Santa Baby: a Carelli Family Christmas Novella Page 5

  The sheet fell from my waist when I slipped away from her. I tugged on my pajama bottoms, stretching as I headed for the living room. The snow was everywhere, sheets of it. The sun would melt some of it, but the frigid temps would keep most of it on the ground. The weather would keep us indoors and give me time to work on Maggie and those secrets of hers.

  There was a small cry from the hallway, and I walked through the open door, closing it softly before I headed to the second bedroom. Mateo was on his stomach, doing some baby version of a push-up when I walked in. Mateo’s mouth split into a huge grin when he spotted me, and those dimples made an automatic appearance.

  “What? It’s Christmas, so you think I’ll soften up? No way, kid.” I reached for him, taking him in my arms, and the dimples got deeper. “Your mama is still cuter, and the dimples still aren’t doing shit for me.”

  He reached for my necklace again and gripped it, his eyes brightening when I held him closer.

  “You gotta be hungry and…” I felt his ass and flared my nostrils. I hadn’t done this kind of shit since Antonia and Dante were babies. “Fine,” I told him, moving to the foot of the bed to find the pack of diapers and wipes to change him. “Listen to me, kid. I got a certain reputation, you understand?”

  He pulled on his foot, muttering gibberish that only he seemed to get.

  “I can’t have you telling everybody you got Smoke Carelli to wipe your ass. You get me?”

  Mateo grinned, not fighting me as I changed him.

  I pulled his leg back into the weird-looking PJs Maggie had him in. I was sure I missed a few buttons. I didn’t have a clue what to do with a shitty diaper, so I left it wrapped up on the bed, and brought the kid with me into the kitchen.

  “That,” I told the kid, pointing to the tree and the gifts in the living room Dino and the boys laid out sometime last night, “is why you maintain a good rep. So your boys stay loyal and do good work.”

  “He’s a little young for career advice.”

  I turned, catching sight of a sleepy-looking Maggie as she stepped out of the hallway and finished a yawn. “Nah. Just a little friendly guidance.” Her eyes closed as she grinned to herself before she blinked, bringing her attention straight to me in the kitchen, holding her boy.

  Fuck, she looked good, all rumpled from the bed, her cheeks pink and skin glowing, like all she needed was a good orgasm and a long night’s sleep on a decent mattress.

  She must have found my stash of Yankees gear because she was wearing an oversized jersey that buttoned up, the solid blue one I’d worn helping Antonia move.

  It was a little frayed and had a missing button at the top, which was likely why Maggie picked it. She wasn’t the type to be greedy about shit that belonged to other people.

  The jersey fell to the middle of her thighs, and her thick, black hair waved around her shoulders, nearly touching her elbows as she stepped closer.

  But it wasn’t that sexy-as-hell, sleepy, sex kitten vibe she was pulling off that caught my attention. It was the way her eyes had gone all wide and glinting, how the lights from the lit tree twinkled against the moisture in those eyes as she stared at it.

  “Smoke…”

  Maggie didn’t need me to tell her whose names were written on all the presents under the tree. She could make out for herself that my family didn’t need a new crib or stroller. They didn’t need a tricycle or giant-sized stuffed bears. None of them had a need for a year’s supply of baby food or diapers or wipes or any of the shit Dino and the boys stacked around the tree, wrapped with red ribbons. Antonia had her own clothes. She didn’t need the ones wrapped up for Maggie or the coat and boots Ma sent up late last night along with jewelry and bags she’d never worn or used even once.

  “Merry Christmas, beautiful,” I told Maggie, taking her hand when it looked like she wasn’t gonna move.

  I expected a thank you.

  Maybe a smile.

  It was Christmas after all.

  Before last night, I doubted Maggie had shit in the way of hope of a good holiday for her boy.

  But I didn’t expect her to stop me just as we came to the tree.

  I didn’t expect her to pull her hand from my hold and take the baby.

  “Maggie?” I asked when she shook her head.

  Her eyes welled with tears again before she dropped her head, clinging to the baby like he was gonna give her any kind of comfort.

  “Why the fuck would you do something like this?” she asked.

  Maggie

  I couldn’t help my tone.

  The words were harsh.

  They bit, I knew that, and I sounded ungrateful.

  Mateo didn’t offer much protection from Smoke. He couldn’t hide my face from the man when he stood in front of me.

  There was a frown hardening his features, making him look like the scary gangster knocking his gun against my car window last night.

  I tried not to let that look intimidate me, but it was damn hard.

  “Mind explaining the problem?” Smoke sounded pissed, but under that irritation was a little offense, something I expected.

  Something I understood.

  He was only trying to help.

  I turned my face, rubbing my wet cheeks against the back of my hand before I spoke. “This…all of this is too much. I couldn’t possibly…” The words got twisted in my throat, stuck there behind all the ways I wanted to say thank you to him for how good he’d treated me. Despite the loco arguing and the ridiculous amounts of food they expected me to eat, they were funny and kind.

  And Smoke… Jesus…he was a good man.

  He was too good for me.

