“Do you need today to get set up for it?”

Hmm. He had the feeling he was about to get propositioned. Some fairly enjoyable imagery came to his mind on that one, but Rick could tell Lana was shifting into work mode.

“I know tonight is a busy night for you,” she said. “But I was wondering if I could borrow you for an hour later this morning. An hour and a half, tops.”

One look at Lana’s hopeful expression and he knew he was going to do whatever came out of her mouth. “What do you need?”

“I’m sort of out a Santa Claus.”

Rick blinked. He knew he was blinking, because all he could see was her pretty face, the snow behind her shoulders, and fresh flakes on her shiny hair. Then eyelid. Lots of eyelid.

It was never too late to start making boundaries for oneself.

“I’d be Santa,” she explained as if instinctively knowing he was ready to back out. “But I’m already an elf, and the suit really wouldn’t fit me. I’d arranged for someone from the resort to be my Santa, but he’s come down with a rather nasty cold. He said he’d still do it, but it seems cruel to ask him to have a townful of children asking for toys while he’s sick.”

“But it’s not too cruel to ask me to do it?” Mouth curving despite himself, Rick shook his head. “I’m not really the Santa type.”

“Not jolly enough?” Her eyes danced. “I promise to get you out as soon as possible, and I’m happy to help you tonight at the tournament as a thank-you.”

He liked the idea of having her there tonight, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated. “You should come, but I don’t need the help unless you’re bored. I’ll have Diego working.”

“And if I show up anyway?”

“Then the terrible rosé is on me.”

Lana grinned. “It isn’t that bad.”

“It isn’t that good either.” Rick took a swipe of icing on his fork, then shook his head in bemusement. “Santa huh?”

“If it helps, I’ll have a pitcher of special ‘no children allowed’ eggnog to coax the cheeriness out of you. I certainly plan to partake. Are you all right? You look a little pale around the edges.”

“I’ve seen the damage you can do with special eggnogs.” Rick’s hand found her knee, his body oriented in her direction. Was the physical pull between them as overwhelming to her as it was to him? The inches between them felt way too far. “What would I have to do?”

“Oh, the normal Santa things. Lots of ho ho hoing, I’d imagine. Sit on a chair and let people take pictures with you. I’ll be right there with you.” Lana flashed him a quick grin. “Don’t worry. I won’t let any of the women sit on your lap and pull your beard.”

“I thought you were trying to convince me I should do this.” He gave her a teasing look as they stood before taking their plates to the sink.

“I can promise you all the cookies and milk you want, plus a very grateful Grass. He’s the next in line. Hannah said she’d twist his arm to make him if I couldn’t come up with an alternative. You don’t have to though. No pressure.”

If she’d stayed her smiling, cheerful self, maybe Rick would have had a chance. But the moment her smile slipped, so did his self-respect, his self-awareness of what was best for him, and any generally intelligent decisions he was capable of making.

“I’ll do it.”

As her face lit up, Rick tried not to think about how good happiness looked on her. “Thank you, Rick. You’re going to make this party absolutely perfect.”

When she kissed him, Rick was more than happy to lean against the sink and do that for a while. Breathless, they pulled apart. “Do you have plans before the party?” he asked, voice lowered with desire.

Lana’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-closed as he pressed soft kisses along her neck.

“I have a remote conference scheduled with the company’s board of directors,” she said. “Then, Zoey and I are meeting for a quick Santa Moose catching planning session before I have to start setting up the party.”

The things this woman did on a daily basis made his flesh crawl. Rick didn’t even like video calls on his cellphone.

“Zoey told me to bring my A game,” Lana added.

Rick wasn’t sure this woman had any other default setting than A game.

“How do you bring your A game to catch a moose?”

“I’d tell you, but it would be breaking the super secret code of moose catching between women. Sorry, Rick. You aren’t allowed in our tree house.” As she headed for the door, Lana winked at him. “See you later, Santa.”

* * *

Everything was perfect. The resort’s massive river rock fireplace had been turned into a winter wonderland.

Hannah stood in the middle of the room, pursing her lips as she oversaw the final details. She checked her watch, then glanced over at Lana.

“Well, everything’s ready on our end. This is a lot of food.”

