Bad Santa Read online

  BAD SANTA

  A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Firefighter Romance

  Mia Madison

  Copyright © 2017 Mia Madison

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), places or events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  NOTE: This story contains some scenes and language only suitable for mature readers.

  CONTENTS

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  Rachel

  The children’s ward at Podminster General Hospital in the south of England is decked out with enough streamers, tinsel, and glitter to out-dazzle a Disney parade. But I’m pretty sure no one is going to be looking at those Christmas decorations this afternoon. Not if I leave the bathroom in this costume.

  Why on earth did I agree to this?

  The door opens, and I grab my purse as if it would be big enough to hide this green monstrosity from human view.

  It’s Lisa. She takes one look at me and giggles.

  I groan. “I am going to be such a laughingstock.”

  “You won’t,” she says. “The kids are going to love you. The elf was a big hit last year.”

  “That elf must have been way smaller than me.”

  “Not way smaller.”

  “You laughed. As soon as you saw me.”

  “I’m just not used to seeing you dressed up in costume.”

  “For a good reason. It’s ridiculous.”

  “You need to get out more. Live a little.”

  “True, but I don’t want to do it in green. It’s not my color.”

  She snorts.

  “I can hardly move.”

  “You’re exaggerating. You’ll be fine,” she says. “Better than the kids out there. They could do with a laugh.”

  And of course, she’s right. It’s the whole reason I agreed to this dressing-up-as-an-elf nonsense.

  “Do you want me to paint your face for you?” she asks, catching sight of the green theatrical paint on the side of the sink that was tucked in with the costume when I opened the bag.

  “No, I think they got the elf costume mixed up with Kermit. I’m pretty sure elves don’t have green faces. This one doesn’t, anyway.”

  “I thought they were like green Smurfs. But suit yourself; last year’s elf didn’t paint her face either. Just remember, Santa has eyes everywhere, and he might put you over his knee if you don’t play your part well enough.” She giggles.

  “Who? Ben? You’re kidding.” My laugh is the nervous kind, because this conversation is getting awkward, even though it’s probably only Lisa trying to get me to loosen up again. She roped her fiancé in to play Father Christmas last year, and the pictures were all over Facebook.

  Ben is an okay guy, though. Knowing him, he’d only rib me about my costume a few hundred times and then shut up about it.

  “He couldn’t do it this year,” Lisa says. “He’s away at a conference.”

  Great, there’ll be someone else to witness my shame. I know there will be doctors and nurses on duty, and parents around, but they’ll all have other things on their minds and won’t give a stray elf in an undersized costume a second glance. I hardly dare ask. “Who’s Santa this year?”

  “No idea. One of the kid’s parents organized someone. You never know, Santa might be a hot guy. You need some of that in your life.”

  “Not going there,” I warn. This has been a refrain from Lisa over the past few weeks. My answer comes out automatically, as it always does, but I’m not sure I mean it anymore.

  She’s right; it’s about time for me to come out of my shell. I broke up with Patrick over six months ago. Our wedding plans were well underway, the church and reception booked, but I still need to get on with my life and forget the rat. I’m determined February the fourteenth will come and go like a perfectly normal day in a perfectly normal month.

  “More likely to be one of the kid’s grandparents, I expect,” she says.

  “That’s just as well because any hot guy is unlikely to be smitten with me in this.” I look down at my costume as if it can’t possibly be as horrific as the picture I have in my mind. I’m wrong. It is.

  Lisa laughs. “If the costume doesn’t do it, the hat might just clinch the deal.”

  “Yes, the hat is especially gorgeous. Whatever, I’d better get into elf mode.” I need to psych myself up into being jolly for the sake of the kids. I saw some of them on my way to the bathroom. Poor little things. I can do it for them. Yes, I can. Lisa is always telling me to let my hair down, and now’s the time to do it.

  “What do elves do, anyway?” Lisa asks. “Other than help Santa giving out gifts.”

  “Make toys and create mischief as far as I know. And make kids smile, hopefully.”

  “Yes, that’s what they need. Better get back,” Lisa says. “My break is over.”

  “You haven’t been in here five minutes.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m lucky if I get time to pee, sometimes. See you later.”

  And then I’m alone. I look at myself in the mirror and pull a face. And then I try a few elf poses. What kind of expression is an elf supposed to have? Who knows. I Google “elf pictures” on my phone. They are all grinning from ear to ear. That much I can do.

  I check in the mirror again. No salad on my teeth. Rightio. We’re on.

  CHAPTER 2

  Flynn

  “No sweat; of course I’ll do it.” Paul’s kid is in the hospital and they need someone to be Santa. How hard can it be? I just have to check I’m not on shift that day, or swap with someone if I am, and we’re in business.

  “Thanks. I owe you one. The senior nurse there has been so good to Robbie. One of the doctors agreed to do it this year, but he broke his leg skiing. You’d think doctors would be more careful.”

