An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Christmas Help Her

  ISBN # 1-4199-0829-4

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Christmas Help Her Copyright© 2006 Isabo Kelly.

  Edited by Mary Altman.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication: December 2006

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Content Advisory:

  S – ENSUOUS

  E – ROTIC

  X

  -

  TREME

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme).

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic.

  S- ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E- rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

  X- treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  CHRISTMAS HELP HER

  Isabo Kelly

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Target: Target Brands, Inc.

  Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

  Christmas Help Her

  Chapter One

  Paige Rogers stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked sallow.

  Pale. Old. Her brown hair hung limply around her shoulders, stringy and… Was that a gray hair? Great. The creases on her forehead—caused by worry, her mother claimed—

  seemed deeper than they had a month ago. More permanent. And she was in desperate need of a facial.

  “I’m a crone,” she said, loud enough for her friend Viola to hear. Viola was in the tiny living room, admiring the little apartment-sized Christmas tree that took up one corner. Paige had opened the door to let her gorgeous friend in and knew by Viola’s expression that she didn’t look good. She’d headed directly to the bathroom, and the mirror confirmed her suspicions. She was worn out.

  “You’re only thirty-two years old,” Viola called back. “You’re too young to be a crone.”

  “I’m ahead of my time.” She fingered the purple smudges under her eyes and shook her head. Two full-time jobs were two too many, although she truly loved one of them. She didn’t even think of it as work most of the time.

  The art school had been a dream of hers since childhood. Last year, she’d finally made the leap, rented a small space and opened the doors of a school designed to train aspiring artists who couldn’t afford fancier institutions. Unfortunately, they couldn’t afford to pay much tuition at her school either. Since they couldn’t afford much, she had to keep her day job to continue to fund the school.

  With one last, disgusted look in the mirror, Paige headed to the living room. Viola was setting a present under the tree next to the half dozen already there. Christmas was less than a week away. The holiday couldn’t have come too soon for Paige. She gave the pretty little tree lights a cursory smile, then settled onto her couch with a groan.

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  Viola faced her, smiled and shook her head. “What’s wrong, girl? What’s with all this crone talk? You’re usually in a better mood at Christmas.”

  “I feel dry. Used up. There’s nothing left. No energy. No enthusiasm. I’ve given everything I’ve got, and now I don’t have anything left over for me.” She met Viola’s gaze and said, “I haven’t had the energy for so much as a sexual thought in the last six months. How sad is that? I’m supposed to be in my sexual prime, and I’m frigid.”

  “You’re not frigid.” Viola laughed. “If you were, I wouldn’t have to keep hearing how much you miss sex.” She settled onto the couch next to Paige.

  Paige couldn’t help but admire the way her friend managed to sit so gracefully in her skintight, fire engine red miniskirt. She crossed mile-long legs so that they were perfectly displayed, her chocolate-colored skin smooth from a recent wax. Paige couldn’t remember the last time she’d even shaved her legs, never mind invested in a full-blown wax. But then, she didn’t have Viola’s excellent legs to show off either.

  “You’re tired,” her friend said, patting her shoulder. “Who has time for sex when they work hundred-hour weeks like you?”

  “I’m not even talking about meeting a man I’m attracted to and having sex. I’d feel better if I could muster the imagination for even one hot thought.”

  “Read one of those erotic romances you love. Those always give me hot thoughts.”

  “I tried.” She sighed and tears actually welled in her eyes. “I fell asleep.” One of her tears of exhaustion rolled down her cheek. “What does that say about me?”

  “It says you’re overworked.” Viola wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t cry. You’re not a crone. You’re not old and you’re not frigid. You’re overworked. Which is why you’re taking two whole weeks off for the holidays. A little sleep, a little pampering and you’ll be having more sexy thoughts than you know what to do with.”

  Paige rubbed her cheek, wiping away the single tear, and laughed. “I’m feeling sorry for myself. You’re right. I just need to catch up on my sleep.” Two weeks without having to be an accountant would be nice. Her day job paid the bills, but it wasn’t her passion. She was going to miss her art school over the next two weeks. But since the 6

  Christmas Help Her

  place was closed for the holidays, she didn’t have the option of putting in some hours there. Probably a good thing, because Viola was right. She needed a break.

  “Exactly. Listen to Auntie Viola and get some sleep. Pamper yourself. Get dressed up in sexy clothes and go out. Turning a few male heads will help you feel young again.”

  Viola rose to her impressive six-foot-one-inch height and smoothed her red skirt.

  “Speaking of turning male heads.” Paige nodded to the scoop neck of Viola’s skintight sweater. “Pretty hot outfit for an office party.”

