The 12 Dares of Christmas (Sycamore Cove Games) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  After the End

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Additional Titles

  THE 12 DARES OF CHRISTMAS

  By

  Leigh W. Stuart

  ***

  Copyright 2016 Leigh W. Stuart

  Edited by Mary Cain.

  Cover Design by Tina Moss & Mary Cain. All stock photos licensed appropriately.

  Published in the United States by City Owl Press.

  www.cityowlpress.com

  For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.

  For my husband –

  friend, fellow adventurer and love of my life.

  You are always there to make me laugh, fix the electronics,

  and be my hero down the toughest roads.

  - Leigh

  Chapter 1

  He was late.

  Lauren’s star performer of the evening was late, and by the looks of the snow piling up outside the hotel, he was either cozied up in some love nest because he had forgotten his promise or he was freezing to death in his car in an icy ditch. Either way, she couldn’t reach him by phone and he hadn’t tried to contact her. Relying on a friend of a friend’s cousin might have been free, but it hadn’t been smart.

  When the snow started falling at noon, she should have known something would go wrong tonight. The fortune cookie that came with her lunch had warned her: You learn from your mistakes. You will learn a lot today. She’d written it off as crummy prophesizing at its finest. She wouldn’t be making any mistakes.

  Lauren pulled the slip of paper out of her pants and tore it into shreds, then she wadded the shreds in a ball and threw it on the floor.

  One mistake so far. She swallowed a scream and settled for stomping her foot. No more. She had reached her quota.

  What were the odds she could find another a male dancer to jump out of a cake in the next fifteen minutes?

  Lauren paced, checking her phone every time she turned and ignoring the nausea spreading through her stomach. The small changing room off the hotel lobby only gave her enough space to take a few steps before she had to turn, and there was less and less air. In the ballroom down the hall, over two dozen ladies waited for the evening’s entertainment she had promised to provide.

  They were depending on her, and she owed them for all the help they had given. These ladies had busted their bums to raise money for her project the last couple of months.

  She reached for the door at the same time it flew open.

  Abby popped in, alone. “The dinner is fab, but they’ll be into the desserts soon. Any news?”

  Lauren shook her head. Her phone screen remained abysmally dark and lifeless. “Nothing yet.”

  “Call him again. Do something. These ladies are starting to prowl like caged lions in there, and it’s not going to be pretty if they don’t get something to appease their appetites soon, if you know what I mean.”

  Lauren’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Keep stalling. All right?”

  Abby shook her hair, revealing green and red stripes under the blond. She shut the door, leaving Lauren sinking in her unworthiness.

  The Knitting Society of Sycamore Cove deserved this gesture.

  Several months ago when Lauren first contacted groups and businesses in town to ask for support for the shelter, the knitters jumped at the opportunity to give back to their community. They wanted to branch out and change their image as stuffy old ladies who sat around, buried in yarn and drinking tea into dynamic do-gooders. After giving the cause their everything, Lauren thought they should have an especially fun end-of-the-year party. The society’s president agreed. A male dancer would be the whipped cream and a cherry to the evening.

  Maybe there was a reason she couldn’t find a job in her field of studies and had been stuck as a waitress since graduating with her bachelor’s degree. Or maybe she simply needed to try harder. Lauren needed to show Sycamore Cove, and herself, that she was positively ingenious.

  She did what any young woman in need of a hot, male stripper would do.

  No, scratch that. She did exactly the opposite of what a young woman in this situation would do. Finding her brother’s number in her contacts, she made her second mistake of the evening.

  “Hey, Cooper, it’s me. I’m in a bit of bind and could use your help tonight.”

  Cheers and yells blared in the background. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “Yeah. I understand. Remember that time you busted Mom’s crystal vase in the entryway and you blamed it on neighbor kids, and got me to back up your story? Get over here and help me with the cake or I’m telling her.”

  “Is this…blackmail?”

  “Be in the Portside Hotel lobby in ten minutes, or I’m calling Mom to ruin her cruise.” Lauren’s conscious twinged at blackmailing her brother. Then she remembered the time he shaved her Barbie’s’ heads.

  No mercy in the Hall family.

  Abby crashed through the door, snapping her back to the here and now. “They are antsy for the surprise, Lauren. What do we do?”

  “Stall them. I have a guy coming, I promise.”

  “That sounds so promising the way you say ‘guy.’ How about, the ‘hunky male dancer’ is coming? That has a much nicer ring to it,” Abby said. “Don’t forget, I have popcorn for us and these little sparkly-confetti shooters.”

  “Keep your bra fastened. Our cake guy will be here in less than ten minutes. I’m taking a rain check on this performance, though.” Watch her brother jump out of a cake and start to shimmy? Yuck.

