Santa's Helpers: Mistletoe Mistakes
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Jocelyn Michel
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
I got out of the SUV and grabbed what I'd need for the night, thinking I'd unload the rest tomorrow. After trudging through calf-deep snow and the icy blast forever, I finally made it to the front porch steps, which I carefully ascended. I dumped my bags amongst the snowdrifts the wind had blown against the door. My teeth chattered as I stomped my boots on the welcome mat and dug out the key the lawyer had sent. It didn't fit. For several seconds, I just stared at it in disbelief. How could he have sent me the wrong dang key? Had that many of his clients inherited cabins in the woods?
Well, no matter. I knew where to look for the spare. Moving aside, I kicked away the drifts, pried the frozen mat free of the iced porch and pulled up a corner to look under it.
No key. Did it ever occur to me that I might be at the wrong cabin? I mean, I knew they all looked similar, having been built by the same developer all those years ago and sold as family vacation homes. With visibility nil, I could easily have turned up the wrong drive. But no. I never gave the wrong-house scenario much of a passing thought --mistletoe mistake number four.
Instead, I pulled off one leather glove, rose on tiptoe, and felt along the top of the door facing, knowing that my grandparents could easily have changed the key's hiding place. My fingers touched cold metal. Aha! Grinning, I stuck the key I'd just found into the lock, which clicked open. I grabbed my stuff and stumbled inside, thrilled to finally be out of the weather. My cheeks and nose stung from the sleet that had pelted me. I wanted nothing more than to build a roaring fire in the grate and fix myself some hot chocolate. So my bags hit the floor, and I fumbled for the lights. I found the switch, but nothing happened when I flipped it.
"Take one more step, and I'll blow your head off."
My scream would've shattered the windows if they hadn't been coated in ice. "Don't shoot!" With my hands raised, I turned to see who'd said that, belatedly remembering he was the trespasser, not me. I couldn't make out more than a dark shadow with a deep voice. I knew I had to take the offensive and quick. "Who the hell are you, and why are you in my cabin?"
"Actually, this is my cabin, so I'll be asking the questions."
Being no one's fool, I immediately replayed the last few minutes, which took me to the moment my key hadn't fit the lock. I realized he could be right. "Are you sure?"
"That this is your place?"
He snorted. "I've only been living here for two years now, so yeah, I'm pretty damn sure."
I lowered my hands and put them together in front of me, begging for forgiveness. "I am so, so sorry. I must've made a wrong turn. I'll leave right now." I kicked around the floor, trying to find the bags I'd dropped. Suddenly a light flicked on. My gaze pounced on a circle of light in which a guy stood, dressed in navy blue boxer briefs and nothing else. Oddly, he wasn't even shivering. I belatedly realized the cabin felt toasty warm. Had I noticed when I burst into it? That would be a no, mistletoe mistake number five on a fast flying sleigh of them.
He lifted his camping lantern, which was all he held, to get a better look at me. I saw his eyes widen. "MJ?"
My jaw dropped. Only one person on earth had ever called me that -- Jonah Fortune. The last time I'd seen him was the last time I'd visited my grandparents in their cabin. Was this tall hunk of gorgeous really the lanky teen who'd popped my cherry that summer? "Jonah?"