“And I promise to pay for every crumb,” Lana told the other woman. “I know you don’t think anyone’s going to show up, but I refuse to invite a town full of people to a Christmas party and not have a town’s worth of refreshments for them.”

Lana was proud of the decorating table. It was loaded with cookies ready to be iced and covered with all kinds of sprinkles. But the best part was the gingerbread town. If anything was going to win her points with Moose Springs, it would be the miniature gingerbread town.

A soft, uncomfortable cough pulled her attention to the man standing in the doorway of the room. Rick always looked good, but he was bringing it today. His long-sleeve shirt hung on his broad shoulders just right, and he’d put on a pair of jeans so new, Lana could see the faint outline of where he’d peeled the sizing sticker off the leg.

Too bad she was about to ruin him with a Santa suit.

Rick was staring at her from across the room, jaw slightly slack.

“Oh dear,” Lana sighed. “I was hoping no one but Hannah would see me with my elf hair.”

Her teasing seemed lost on him, then Lana realized that her hair wasn’t why he wasn’t speaking.

“I had to improvise,” she told him. “The costumes came a bit snug.”

“Thank goodness for that,” he replied.

Sharing a look of mutual amusement with Hannah, Lana crossed the distance between them. She slipped her arm through Rick’s companionably.

“Now, don’t be nervous. This is your workshop. What you say goes. You are Santa, after all.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure you don’t need a cookie decorator? Or a present passer outer?”

“Nope. Santa it is. Come with me. I left your outfit in my room.”

Lana had chosen a pair of festive green pumps to complete her outfit, and the height of her heels had her at eye level with him. Rick kept glancing at her then quickly glancing away, as if guilty for having looked in the first place. It was more than a little adorable, especially considering he’d had his hands all over her that morning.

Rick followed her to her suite, then stepped inside, the door partially closing behind him but not latching shut.

“Don’t worry. You won’t accidentally see anything embarrassing. No frilly underthings to send you running screaming.”

Shoulders loosening at her joke, Rick leaned back against the door, arms folded over his chest. “I was enjoying the frilly underthings last night,” he said, voice husky with remembrance.

The door snapped shut on him, making him fall back that critical inch between cool and adorably awkward.

For the second time since he’d arrived, Lana had to bite her lip to cover her mirth. She waved him into the suite’s bedroom, taking down a garment bag from where it hung waiting on the closet door. “As much as I’d love a repeat, the guests are due to arrive in ten minutes.”

He cringed as she pressed the outfit into his arms.

Lana waited outside the bathroom door while Rick changed, using the moment to double-check her makeup and hair.

“I’m not sure this will fit,” he said, sounding dubious.

“You’re approximately the same build as my last human Santa sacrifice.”

“Ha ha.”

Unable to resist teasing him a little more, Lana added, “I’d recommend wearing your underthings, frilly or otherwise. They promise they dry-clean these in between uses, but you never really know what’s happening in a Santa suit.”

“You’re trying to make this worse, aren’t you?”

“Of course not. Now, let me see.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It can’t be too bad. Santa is iconic. If you’re dressed in velvet with a fluffy beard, you’re fine.”

“That could be any number of things.” Grumbling audibly, Rick stepped out of the bathroom. Face turning nearly as red as his outfit, he stood in front of Lana for her inspection.

“I can’t wear this.”

Lana stepped closer. “Actually, I think you wear it rather well.”

Her compliment was met with an audible curse. The Santa suit wasn’t just snug. It was skintight. This was no round-bellied Santa, no jolly old Saint Nick. This was rippling-muscles-beneath-crushed-red-velvet Santa. Broad shoulders and a flat stomach that would not shake when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.

Maybe a bowl full of rocks or a washboard or two.

“Turn around,” she encouraged him. “I want to see what we’re working with.”

Giving her a distrustful look, Rick did as she asked. Not only was the Santa suit snug in the top, it was equally snug in the rear.

“Mrs. Claus is a very lucky woman.”

“I’m changing.” Rick stomped toward the bathroom.

Lana pulled him back. “I’m teasing you, dearest. It’s fine. Despite the sweets provided, I think a fit, healthy Santa is a good example for the town’s youth.”