  “When the snow clears,” I told him, my face dry before I looked up at him, “I’m going to take Mateo, and we’ll never see you or your family again.”

  Smoke flinched, like he hadn’t expected me to be honest or brutal, but I’d always believed it was better to rip off the Band-Aid quickly rather than to tear it off inch by inch. The pain eased faster that way.

  “You are good people. You are kind, but you are not for me…for us. The gifts are too much. Too grand. Too big for our small place, for my small, busted car. Too…” I sighed, unable to finish my explanation. Like Smoke, everything was thoughtful, decadent, and beyond my means. “We will walk away with…grateful hearts for how generous you all have been…”

  Smoke lifted one eyebrow, his gaze shooting to my chest, then lower, as though he thought I should remember that his generosity went well beyond dinner with his family. How could I forget? He was the best sex of my damn life.

  “But… Smoke, we will still walk away.”

  There was a flash of something I couldn’t place in his expression—anger? Irritation? Defiance? Whatever it was, Smoke kept it to himself. He didn’t argue with me. He didn’t debate. Instead, he squinted, his jaw clenching like it took effort not to speak before he exhaled, walking into the kitchen to take out the fixings for hot chocolate—the milk and cocoa, the whipped cream and marshmallows, glancing long enough to nod to his sofa, offering me a spot as he made quick work of his task.

  Jesus, this man was bossy. But my breasts began to ache and Mateo rubbed his face over my chest, so I sat, letting him nurse while the beautiful, dangerous man made cocoa.

  The Christmas tree was massive, likely ten feet, but still didn’t come close to reaching the fifteen-foot ceilings of Smoke’s apartment. Everything in this place was industrial but modern, with masculine touches and old-world hints placed sparsely along the walls in the brightly colored artwork and rich, lush pillows and rugs.

  The Christmas décor was detailed and complemented the style of the place along with the hues of red, gold, and green in the tree. There was garland draped around the windows and along the freestanding kitchen island and over the wall-length bookcase against the entry wall.

  Under the tree were dozens of presents. I spotted Mateo’s name on most, but a few smaller ones and some gift bags had my name written in boxy square letters on th
e tags.

  I felt the same unworthy sensation welling inside me. The inclination to bolt returned, but then I reminded myself that my clothes were downstairs in the restaurant, likely guarded by Mrs. Carelli, who made me promise to eat a family lunch with them before I left for the city.

  “So,” Smoke said, placing a large mug of cocoa in front of me. The top was covered in whipped cream and sprinkled with chocolate powder. “Explain this nonsense to me.”

  “It’s not nonsense,” I tried, nodding a thanks for my cocoa. “It’s just the way things are.”

  Smoke held his mug in one hand but didn’t drink from it. There was no whipped cream on his, and from the smell wafting over the rim, I suspected there was a healthy shot of bourbon inside it.

  “My parents spent the first ten years of their marriage in a one-bedroom, fifth-floor walk-up because Pop refused to work any job for his brother.” He leaned back, resting his leg on his knee. “You know about my uncle and cousin?”

  I nodded but didn’t dare ask any of the hundreds of questions I had about the Carelli family. It wasn’t important right now.

  Smoke grinned, tightening his eyes after he took a sip of his cocoa. “Then you know it took balls for my pop to turn his brother down.” Smoke took another sip, but this one didn’t make him wince. “Everything my parents have, they earned, and while not all of their businesses were always one hundred percent legal, they were always fair. No one went hungry because of them, and they always gave back. The point is, what we have now is a blessing. It isn’t the way things have always been. So, you’ll have to do better than ‘all of this is too much,’ because that shit doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

  “Why?”

  Smoke relaxed against his seat, moving his cup to the table next to him. “I make no judgments. God knows, I got no right to criticize how anyone lives their life.” He licked his lips. It seemed like he had to think about what he could say without insulting me. “You’re a good mother and a sweet, caring woman. But you show up wearing a dingy uniform, shoes with the soles frayed and thin, driving the oldest fucking Monte Carlo I’ve ever seen in the world, a car that’s so cold you had to wrap your baby up in two quilts to keep him warm.”

  “Yes?” I said, turning my head to the side, challenging him with a glare. “What of it?”

  “Your will is great, but your resources are shit. From where I’m sitting, there is no ‘too much’ for you because you have nothing. You’ll continue to have nothing if you don’t swallow your pride and let someone help you.”

  “I don’t need anything from…”

  “Maybe not,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “But your kid does, doesn’t he?” Smoke watched me.

  I curled Mateo closer, cradling him as he nursed and clung to the shirt I was wearing.

  The man nodded, motioning to my son, his gaze shooting over to his cup when he grabbed it. “He’s a sweet kid. He’ll make you proud. I’m guessing that didn’t come from the man who made him.”

  “No,” I said, my face going warm when I had a flash of Alejandro standing in the middle of our apartment, his hands shaking as he tore through the contents of my purse, trying to find where I’d put the last of the cash we had left.

  I knew then, that was it. I’d told him about the pregnancy test that morning, and he hadn’t even reacted.