  “Suit yourself.” Abby waved her confetti shooter on her way out. “I’m off to stall. Some more.”

  This would work.

  Lauren had a Singing in the Rain-style cake, a pair of free stripper pants (one size fits most) and edible body oil—eggnog flavored for the holidays—ready to go. All she needed was a ‘stud-muffin,’ as the knitting society president had put it.

  Her brother would have to do. Most women found him studdly, at least.

  Lauren collapsed in a fold-out chair, holding her head. The sounds of Christmas cheer filtered in from the ballroom. She had to pull this off. This town needed a new animal shelter—one with a no-kill policy and clean, roomy kennels—and she intended to prove she was capable of organizing projects for the betterment of society. Each minute that pas
sed crawled on prickly pin-needle legs down her back.

  Come on, Cooper, where—?

  “I’m looking for Lauren Hall,” a husky, male voice said at the check-in counter. “There should be a cake…”

  “That’s me,” she cried, running out. The friend of a friend’s cousin had arrived. “That’s me, I’m—” She halted her headlong flight, nearly slipping on the polished tiles.

  Holy smoke from a Yuletide fire, her Christmas wishes had been granted. And then some.

  A mouthwatering ginger with a trim beard and captivating, green eyes stepped toward her. Broad shoulders filled his wool coat, jeans hugged his narrow waist, and melting snow twinkled in his hair, lashes, and beard. He could be the sexy poster boy for the town’s tourist industry.

  Those ladies wouldn’t know what hit them. They’d be knitting ties and crocheting handcuffs for him to tie them up with in no time. However, Lauren had a job to do. She stood as tall as her five-foot-one-inch’” frame and three-inch heels would allow, and told the hyperactive butterflies in her stomach to take the party elsewhere. Time to crack the whip, but sadly not the kinky kind.

  He held out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, I’m—”

  “Here to make me a very happy woman,” Lauren said. Craning her neck, she smiled up at him. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

  ***

  Gabe turned at the words ‘That’s me!’ to introduce himself. And his brain stumbled to a halt. Lauren Hall. His nerves buzzed as she hurtled toward him, a sizzling fireball of energy and excitement. Silky brown curls, pillowed lips in a wide smile, form-hugging black pants and white blouse begging to be unbuttoned. A rush surged through him, like diving in a pool for a race. The same shock of cold that electrified every inch of him and set him on fire for the chase.

  Shit. He should have put on a better sweater. More cologne. An extra layer of deodorant.

  Instincts jolted him to action.

  “Nice to finally meet you, I’m—”

  “Here to make me a very happy woman,” Lauren interrupted, not waiting for his name. Cooper must have told her he was coming. Her smile knocked him senseless again. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

  It was all he could do to play it cool. The second she grabbed his hand, muscles through his back and stomach tightened and his heart kicked his ribs, sending blood to his woefully neglected lower extremities. Yeah. Those extremities perked right up.

  He’d seen pictures of her, of course. Except the ones Cooper had shown him were of a younger, awkward high school girl and college student. The Lauren currently dragging him down a hallway was an entirely different story. She was all woman. Following behind, he admired the curves of her short stature. Her rich brown hair fell in loose curls to her shoulders, ready for him to lace his fingers through.

  Cooper hadn’t talked much about his little sister over the years, except to mention having to beat up any guys sniffing around her or brag how much of herself she gave to her social causes. In his eyes, she was right up there with St. Teresa, but more untouchable.

  Preconceived notions about the laid-back, friendly evening he had anticipated were thrown out the window by the eager pull on his hand. She seemed to have something in mind for him, and who was he to argue when a pretty girl told him to take his clothes off?

  He had readily accepted when Cooper asked if he could lend a hand. He was still riding high from how well his interview had gone earlier that afternoon. His luck was changing from being laid off with no warning to stumbling on the perfect opportunity to move up as an analytics manager with the governor’s staff in Richmond. And now a very attractive woman was escorting him to a glorified closet with the promise of nudity.

  The holidays just got a whole lot more enchanting.

  “In here.” She motioned for him to enter the small room. Her cheeks were flushed deeper than before.

  He stepped through the doorway, closer to her than absolutely necessary, and breathed in her floral-and-spices scent. Sugar. There was something very sweet in the room. Or the scent could be coming from her. His mouth watered.

  “Where do we start?” He inspected the room. No cakes. In fact, not much of anything at all besides a box wrapped in plastic.

  She closed the door, sliding sideways. Determined hands tugged at his coat. “We have to get you ready and in a hurry.”

  “Hurry?” His coat flew toward the table.

  She darted out from behind him. “I am so happy you showed up when you did, but I needed you ready ten minutes ago.”

