Page 3 of Twelve Days of Temptation (Temptation 1)
Kate rushed to the door and peered out the small windows centered in the door’s upper half. There was no one there. She opened the door, looked around, and was about to retreat inside when she noticed a beautifully decorated gift box lying in the middle of her welcome mat. She picked it up and, unable to see any trace of who might have left it, carried it back into her house.
She placed it on her kitchen table and paced beside it. There was a chance it could be from Wayne. He’d promised to have their final divorce papers to her that week. However, the box was small and rectangular. It would have been an odd shape for such a document.
Plus, wrapping divorce papers in gold paper, then topping them with a big red velvet bow, would be a sick joke. Wayne might be self-absorbed and ruled by the whims of his indiscriminate dick, but he wasn’t cruel. Not that kind of cruel.
If he sent a bomb, it’s a tiny one.
And why would he want to off me when I’m walking away from him without asking for a dime?
Kate weighed the box in her hand. As she moved it, she heard something sliding back and forth inside. Okay, now I have to know.
She ripped off the bow and wrapping paper and opened the white box she found inside. It held a cell phone and a black piece of paper with a note written in gold ink.
Dear Kate,
Your letter has been received and processed. Santa doesn’t grant the type of Christmas wish you requested, but I do.
In the spirit of the holiday, I’ll offer you twelve temptations that will guide you to what you’re craving. In return, you will follow my instructions and tell me every juicy detail of your journey.
We will communicate only through texts.
Temptation number one is right in front of you. Turn on the phone, Kate. I’m the only number in there.
Waiting to hear from you,
Head Elf in charge of the Naughty List
P.S. I’d take you up on the offer to fuck you, but this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I can show you how to get what you want, but you have to be brave enough to turn on the phone.
Kate dropped the letter on the table and stood. This is even sicker than I’d imagined. Some wackjob found my letter and now thinks he can get his jollies this way?
Who in their right mind would turn that phone on?
No one.
Head Elf?
Most likely some perverted old guy found my letter.
Eww.
Or, double ewwww, a horny teenager.
Kate reread the letter. All the spelling was correct, so she crossed off the teenage boy as an option. Still, the possibilities of who had written it were limitless and included some downright disgusting men.
She considered throwing the phone right in the trash.
Giving it to the police.
Or tossing it out her front door to show the author of the letter exactly what she thought of his proposal. That would send a clear message.
Or I could tell him he’s a pig. He’s waiting for a text from me.
She picked up the phone and turned it on. She texted:
You sick bastard. I am going to give this phone and your letter to the police if you ever contact me again.
A moment later, the phone vibrated to announce an incoming text: Do it. While you’re there, tell them what you wrote to me.
I didn’t write anything to you. I don’t even know who you are.
Yes, you do. I’m the elf in charge of granting naughty Christmas wishes.
Kate rolled her eyes and texted: An elf? Really? Wow, that’s a sexy image.
I told you. This is not about me. But by the end of our time together, you will fuck whoever I tell you to.
Kate dropped the phone, then scrambled to pick it up. I am throwing this phone in the trash, along with your letter. I’m not interested in whatever perverted game you’re playing.
There is nothing perverted about learning how to please yourself, Kate. And nothing’s wrong with wanting to enjoy sex.
Would you stop talking to me like you know me?
I do know you. I’m an elf. We know everyone.
You’re delusional.
And you’re tempted. You’ll receive a present from me every day for the next eleven days, Kate. Text me when you open them, and I’ll tell you what to do.
I’m not doing this.
He didn’t answer.
And even though it made no sense at all, Kate didn’t throw the phone away. She placed it in her purse, threw on her coat, and decided to clear her head by getting out of the house. Too much time alone was definitely affecting her ability to think straight.
***
Brock was getting a coffee to go at Molly’s Café when Kate walked in. She looked around at the full tables like a new student assessing where to sit during lunch. People assumed she was stuck-up because she didn’t smile at them, but he’d always thought she would if they gave her half a chance.
He met her at the door. “Good morning, Kate.”
She jumped in surprise, and her face transformed as she recognized him. “I remember you. Brock Foster, right?” She removed her gloves and tucked them into the pockets of her coat.
His cock jutted in his pants at the memory of their earlier conversation, but Brock carefully kept his expression neutral. “Having breakfast here?”
She looked around again with an almost wistful look on her face. “No, just getting a coffee to go.”
He glanced down at his watch. He was already ten minutes later than he’d planned to be, but there were perks to being his own boss. “I was about to order something myself, but I hate to eat alone.”
She smiled at that. “Me, too.”
“Join me?” he asked spontaneously, not really expecting her to agree.
“Yes, thank you,” she said.
He cursed his persistent hard-on for making it difficult to come up with anything intelligent to say. Instead of speaking, he waved at an empty table and followed her there. Once they were seated, he said, “So, you’re back in town.” Real witty, he thought.
“I am,” she said softly, nervously opening and closing the glossy menu.
“For how long?”
She looked skyward, then toward the door, obviously uncomfortable with his question. “I don’t know. As long as it takes. I have to clean out my mother’s house.”
Brock instantly felt like an ass for sending her the phone and the note. Kate needed a friend more than she needed a fuck. “I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
The waitress came by and asked if they were ready to order. Kate opened her menu, scanned it, then looked up at her with shiny eyes as if she were on the verge of crying. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I want.”
More than anything Brock wanted to reach across the table, take her hand in his, and tell her everything would be okay. Instead he said, “Why don’t you have something you normally wouldn’t? What do you usually say no to because you think it’s too indulgent?”
Kate’s eyes flew to his, and he cursed himself for being too obvious. He waited for her to call him out and ask if he was the pervert who’d sent her the phone, but she didn’t. She shook her head as if shaking off a silly idea, then looked
down at the menu again. “The chocolate pancakes, I guess. With whipped cream. And a cherry.”
Brock almost groaned at the image that put in his head. He knew just where he’d put the cream, and how much he’d enjoy licking it off.
“And what about you, sir?” the waitress asked.
“I want whatever she wants,” he said and kicked himself. “I mean, whatever she ordered. I’ll have that.” The waitress poured coffee for both of them and Brock gulped it down. Calm down. You’re going to blow this. After a quiet moment, Brock said, “That can’t be easy—cleaning out your mom’s house. Do you have someone helping you?”
Kate looked away and shook her head. “No, no one. I’m sure you’ve heard my marriage tanked.”
“I did. The guy must have been an idiot to screw things up with you.”
Kate looked at Brock and smiled. “Thanks. You always were a nice guy, Brock. That’s what I remember most about you.”
Great. Nice. That’s the no-fuck page in every woman’s little black book. If he asked her out right then, Brock had no doubt she’d refuse. He considered himself reasonably attractive. He kept himself in good shape. Dressed well. Women normally chased him. But he wasn’t good enough for Untouchable Kate. The challenge of changing her mind made the game he’d outlined for the next two weeks suddenly feel acceptable again.
For this to work, he’d have to keep up her impression of him as unthreatening. “I have some guys who owe me some extra hours. I can send a couple of them over to pack or move things if you need help.”
She smiled at him again. “That is an extremely generous offer, but one I must refuse. This is something I have to do myself. And I will do it. I just have to get my head sorted out.”