  “No,” I said again. “This baby is mine. He’s all mine.”

  “So, the father is…”

  “Not going to be in his life.”

  Smoke nodded but didn’t look away. The same knowing, measure-you-up look returned to his features, and I understood he wanted more information. He’d been good to us. I owed him my gratitude, maybe a little trust, but not everything.

  “I’d rather my baby be the son of a poor woman than one of a drug addict.”

  “How about the kid whose mom makes enough at her new gig that he doesn’t have to be either?”

  Smoke met my gaze, his mouth relaxed before it moved into a smile.

  But I was hesitant.

  I didn’t need charity.

  I didn’t do handouts.

  “I can literally hear the ‘no’ working its way up your throat. Before you turn me down and start in with all the bullshit excuses, let me remind you, this town is closer to your aunt than whatever shithole place you’re from. My folks own a building two blocks over with income-based rent and affordable day care, but you won’t need it for long.” He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “My parents like to hire servers with goals. They like to see people advance. You want to work for them, you gotta have a game plan. You don’t have one yet, but they can help you figure that out.”

  “I…I have a degree. I just… No one wanted to hire a pregnant dance major who hadn’t been in a company in three years because her asshole boyfriend convinced her being a ballerina wasn’t a viable career option for a CEO’s wife.”

  “Prick,” he said, his expression tight like if he could find Alejandro right now, he’d smash his face in. Smoke wouldn’t be the only one.

  “I’m the one who listened to him,” I said, waving him off. “You think your parents would really consider…”

  “Who do you think told me to ask you?” Smoke laughed, moving to my side when Mateo stopped suckling and began to snore. “My ma had plans for you and the kid inside of a half hour of meeting you. If you’re not careful, she’ll have you married off to a cousin or…” He frowned, looking away like he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish that sentence.

  Smoke followed my hand when I moved it to his thigh and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft, sweet. He didn’t try to back away or make an excuse for why we shouldn’t be kissing.

  I knew what last night was. We didn’t talk about it.

  It happened. It was over.

  It probably wouldn’t be repeated, but still Smoke kissed me, still seemed to like that.

  I ended the kiss first, smiling at how he watched me, liking the way he held my face, how those steely eyes seemed to soak up every inch of my face. “Beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you, papi. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He had a great smile. Wide and welcoming, warm and friendly, and in the right mood, very tempting. “You’ll take the gifts? And the job? We’ll get you set up and away from the shitty job and the shitty manager you were telling Antonia about.”

  “She told you?”

  “Maggie, one thing you gotta know. This family? Fuck thinking you can keep anything secret. I know about him screwing you on your check. I know about your friend and her asshole of a husband.” Smoke laughed when I covered my mouth. He pulled my hand down, looping our fingers together. “I can’t promise to be your man.” He looked at Mateo, and there was something in his eyes, something that made my chest ache that Smoke blinked away quickly. “I can’t be his father, but I can have your back and look out for you. You need that. You need a friend and I got you. You understand me?”

  Smoke was serious. His grip was tight on my hand, his expression fierce. And in that moment, with my sweet baby sleeping against me, I knew there was hope that not all good men had disappeared from the world. Even the ones who were only sort of good.

  “I understand you, papi.”

  “Good,” he said, moving close to plant a soft, sweet kiss on my wrist. “Then take this, all of this. And when he wakes up, let’s give your boy the best first Christmas any kid’s ever had.”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  I got the feeling, in this small town, I’d be saying that a lot.

  We hope you loved Santa Baby!

  Smoke and Maggie are just getting started and so is the Carelli family!

  Want to know when the next Carelli novel releases?

  Please visit menofinked.com/bliss-butler and sign up for a new release alert!

  While you’re waiting, there’s more Chelle Bliss & Eden Butler waiting to be read!

  Book 1 - Nailed Down

&n
bsp; Book 2 - Tied Down (Cara Carelli)

  Book 3 - Kneel Down

  Book 4 - Stripped Down (Johnny Carelli)

  Do you LOVE audiobooks?

  The entire Nailed Down series is now available in audiobook.

  Santa Baby is coming to Audio too!

  About Eden Butler

  Eden Butler is an editor and writer of Romance, SciFi and Fantasy novels and the nine-time great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.

  When she’s not writing, or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden impatiently awaits her Hogwarts letter, writes, reads and spends too much time watching New Orleans Saints football, and dreaming up plots that will likely keep her on deadline until her hair is white and her teeth are missing.

  Currently, she is imprisoned under teenage rule alongside her husband in Southeastern Louisiana. Please send help.

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  ABOUT CHELLE BLISS

  Chelle Bliss is the Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author of Men of Inked: Southside Series, Misadventures of a City Girl, the Men of Inked, and ALFA Investigations series.

  She hails from the Midwest, but currently lives near the beach even though she hates sand. She's a full-time writer, time-waster extraordinaire, social media addict, coffee fiend, and ex history teacher.

  She loves spending time with her two cats, alpha boyfriend, and chatting with readers. To learn more about Chelle, please visit menofinked.com.

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