Mia Jae - Lust, Lies and Tinsel Ties

A Red Garters, Snow and Mistletoe Series, 2009

The black thong was a perfect fit, if she did say so herself. It cupped her nicely in front, making a perfect vee at her crotch. The tiny straps hugged her hipbone.

Bree Noël Conner smoothed her hands over her hips and tucked the tips of her fingers under the thin string. She’d invested in an airbrushed tan for the occasion and was glad of it. Her skin was bronze and silky, even though it was Christmas Eve. Pasty white and dry wasn’t for her, though her complexion was naturally milky. Since moving to Albuquerque, she tried her best to stay sun-kissed and healthy-looking, like everyone else. Besides, she had a skimpy dress to wear tonight and she’d be damned if she was wearing pantyhose.

Even in the middle of winter.

Turning, she glanced over her shoulder in the mirror and smiled. “Nice ass, if I do say so myself.” She adjusted the thong and then ran her palms over her backside too.

Wearing only the scrap of fabric, she padded across her bedroom and sat on the bench at the foot of her bed. Warming her favorite cocoa butter lotion in her hands, she skimmed her hands over her legs, lifting first one, then the other, into the air.

“Nice and moist,” she whispered. “Perfect.”

One at a time, she slipped a foot into a black patent leather boot, complete with five-inch tall, white faux-fur tops and three-inch heels, then laced each boot up her shin, from the top of her foot all the way to the fur at her knees.

Standing, she moved to the mirror again and admired the high-heeled boots, again turning this way and that to get the full effect.

“Nice,” she whispered. “Yes.” These will do just fine.

Lifting her gaze to her bare chest, she perused each of her girls. Firm, full, and bronzed as well, she noted her erect, upturned nipples.

She liked breasts. On her and on other women. Not that she went around feeling up other women’s breasts-it wasn’t her gig-she secretly admired other women’s from afar. To her own way of thinking, hers were topnotch.

Her last boyfriend thought so, too.

Until she’d screwed up. Again.

Sighing, she was actually glad he was out of her life, and relieved she didn’t have a man to answer to right now. Picking up her black strapless bra from the dresser, she clasped it around her waist. Twisting it upward, she shimmied the girls into place. It was a cup size too small.

Damn.

A lazy smiled curled over her lips. She liked the look of her breasts spilling out over the rim of the cups.

Her cell rang; she glanced down at the number, picked it up. “Hey, Ging.”

Her best friend’s high-pitched voice pinged through from the other side.

Bree grimaced. “I hear you! Yes. I know it’s snowing. What?”

Ginger explained once more, “We need to leave now. We’ll never get up the mountain if we wait an hour.”

Shit. That came through loud and clear. The party was in a home up in the East Mountain area of the Sandias. They’d had light snow off and on all day. She hadn’t realized that it was getting worse.

Teach her to dally in the tub.

But tonight, she had to look nice. She was hoping to come away from this evening with a purse full of pocket change, all for a good cause, of course.

“All right! I’ll be downstairs in ten.”

She ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. Her Santa dress hung in the doorway. She grasped the thing-if you could call it a dress, even-and gave it a quick perusal. Pulling it over her head, she wriggled into it. Skin tight, it cinched at her waist and flared out over her hips. She struggled with the zipper at the side, finally managing to pull it all the way up.

“Belt.”

Locating the black patent leather belt, she circled her waist and pulled it tight, buckling it snug at her center. Again, she gave herself a once-over in the mirror. The dress barely skimmed her ass. The red velveteen, trimmed in faux fur along the hem, tickled her cheeks. Fur cradled her breasts, as well.

“Nice.”

A horn sounded outside.

“Crap.”

She clutched at her makeup bag, the elbow-length red satin gloves, and her Santa hat, then tripped down the stairs of her townhouse toward the front door.

The roads in the city weren’t too bad. Once they left the highway, however, the mountain two-lane was somewhat messy. Bree stared through the swiping blades pushing the dry snow pellets off the windshield. “God, I hope this isn’t a mistake.”

“Quit worrying.”

Bree turned to Ginger, who was leaning forward in her seat, staring out the window.

“This is going to be fine,” Ginger said. “The party is over at one and hopefully by the end of the evening, our names will be a little more prominent in higher circles.”

“I’m worried about the snow.”

“Oh hell.” She patted the dash of her Jeep. “Ol’ Ginny here will get us back home again just fine. That’s why I like a four-wheel drive. Doesn’t keep me from getting where I need to go. Besides, it’s a dry snow. Not thick and wet like back home.”

Bree didn’t know about that. Back home in Ohio, when it snowed like this it generally wasn’t a big problem. But in Ohio, they had the proper snow removal equipment and had the systems all worked out. Here, big snows rarely came. And even though the weathermen weren’t predicting a huge mess, Bree was antsy. Her father was a farmer, after all, and she’d learned to watch the sky and respect the weather.

She didn’t like how the sky looked to the north and west.

Again, she looked to Ginger, taking in her party attire. She wore as skimpy an outfit as Bree, the color was tan with white trimming her cuffs and collar; the neckline low cut. Red hearts were centered up the bodice and a red petticoat peeked out from beneath the short skirt. A teeny white apron completed the look. The outfit was topped off with red sparkling Mary Jane’s and red and white candy cane striped knee socks.

“So what the hell are you supposed to be?” she asked.

“What? You can’t tell?”

She shook her head. “Not sure.”

“I’m the Gingerbread girl!” She pointed to her apron, covering her crotch. “See? There is my cookie.”

“Ah.” She did indeed see Ginger’s cookie. “I get it. Ginger the Gingerbread girl. Hell, I hope we don’t get stopped on this road due to the weather. We look like hookers.”

“We are so not hookers.”

“But we sure look like it.”

Ginger edged a glance her way. “Bree, we’re businesswomen who are volunteering their time tonight for a good cause. Not to mention that it will be a good promo op for our business. That’s all. We’re not hookers.”

“We look like hookers.”

“Give it a rest.”

Bree wondered how she’d gotten talked into this. She watched the snow out her window and replied, “I’m wearing a dress that barely covers my ass with nothing but a thong underneath. If I don’t look like I’m out for sex, then I don’t know what…”

“So what’s new? You’re always out for sex.”

Whipping her head around to look at Ginger, she spat back, “And you are Miss Goody Two-Shoes?”

Ginger braked and stopped the car dead in the road. Probably not a good move, given the mush and the ever climbing incline, because the Jeep shimmied a little to the right. “Hell, Bree, what is up with you? So we both like sex. So what? Has nothing to do with what we are doing tonight. Tonight, we are cocktail waitresses at an artsy-fartsy benefit party. Volunteers. Nothing more, nothing less. And we’re out for tips, nothing more, nothing less. The proceeds all go to the homeless shelter that we, Conner & Baker Realty, are helping to sponsor. It’s a good thing, Bree. For the homeless. For us. So, if you flip your skirt accidentally and show a little cheek, all the better.”