first saw him lets me know that underneath the disguise the man is insanely hot.
What I can see clearly are his eyes. They’re a clear blue, like napalm pools. There is so much in his eyes that keep flicking back to me and resting on me throughout the day.
I’m never nervous, but this man has me all in a fluster. My skin feels flushed, my hands are shaking. I’m out of sorts.
And all because of the intensity I see in his eyes.
He looks at me like no one has ever looked at me before.
I can’t pinpoint everything in his gaze, but I know that it sends tingles of feminine awareness running up and down my spine.
I was a bit worried how he’d be with the kids, though. He was so growly and almost grouchy when we first met. But he’s heart-meltingly great with them, smiling at each child and listening to their wishes with rapt attention as he holds them gently on his knee before posing with a picture of them.
As if I needed any more reason to be insanely attracted to him.
I’m not the only female who notices that Saint Nick is off the charts on the attractiveness scale either. I frown as I see all the giggling women in line eyeing Nick and practically swooning at his way with kids. I swear I’ve never seen such a long line to get pictures taken with Santa, and I know it’s all due to Nick.
He catches me gazing at him again and winks at me, a twinkle in his eyes.
I feel a blush stain my cheeks as I look away and paste a bright smile on my face as I speak to the next child and begin leading her over to Nick to tell him all her Christmas wishes.
We go at it all day, and time flies by. I love talking to the children and seeing their bright eyes and happy smiles, but I also love the feeling of Nick's eyes on me all day, even if it does have me all in a tizzy.
At the end of the day, I'm burning with curiosity to see the real man behind the Santa suit. I can't keep myself from staring as Nick yanks the cap and headpiece off his head, followed by the fake Santa beard.
And sweet baby Jesus, is he gorgeous.
I almost faint from how breathtakingly beautiful the man is.
He has a dark brown beard that's neatly groomed and wavy brown hair that belongs on the cover of romance novels. It's not down to his shoulders or anything, but it's long on the top, and when he runs his fingers through it, ruffling it, my own fingers itch to do the same.
I watch as he unbuttons the long Santa coat and then shrugs out of it. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt underneath it, and I swear to God I can see every muscle in his chest and arms flexing with the movement.
The man is seriously ripped, looking like he's about to bust out of that poor white T-shirt at any moment.
He catches me staring at him and smirks before he starts walking over to me.
I raise my chin and throw at him saucily, "Aren't you a bit young to be playing Santa?"
I don't know how old he is, but I don't see a speck of gray in this man's beard or hairline, so he can't be much more than thirty, though he's definitely older than me. Something in his eyes speaks to his experience.
"You're dying to know how old I am, aren't you, princess?" he asks me with that teasing glint in his eyes.
I don't deny it. Instead, I just shrug and raise an eyebrow at him. "Well?"