  “You’d think so, but don’t worry, I can do it. You can’t have Santa with a broken leg. He’s supposed to be magic. How is Robbie, anyway?”

  “We’re hoping we’ll get him out for Christmas, but I don’t know…”

  “Hey, Paul. I’m sorry.”

  “I know, mate, I know.”

  All this must be hard on Paul and his wife. The chief gave him leave to have as much time off as he needs, but he still comes into the station to do his bit, and to forget about it all for a while, I think.

  *

  A week after agreeing to play Santa, I drive to the hospital decked out in full regalia: red coat with a hood edged in white fur, black belt over substantial padding, and a big white Santa beard and mustache. More than one person looks twice when I stop in traffic. My dark blue Audi is not quite Santa’s sleigh. I give them a cheery wave.

  On the way up to the ward, one guy quips, “I think yo
u got lost, Santa. North Pole’s that way.” I can’t help laughing; I’m enjoying this already.

  Nancy, the senior nurse, meets me when I get out of the elevator, and she hands me a couple of sacks of presents donated by well-wishers. I look at the ones sticking out of the top of the first sack. Every gift has a label with a name on it in big handwriting. There’s a window in the door to the playroom, and Nancy points out the corner where there’s a chair bedecked in a red blanket and a “Welcome, Santa!” notice the kids have made.

  “You may as well wait for your helper before you start,” she says. “She’s already arrived.”

  “My helper?”

  “Yes, an elf, Rachel. Oh, here she is.”

  A girl, strike that, a woman, young, but all grown-up, walks gingerly along the corridor toward us in a ridiculous elf costume.

  “Rachel, this is Flynn,” Nancy says. “I’ll leave you to get organized. It might be better if you go around to those who can’t get out of bed first, and then we’ll herd the rest into the playroom. I had better get going; some of the children are getting over-excited. I’ll send a nurse out to show you who’s who.”

  The kids are not the only ones getting excited. Seeing Rachel up close, she’s not ridiculous at all with her cute face, honey blonde hair, and shy smile. A sight to behold, odd costume notwithstanding.

  “Hi. I thought you’d be older,” she says, her face coloring as if she didn’t mean to say that. Her words are a bit cutting because I put on at least forty years and a hundred pounds with the Santa suit. Even so, I’m older than her, maybe by ten or fifteen years.

  “I’m older than I look,” I say. “Three thousand, two hundred and forty-three last birthday. I thought you’d be more impish. You know, skipping along the corridor, full of impishness.”

  “I don’t think this costume was made for me to skip in,” she says. “I can hardly walk in it.”

  “Can’t you loosen it?”

  “Not in any way I can see.”

  “It does look a bit tight in there.” Her curves are being well and truly squashed. She looks like she might burst out at any moment. The thought conjures up all sorts of pictures of helping her out of the costume that probably shouldn’t be in Santa’s head.

  She blushes again as if she knows exactly where my mind is going.

  Right then. Eyes up, Flynn. Job to do.

  CHAPTER 3

  Rachel

  Flynn’s dark eyes are the kind a girl could get lost in, and they are anything but innocent as he looks at me in my costume. I feel myself blushing like an overripe tomato. And I know I wouldn’t be doing that if one of the kid’s grandparents had turned up in the red suit. I’m not sure if it’s Flynn’s eyes or his voice making me blush the most. He could strip the panties off a harem just by talking.

  Lisa shows up right then and introduces herself to Flynn; then she raises her eyebrows at me and smiles. I hope he doesn’t catch that. But then I see him raise his eyebrows as well. So he did. This is getting more embarrassing by the minute.

  He and I both bend over to reach for the sacks at the same time, clashing heads, and he laughs. “We’ll have to coordinate,” he says, his husky voice doing all kinds of things to my insides. “Or this will turn into a comedy show.”

  “I think that’s the point,” I say.

  “True enough.” He laughs. “But hopefully without the need for concussions. Are the gifts in any particular order?” he asks Lisa.

  “Not really. We had no time for that, but the ones for the playroom are in that sack.” She indicates the one on the right. We can deliver the others in the order we get to them.

  I take one from the sack on the left. “This one’s for Sophie.”

  “She’s along here,” Lisa says.

  Flynn picks up both sacks, and we follow Lisa along to Sophie’s room. Flynn’s a big guy, taller than me, which doesn’t always happen. I always towered above my friends by a couple of inches all through school, including the guys. One of the things I liked about Patrick—he was tall.

  On the other hand, who knows what Flynn is really like or what’s going on in his life. There’s no point getting carried away. I’m already seeing pictures in my head of coffee at Starbucks, the Santa pot-bellied costume replaced by abs and strong thighs in jeans. A guy like that is probably dating someone else, or worse, married. He might even have a real pot belly under there, for all I know.