  “Let’s get rolling, then.” He rubbed his hands together, not that they needed warming. He couldn’t stop the grin determined to take over his face.

  “That’s what I like to hear. I believe in jumping in and getting things done.” She pointed toward the corner. “There’s a changing curtain so you can get out of your street clothes. And I have edible body oil. It’s eggnog-flavored.”

  “Edible, eggnog-flavored body oil?” And now his winter evening just got warmer.

  “Yes. If you want it. To help with your performance, of course.”

  Performance? He swallowed a cough, clearing his throat. She didn’t need to worry about his performance. Heat spiraled up from his center. He stepped closer, and the white tube she was waving landed lightly on his chest.

  She blinked up at him. Her sweet smell wafted over him. He couldn’t wait to get a taste. “Did you want it?”

  “That depends on who’s putting it on me,” he said.

  Her lips rounded in an ‘O’. “You want me to… All right. Let’s do it.”

  “I’d be more than happy to put it on you as well.” He covered her hand with his own, loving how it fit under his larger one and the way she arched her back to look at him.

  “Really? But later. Much later. Your clothes have to come off first,” she said.

  “You really want me out of these clothes, don’t you?”

  “Yes! Well, no. Not for me personally, but for the animals. That is, I don’t want to take advantage of you by getting a freebie, although I am grateful you are doing this for free.”

  “Doing what for free?” Lending a hand for some cake situation, as Cooper had called it? As if he would charge her money for that.

  “A striptease, of course.”

  He froze. She hadn’t been joking about getting him out of his clothes. Not in the least. All the blood rushing to his extremities reached its final destination and he strained painfully against his jeans. An alarm went off somewhere in his head, but it was distant and easy to ignore.

  He let go of her hand and tugged his sweater up and off. It fell to the floor. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

  “First the clothes and then the oil, is that correct?” His voice came out ragged, her unexpected request trumping his self-control.

  Tipping her head to meet his gaze, she fanned herself with her hand. “Sounds about right to me. Although, you can go behind the curtain if you’re bashful, which would be odd in your line of…Santa’s reindeers…” Her voice trailed off, but he hadn’t been listening.

  The next article of clothing to go had been his t-shirt, which landed with a swoosh next to the sweater.

  “Is getting close and personal part of your act? It is really effective.” Her gaze was riveted to his chest and torso. The extra swim time he had put in lately was paying off.

  “This isn’t an act.”

  “You probably say that all the time.” She was breathing as fast as a last-minute shopper running through stores on Christmas Eve. “Listen, to be sure, can you keep it up for half an hour?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “A half an hour. Can you go for that long?” She opened the tube of body oil.

  Images of all the things he could do to her while armed with the flavored oil sent him reeling. Only half an hour? “I can keep it up for longer than that, I promise.”

  “It’s not too hard?”

  He moved in close enough to feel
her body heat, the scent of her perfume and sugary sweetness growing stronger. She gasped, stepping back until she hit the door, but her chest rose in invitation as he invaded her space. He placed his arms on either side of her to pin her in. Her lips were sinfully moist and eyes heavily lidded.

  “It’s hard,” he breathed in her ear.

  “Really? Any way I can make it easier on you?”

  So many ways raced through his brain. He inhaled to enumerate a few of his favorites, but then another thought hit.

  This was his best friend’s sister. He couldn’t strip and engage in mutual oil rubbing. It went against all the rules in the guy handbook, despite the fact she was sober and clearly knew what she wanted.

  Cooper’s invitation for him to stay for a week, after his job interview in Richmond, might have included the promise of drinking, partying, and playing the field, but the fielddidn’t exactly include Cooper’s sister.

  She shivered, tilting her head to give him a better view of her neck and velvet earlobe. That he wanted to nibble on.

  To hell with the guy handbook. Best friend’s little sister or not, when a beautiful brunette brought out the body oil, all bets were off.

  “Tell me—”

  Lauren was shoved roughly from behind. He reached instinctively as she fell forward, wrapping her in his arms to keep her from crashing to the floor. Something wet splattered his chest. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and creamy vanilla filled the air.

  The door had been forced open, and a wild-eyed blonde poked her head through.

  “Whoa, who blocked the door? Where’s the cake, for the love of consumerism? And what are you doing—” The irritation in her expression melted into surprise. “I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?”

  The blonde’s eyes fell on him and stayed locked there. “The cake man. Wow, I am so glad to see you. Ah, Lauren, get it together and get this show on the road, right?”

  “Abby,” Lauren yelled. She pushed free of Gabe’s hold. He let go, reluctantly saying good-bye to her soft breasts that had been pressed against him. “Two minutes. Two minutes!”

  She began to shut the door, but Abby reached through and grabbed her. “Do you know how much he charges for private shows?”