Sandra Kitt - Promises in Paradise

Her position didn’t allow her to ignore them. Perching on the edge of Ron’s desk, Diane scrolled through her e-mails and text messages. Fortunately, there was no emergency, just several colleagues wishing her a happy holiday and friends inviting her to join them for drinks. There was another invitation to yet another party, and a request for the name of a particular doctor.

Totally wrapped up in responding, she paid no attention to the voices and conversation in the hallway. Diane was just finishing her last post when one voice stood out distinctly from the rest. She was instantly spurred into action, and she scrambled to grab her things and get away. The door was ajar and she put her hand out to pull it open. It was pushed from the other side, forcing her to step back quickly.

Santa Claus filled the doorway.

Silently, her heart palpitating with a fight-or-flight reflex, Diane stared at the man behind the guise. For a very long moment neither said anything and it was impossible for her to tell what was going through Hale’s mind since she couldn’t see all of his face or much of his eyes. She also made the quick observation of how funny he looked behind the fake snow-white beard.

Standing so close in front of him, she could smell the storage chemicals on the rented Santa suit and she could smell Hale’s cologne or aftershave. Plus a little bit of male heat.

“’Scuse me,” she murmured, not looking into his face as she tried to slide past him through the doorway.

“No problem,” he murmured back.

“ Don’t move! Perfect! Man, I couldn’t plan this.”

Curious, Diane looked at Ron. He pointed to the door frame over her and Hale’s head. He looked up, too. The evergreen bouquet was fixed and ready. Ron burst out into loud, satisfied laughter.

“Don’t just stand there,” he encouraged. “You’re supposed to kiss each other.”

Diane’s gaze flew to Hale’s, her eyes wide with surprise. And fear. She was about to protest but never got the chance.

Hale suddenly seemed to swoop forward and she couldn’t move. The thick wooly beard was ridiculous, but soft and kind of ticklish. Through it she felt the firm, warm pressure of his mouth.

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