  “There’s this beautiful boy who just started with us a few months ago. I’ve had my eye on him for a while now.” She smoothed a hand over her cropped black hair and winked. “Tonight I wanna make sure his eyes are on me.”

  “Not going to be a problem.” She pulled herself out of the couch cushions to walk Viola to the door. She always felt dwarfed next to her friend, her own five-foot-five-inches no match for Viola’s Amazonian proportions.

  “I’ll call you day after tomorrow, once I get to my momma’s house,” Viola said as she hovered half in, half out of Paige’s front door. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to keep you company over Christmas.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to a little quiet time alone.”

  “Just don’t spend the whole two weeks alone. That’s not good for you either.” She leaned over and kissed Paige on the cheek. “And read a sexy book. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Paige laughed as she closed the door. Then she rested her forehead against the cool wood. It wasn’t just sex, or even the thought of sex, that she missed. She missed male companionship. She missed flirting and that excitement you got in your belly when you met a man who made your pulse race. She envied Viola her crush—the beautiful boy from work didn’t know what he was in for.

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  What she missed the most, though, was the feel of a strong male arm draping across her waist in the middle of the night and pulling her close to the heat of another body.

  Her empty bed had felt lonelier the closer the holidays got. Having a man to share her passions and her burdens would be as nice as having one around for some seriously hot sex.

  Unfortunately, if she couldn’t find the energy for a sexy thought, she sure as hell didn’t have the energy to find a man. Maybe Santa Claus would send her one for Christmas.

  She pushed away from the door and headed back to the living room, chuckling at the idea of Santa sending her a man. She could write him a letter. “Dear Santa, please leave a gorgeous hunk of a man under my tree this year, clothing not necessary, wrapped in a big red bow.” She laughed out loud. She’d have to tell that one to Viola.

  She turned into the bathroom and faced her haggard reflection again. “What man would even want you looking like this?” There was definite crone potential in the face staring back at her. She pushed up the skin around her eyes, trying to lift the bags.

  When that didn’t help, she dropped her hands and groaned. Now was a very good time to start her vacation by going to bed early.

  Sleep would help those bags. And in the morning, the pampering would begin .

  But at three a.m., Paige stared at her clock and realized she was too wide-awake to sleep anymore. She’d been surviving on three to four hours of sleep a night for months.

  Staying asleep longer than that to catch up on her much-needed rest wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounded.

  She pushed back her warm comforter, slipped into the thick, cozy folds of her robe and padded out to the living room. She’d forgotten to turn the Christmas tree lights off when she went to bed. The multicolored hues twinkled as she entered the otherwise dark room. She liked the effect, so she kept the main lights off and sat at the base of her little tree. Scanning the handful of presents, she spotted Viola’s addition immediately.

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  Christmas Help Her

  Her brother and parents wrapped presents in traditional paper bought at Wal-Mart or Target. Viola always seemed to find something cool and exotic to wrap presents in. Last year, she’d actually used faux fur. Velvet seemed to be the theme this year. The present Paige had seen when she answered the door the evening before was wrapped in green velvet and embellished with golden thread crossing its surface.

  Next to the green velvet box was another present she hadn’t seen before. This one was wrapped in red velvet and tied up with a big golden bow. Viola must have snuck that one in when Paige wasn’t looking. Curious, she picked up the long, rectangular box. She shook it and something heavy shifted. In the depths of the ribbon, she found a card that said, “To help with your little problem” .

  Paige stared at the red velvet and nibbled her lower lip. She had a pretty good idea what was in the green velvet box. Viola balanced her creative wrapping talent with a complete lack of discretion when it came to keeping the contents of a present secret. But Paige had no idea what was in the red velvet present.

  She frowned. Maybe she should open it now. The card indicated it was something that would help her relax. Viola would want her to open it at the start of her holiday.

  She’d probably be expecting a thank-you when she called later in the week. And really, with a card like that, she could hardly expect Paige to resist opening the box.

  Paige grinned and started to peel away the luscious velvet, a happy little shiver skittering up her spine. She half expected to find a sex toy of some kind, given that the

  “little problem” she’d been griping about so much lately was her lack of orgasms. Viola probably found her a holiday-themed dildo. She laughed. “Surprised you could keep that present to yourself,” she said aloud as she revealed the gold foil box beneath the velvet.

  But instead of the vibrator she’d been expecting, when she opened the lid, she found a heavy, leather-bound book. Embossed in gold on the cover was the title The Christmas Helper.

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  “Weird.” She flipped open the cover and was hit by the scent of worn leather and a hint of spices. The smells mingled with the pine from her live tree, filling her with a warm tingle. Since it was the first tingle she’d experienced in a while, she grinned and fingered the smooth texture of the book’s cover. There was just something about the feel and smell of good leather.