  Lisa is always on at me for having everything planned out before it happens. “Go with the flow,” she says. “Good things happen that way. You’re less likely to be disappointed.”

  But even she was wrapped up in the plans for my Valentine wedding that wasn’t to be. Anyway, mustn’t think of that now. Cheery smile required.

  The afternoon is a riot of kids and Christmas wrapping paper, parents taking pictures, and Flynn. No matter what state the children are in when we arrive by their bedside, he has them happier before we move on. Sometimes it’s just a smile they manage, but it’s something.

  Some of them are more than a little wary of the big man all dressed in red at first.

  Much like myself.

  But he has a way with them that I like. They keep the rooms warm and comfortable in the hospital, I know, but watching him, I whisper to Sandra, “Is it hot in here or something? I feel in need of a fan.” She laughs.

  Flynn looks up and winks at me, sending my heart thudding. Eek! Did he overhear? I hope not.

  In the playroom, with the young patients all gathered around, it’s a bit livelier. A couple of the little devils pull Santa’s big, white beard, but it seems to be firmly lodged with whatever he’s used to secure it, and he just laughs like, well… like you would imagine Santa would laugh.

  It’s my job to match the gift to the child and hand it to Santa at the right moment. Between us, we have the whole thing nailed. A success. I’m so happy I said yes to this after seeing their little faces.

  Finally, there’s only one present left in the bottom of the sack. And one child. The names match. Hallelujah. But as I bend over to gather it up, there’s a big ripping sound in the back of my costume.

  “Looks like elf Rachel has eaten too many donuts,” Flynn says, and the kids all look up from their gifts and laugh. And so do the parents who are standing around the edges of the room. And the nurses keeping an eye on things (including Lisa—traitor). And the one doctor who has popped in to see the commotion. I cast daggers at Flynn while grabbing the back of my costume.

  He doesn’t help by whispering in my ear. “Sexy undies for an elf. Nice.”

  I want to thrash him.

  I hand him the last gift, my face sure to be a match for Rudolph’s nose the way the heat radiates off it. Petra, a little girl in a cute pink robe with bunny ears, is nudged forward by her dad to receive the brightly wrapped parcel. She grabs it from Santa and scurries back behind her dad’s legs.

  “Our work is done,” Flynn says, quietly to me, and I get a waft of the subtle cologne he wears, making me want to lean closer to breathe more of it in, despite his comments about donuts and underwear.

  He gets up and waves, calling to the children. “See you next year. Merry Christmas.” And the kids wave and shout Merry Christmas back.

  I’m determined not to say another word to Santa to get him back for being a jerk, but he doesn’t even notice.

  “Did you see little Robbie? He’s my friend Paul’s son. He’s been in here on and off since he was born. Congenital heart condition and kidney problems. Poor kids, all of them. And the parents, too.”

  So I can hardly storm off in a huff, as I wanted to, as we walk away from the ward along the corridor, me holding the back of my elf outfit together. In the circumstances, a ripped costume and a guy who laughs about it seem trivial. Still, it doesn’t make me like him.

  I swallow my annoyance, and just agree with him about the children. Once we get around the corner, Flynn takes off his hood and beard. My mouth just about drops open.

  Jeez, this guy
really is hot. Seriously. But also a serious pain in the ass. He has no respect for women at all, or at least he didn’t for me in my predicament.

  CHAPTER 4

  Flynn

  Shame I’ll never see elf Rachel again. Pretty face. Gorgeous curves in all the right places. But then if she never sees me again, it will probably be a moment too soon for her. Her expression speaks daggers.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have let slip I appreciated her black lace panties. Not very politically correct of Santa. Bad Santa! But it just slipped out. Just as well I stopped myself saying what I really wanted to say next, about it being a pity the front of the elf costume hadn’t split, too. Because there’s not much imagination required to see the result would have been a treat for the grown-up guys at the hospital.

  I give her a cheery Santa wave goodbye as she slips into the ladies’ bathroom to get changed. And that’s that.

  It’s only five days before Christmas, and there’s not much happening at the station. No big fires. Thank fuck. No major safety campaigns. No more than a few building inspections and low-level rescues.

  Paul congratulates me on my starring role as Santa. “Robbie hasn’t shut up asking questions,” he says, “like how come you came to the hospital when it wasn’t Christmas Eve?”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Santa wanted to spend extra time with special children, and he knew he would be too busy that night delivering presents all over the world.”

  “Good answer,” I say.

  “What is Santa doing for Christmas, anyway?”

  “Nothing much. On duty until four. I can stay longer if anyone wants me to do their shift.”

  I smile. I really don’t mind. If I’m honest, Christmas doesn’t mean that much these days. I used to visit my parents in between shifts when they were around, but since they moved to sunny Spain for their retirement, we wish each other Merry Christmas by phone.

  “What about you?”

  “I’m still not sure if Robbie is getting out, so we’ll probably be dashing between the hospital and home for the other two.”