Lucky’s Naughty Angel: A Second Chance Romance Read online

  I hang up and look over at Moose. “C’mon, boy, we got families to feed.”

  Chapter Two

  Julia

  “There’s no way that I can get a rental truck four days early, not this close to Christmas.” Dad sits back from his laptop with a sigh, rubbing his lean face. He looks so crestfallen that I go over and hug him.

  “Don’t worry, Dad, I called ten volunteers while you were looking for one, and have them on standby. We’ve got one van, one pickup, seven cars, and Aaron’s sidecar at our disposal.” I deliberately use Aaron’s first name, just to see that little twitch it puts in the corner of Dad’s eye.

  I love my Dad, and I’ve helped him run the church since Mom died. I look up to him in a lot of ways, but he has his flaws, just like everyone—the biggest one is that he prejudges people sometimes.

  He’s not racist, and he doesn’t look down on the poor, but he makes certain judgments about bikers, stoners, hippies...guys with records. And the guy he’s judged the most harshly is the one I want to spend my life with.

  One day I hope to prove to him that he’s got Aaron all wrong. It hurts a little that he sticks to his prejudices toward the guy who has done so much heavy lifting around the church for years. Especially because Aaron is so important to me.

  But all of that is secondary now compared to reassuring Dad that we’re ready to get through this day. Twenty degrees? Icy? Hundreds of pounds of food to sort and distribute with a damn blizzard breathing down our necks?

  No problem. We’re on the case.

  My dad blinks in surprise, and then smiles tentatively. “Good work,” he says simply, and I hand him a fresh cup of coffee to fortify him for the day ahead.

  After a quick breakfast of eggs, apple pancakes, and sausage, we’re outside helping a small crowd of volunteers unload the delivery company’s huge truck. I’m at one of the folding tables we have set up beside it, cutting open boxes of food and sorting the contents into smaller boxes to distribute.

  The tables are wedged into the space between the delivery truck and the weathered side of the church, so that the heaving wind can’t blow the lighter things away. We’re hoping to eventually add a covered bay along the side to make unloading in extreme weather easier, but we can’t quite get to that project yet. There are too many more important ones in the way.

  The church is creaky and old, formerly a Dutch Reformed church that was sold after Hurricane Irene flooded so much of the area. A lot of people moved out of town after that. We moved in, and fixing and updating the big wooden building is as much a part of our lives as ministry or charity.

  That’s actually how I met Aaron Gates, former biker, current bouncer, handyman, dog daddy, and the man of my dreams. He is a guy who has spent a third of his life in jail or on parole for a crime he didn’t commit, all so his brother wouldn’t have to be put away for even longer. Now, he keeps drunks from acting up in town by night, and helps us with our church projects by day.

  I remember the day I met him, over two years ago. He was new in town, and my father, who believes in second chances, as long as they don’t involve dating his daughter, apparently, offered him a place in the congregation. Soon after that he started volunteering, and that was how I first crossed paths with him—him carrying lumber up to the steeple to reinforce it from within.

  He’s a mountain of a man. Big, burly, solid—he towers over everyone I know, even my dad, who is a beanpole. He’s actually the exact opposite of my dad, appearance-wise—a little scruffy, with keen dark eyes, and short hair that almost looks black and is constantly swept back. When I saw him stomp past, whistling with what looked like an entire tree’s worth of lumber on one muscled shoulder, everything stopped inside me, and all I could do was stare.

  I don’t really date. There isn’t much opportunity—I don’t have much time between church, volunteering, and commuting to and from seminary in Rochester, where I live for half the week during the semester. But every time I’m home and even remotely near Aaron, he’s always in my thoughts.

  Who would be better to spend the rest of my life with than my best buddy, the guy who gets things done, the guy to whom I can tell any secret and know that he will keep it? Yes, he’s a lot older than I am, and there are some people in town who will never trust him—but I do. And I wish Dad did.

  I get working as soon as I leave my dad, distributing frozen chickens into boxes—three to a box, along with a package of frozen ground beef. The vegetarians get beans, tofu, nuts, wild rice mixes, squash, and a couple of those horrible fake turkey loaves that apparently taste a lot better than they look. As I empty each box, I set it aside, and the man himself lumbers out of the truck with another.

  “So, how’s it going?” Aaron asks with that tender-eyed smile as he sets the big box on the table with a soft thud.

  I beam at him. “We have enough food to give everyone half again as much as last year, take care of a lot of drop-ins, and then fill up our larders, too. I don’t know how Whitman did it all, but I’ll take the early delivery if it means we can get it all out before the storm comes.” I tend to chatter when I’m excited.

  “Me too.” Again, I see that brief flash of a grin—a pretty rare occurrence. Aaron does smile a lot, especially when he’s with me—or with his dog, who is keeping some of the other volunteers’ kids busy playing. But he lights up when he’s around me. People have commented on it before.

  My father has also commented on it, and not in a good way.