  As she savored the tactile effects of the book, she studied the first page. No author credits were given, but under the elaborately lettered title was a reproduced charcoal drawing of a fluffy cat swatting at a Christmas ornament which dangled from the bottom of a pine tree. The sketch was framed so that only the bottom third of the Christmas tree showed, bringing more attention to the cat itself. Despite the use of only charcoal, Paige could practically see the green pine needles, the multicolored decorations and the deep red of the round ball the cat was batting with its little paw.

  She even got the impression the cat was white, though it was impossible to assign a color to the animal in the medium used.

  The skill that went into creating this drawing awed her. It was beautiful, alive and nearly breathing on the page. Such talent. Paige loved art, which was why she opened the school, but she wasn’t an artist herself. She was very good at running things, though. And running a place that nurtured just this kind of artistry had always been her dream.

  She brushed a finger over the cat’s fur, expecting to feel the soft texture, then laughed at herself when she felt only paper. She flipped to the next page, expecting some indication of author or publisher. Instead, she found a recipe for mulled wine. The next page had instructions for the perfect relaxation bath for the holidays, complete with the scents of good candles to burn and the type of bubbles to add. After that came another recipe, this one for a spicy ginger cake with whipped cream.

  Now she could see why Viola bought her the book. It was probably full of ideas for relaxation and pampering, as well as foods to enjoy while indulging in that pampering.

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  Christmas Help Her

  This wouldn’t help her have an orgasm. But it might loosen her up enough that she could at least fantasize herself to one.

  She flicked through a few more pages, then stopped suddenly as another charcoal print caught her attention.

  Again the picture was beautifully rendered, each detail expertly drawn to practically bring the subject to life. Only this time, the picture was of a naked man. A magnificently naked man with a fully erect cock rising out a nest of dark curls. The man’s penis was so detailed there were veins visible along its length, and she would swear she saw a drop of moisture beading on the bulbous head. He was thick enough to raise her eyebrows, but not so long as to look unreal. His balls hung heavily between his spread thighs.

  Swallowing, she let her gaze roam over the rest of the man’s body. His legs were well-muscled and covered lightly with hair. His stomach was flat, his abs cut with impressive ridges. A dark line of hair arrowed down the middle of his tight stomach to join with the curls at his groin. His chest was also chiseled, his nipples flat and dark.

  Broad shoulders rounded into thick biceps and corded forearms, also covered with a light dusting of hair. The detail was so lifelike, she could see the creases of his joints, the smooth surface of his fingernails and the individual hairs on his arm. Every single inch of him was mouth-wateringly sexy.

  Finally, she looked at his face. The air left her lungs in a rush. She knew him! His face, that cut jaw, the barely there dent in his chin, the high cheekbones and firm mouth.

  And those eyes—those deep, brooding, bedroom eyes. Even the dark hair waving subtly around his ears.

  “Ethan.”

  She ran her fingers over the picture across the line of his jaw. Ethan Jackson was her upstairs neighbor, two flights up and across the hall. He’d only moved in about six months ago. They’d met by the mailboxes and talked a few times in passing. He was a painter, doing quite well for himself at the moment. He was the latest hit on the New 11

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  York art scene. He’d been gratifyingly impressed when he’d learned about her art school and her efforts to provide training to talented students who couldn’t afford other institutions.

  And of course she’d noticed how gorgeous he was. She might be too exhausted to indulge in erotic fantasies, but she’d have to be dead not to notice those sexy, dark eyes and that heart-thumping smile. She touched the picture again, this time running her thumb over his shoulders. She’d had a vague impression of a nice body beneath the real Ethan’s clothes. Would he really look like this? Her gaze dropped to his cock and her fingers followed. If she ran her hands along the length of his erection, would he be as smooth and hot as he looked in this drawing?

  She shivered a little. She’d love to find out. But every time she met Ethan, she was in such a hurry that they’d never talked for more than five minutes. And she no doubt looked appalling at each meeting. How could she not? She barely had time to brush her teeth. She certainly didn’t bother with makeup or flattering hairstyles. Or even flattering clothes.

  Cringing, she thought back to the last time they’d met, a week ago. She’d been on her way to the school to take care of some administrative work. She’d been wearing baggy jeans, an oversized sweater that hid most of her figure and clunky shoes that she owned for comfort over fashion. Her hair had been pulled up in a messy bun. Her face was no doubt pale and her eyes smudged with dark circles because she’d managed about two hours of sleep the night before. Ethan probably thought she was a slob. Nice, but not very attractive.

 

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