  However, in my dad’s head, I’ll probably always be twelve years old, even after he’s retired, and I’ve taken over ministry. Maybe he would keep any guy who looks at me like Aaron does under a microscope. I wouldn’t know, because I don’t notice other guys.

  Not like this.

  I’ve already decided to do something about this whole ridiculous “unresolved sexual tension” thing. Ridiculous because I’m an adult, we’re both single, and we should really do something about this.

  Once the boxes are loaded up and closed, they go on a hand truck out to the volunteers’ vehicles. The first cars are already coming back from their first set of deliveries, but Aaron has been stuck here, transferring cases of food and helping the less capable volunteers push their assigned hand trucks.

  I love watching him work. The man is tireless. I can only imagine what he would be like in bed—not that I know much about that sort of thing, but hey, a girl can dream.

  I’m catching myself staring at his ass for the third time when Marion, one of my volunteers, comes up to me, brushing snow off her rust-colored parka. She’s a tall older woman with a long, strong-jawed face, and she smiles awkwardly at me. “Hey.”

  “Hi, Marion, what’s going on?” I rearrange the contents of one of the boxes, making sure the loaves of bread don’t get squashed, then fold it shut as I look up at her.

  “A bit of odd news, actually. I’m just trying to find out who knows what. Did you hear about the mistletoe? Someone put it up all over town.” Her lips twitch with a mix of amusement and baffled curiosity.

  I blink at her slowly. “I’ve been here sorting chickens and canned goods since about eight. I haven’t heard anything about this.” What exactly did I miss?

  “Mistletoe?” Aaron frowns as he brings coffee over in two plain white mugs. He hands me one, looks at Marion, who has clearly been out in the weather, and hands his over to her without missing a beat.

  “Thank you.” She warms her long fingers around the mug—not even the thickest gloves will keep out the biting cold if you’re out there long enough. “Yes, the town’s thick with it. Looks like some kind of prank. I guess the church didn’t get hit?”

  “Not as far as I know,” I venture.

  “That’s because I took all those ridiculous sprigs down,” my father sighs as he comes out, entering distribution figures into a spreadsheet on his laptop. “This morning, seven sharp, on my morning walk. I’m all for a good prank, but this is still God’s house.”

  “I guess so, Reverend
.” Marion takes a deep swallow of her coffee while Aaron patiently turns to get himself and my Dad some more from inside. “Seems pretty strange, though. I wonder who would do something like that?”

  My dad folds his arms, a faint, disinterested smile on his face. “I have no idea.”

  “You’re no fun, Dad,” I tease him once Marion goes back with her arms full, ready to start loading up her car again.

  He eyes me. “Don’t tell me you were in on this mistletoe prank. Apparently they’re hanging everywhere in town.”

  I need to invite Aaron into town. “Uh, no, this is actually the first that I have heard of it. I’m kind of wondering who did it.”

  There are some really fun weirdos in Phoenicia. Most of them were either priced out of Woodstock, got sick of New York City, or seem to have just sprouted up here, like Dr. Whitman’s son, Jack. Now that guy is definitely my number one suspect for a Christmas-themed prank like this.

  After all, every year starting mid-December, his Dad’s lawn looks like the Macy’s Christmas Parade, and his family throws a Christmas feast for the whole town and makes huge food donations. Jack was raised in a family that loves Christmas.

  Jack—who is sexy but can’t hold a candle to Aaron—is the fun kind of idle rich. He’s a skier with a rack of trophies, known for following the snow season across the equator to Australia, just so he can enjoy it longer. The half of the year that he’s here, he parties and flirts his way through the mountains. Then, as soon as the snow melts, he’s gone again.

  He has the time, cash, and energy to double his father’s food donation early—and yet, right on time. He has just the kind of odd sense of humor, paired with a huge list of friends and the connections necessary, to see that our morning food distribution wakes up everyone early so they’ll have to witness the prank—his prank? —in town. The big weirdo may also have the world’s only bulk mistletoe hook-up—he probably got a reference from his father.

  I have to hand it to the both of them about the donation part, at least. Most rich New Yorkers are alarmingly self-interested. But not those two. They’re going above and beyond to spread the Christmas cheer—and maybe some kisses—this year.

  I turn to eye Aaron speculatively as he comes back out with mugs of coffee in each fist. He hands one to my father, who thanks him a little stiffly, and then comes over to me...slowing down with a look of mild worry on his face. “What?”

  I smile with all the innocence. “Nothing.”

  Chapter Three

  Aaron

  Sweet little Julia is up to something, I can just tell. She’s smiling too much, and she’s looking at me with this mischievous expression that leaves me just a bit concerned.

  Julia doesn’t know how to flirt, and I thank God for that, because if she ever really came on to me, she would have me wrapped around her little finger in an instant. Hell, I’d be happy about it.

  Her father, on the other hand, would probably drive me out of the church like I fucked the Virgin Mary. And besides, there’s one thing about me that he’s right about: I don’t deserve someone as pure and hot and full of life as Julia. If she thinks that I do, she’s selling herself short.

  But a guy can dream, right? As long as I remember that all I’m gonna be doing is dreaming.

  We make it to one in the afternoon before we run into our first glitch, which is amazing given the huge amount of food we have to sort and pass out in a short time. But when things finally go wrong, they do it in a big way.

  “What do you mean, we’ve lost track? How much food got loaded downstairs?” Poor Reverend Alderson is managing to keep his voice quiet, but his eyes show that he’s ready to tear out his own hair. Poor guy. He might have a stick up his ass, but he doesn’t deserve stress in return for his kindness.

  Julia and I exchange glances and she gives me a nod. We both hover around while the crisis unfolds, ready to step in.

  The bearer of bad news is Tomxmy, a kid who works at the gas station. He’s a little bear of a guy in Coke-bottle glasses, who squirms at the note of desperation in the Reverend’s voice. “Um, well...enough that we’re having trouble opening the doors.”

  “But we haven’t even finished unloading the truck...?” He looks into the back of the delivery truck, from which boxes are still coming out, and over at all the volunteers’ cars, which have all done at least three trips around the county and are loaded to the gills again. “How did they fit it all? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this is almost too much of a good thing!”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” Julia speaks up, walking over and offering to take his laptop. “I’ll go down to the storeroom and tally things up. I’ll just need some help getting the door open.”

  He relinquishes the laptop. “You’re sure? I have no idea what it’s like down there right now—it might be a total mess.”

  “I’ll manage.” She looks over at me. “C’mon, I may need some help shuffling some of the stacks of boxes around. The truck’s almost empty. Everyone else can take it from here.”

  I nod and trail her inside, trying not to walk too close. Too much of that, and I know I’ll be in trouble again. I can’t be of use with the food distribution if I’m stumbling around with boner-brain.

  “You know, I know it’s stressing Dad, but having so much donated food that we lose track of it all is a pretty good inconvenience.” We head through the kitchen and into the hallway, which is narrow and floored with peeling linoleum. I mentally add that to my repair list.

  I nod agreement as we head for the freight elevator at the end of the hall. Too many times, especially these days, food drives scratch along on almost nothing. “You said it. But directing the whole event still has to be stressful for him.”

  “Always. He’s too rigid and stuck in routines for his own good—big changes always stress him out.” She stops in front of the elevator and I pull the lever, unlatching the pull-down safety gate and shoving it upward. She ducks in ahead of me. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.” There’s that smile I can’t fight again.

  The elevator’s roomy and dim, with a high ceiling. There’s an odd, spicy green smell hanging around the air in the place. It’s a little familiar, but I can’t place it. Has someone donated a bunch of mustard greens to go with the other stuff in the fridges downstairs?

  On her way in, Julia pauses for just a moment, and I hear her let out a little laugh before she continues inside, as if she’s just thought of something—or noticed something. I step in after her and close the gate. “So,” she says suddenly as I’m reaching to throw the lever and send us down, “you know all that mistletoe Dad says he removed from the church?”

  I pause, the naughty tone in her voice startling me, and look back at her. “Yeah?”

  She reaches past me and pulls the lever, closing the door on us and sending the elevator rumbling slowly downward. “He missed a sprig.”

  I look down at her and see her wide grin as she steps closer...and then look up, straight at a bundle of mistletoe hanging right above me. Crap.

  I freeze, knowing what is about to happen and almost dreading it, knowing as well that I can’t stop her—I don’t want to. She presses her body into me, the pleasure of it mixing with a searing hunger as I fight not to grab hold of her. Her lips brush against mine and her arms slip around my neck as she clings to me.

  She kisses me with a mix of sensuality and tenderness that melts my heart and brings my cock fully awake in seconds. Aching, I groan against her mouth, feeling my whole body respond involuntarily while my free will floats away on a cloud of bliss.

  Holy shit. Oh my God. I’m in trouble.

  I don’t care.

  Why did I ever hold back from kissing her? I have never felt anything so right in my life. It’s sweeter than my first breath of free air.

  I pull her closer, feeling her squirm against me, her full breasts rubbing against my chest through her layers of clothing while her tongue teases its way into my mouth. I can hear th
e low, starved groans vibrating through my throat as I respond, a wave of sensual hunger running from my toes to the tip of my head.

  I have to have her. Now. Right now.

  Wait, what am I doing? I gently pull away, and she makes a small, disappointed noise in her throat.

  When I finally get control of myself, I stare down at her in amazement. “Julia...what are you doing?”

  “What I’ve wanted to do for more than a year,” she replies with a wicked grin.

  “Baby, we really shouldn’t—” I start, and she simply moves closer, laying a slim, warm finger against my lips.

  “Shhhh.”

  I’m doomed.

  The elevator rattles to a stop, and we’re kissing again, and we stand there wrapped up in each other for so long that I lose track of why we’re down here. She’s so soft, so warm...so fragrant. So perfect.