Sweet Inspiration Read online

  What if the legend of Santa Claus is in fact, true? What if Santa has five big strapping sons who help him run his empire? Five single, sexy sons looking for romance...

  Nicholas Klaus is a master pastry chef, a strict disciplinarian, and the eldest son of the legendary Santa Claus. One look at cafe owner Lucy Brewster sends him into an unexpected tailspin of lusty desires. When Lucy is critically wounded, Nicholas makes a decision that catapults their lives into turmoil...

  Lucy Brewster, the free-spirited proprietor of Sweet Inspiration, has a flair for concocting sugary confections but no time for adventure. She gets more than she bargained for when she awakens in the North Pole...rambunctious elves, a fitness-obsessed Santa, and the man of her dreams. Does she have what it takes to become the next Mrs. Klaus?

  SWEET INSPIRATION

  by

  Penny Watson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  SWEET INSPIRATION

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2009 by Penny Watson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by The Wild Rose Press

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2009

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  Sweet Inspiration is dedicated to all of my friends, family, Vassar fangirls, and especially The Quirky Ladies who supported my "quirky" idea to write a romance novel about

  Santa Claus and the North Pole.

  Praise for SWEET INSPIRATION

  Sweet Inspiration won first place in the paranormal category for the 2008 Gateway to the Best contest, sponsored by the Missouri Romance Writers of America. It is also a finalist for the Happily Ever After contest sponsored by the Mid-Michigan RWA.

  "Penny Watson really delivers with her delicious look at the Klaus family. Sweet Inspiration is HOT!" ~ Dalton Diaz, author of Love Cuffs

  "My senses are alive with memories of being in my great-grandmother's kitchen, a Russian-Bohemian cook-aholic. I love the chemistry between Nicholas and Lucy in the kitchen and in their desires. What a wonderful book!" ~ Wend Petzler, author of Curse of the Scarab King

  "Sweet Inspiration has an original and intriguing plot, and characters who are fresh and fun. I don't believe I've ever read a grown-up Santa book...so enjoyable I found myself reading straight through without pausing..." ~ Kelsey Browning, Romance Writer

  Chapter One

  Surrounded by howling winds and a relentless fall of snow, Nicholas Sebastian Klaus studied the storefront across the street. The windows of Sweet Inspiration were so foggy he could barely make out the lights twinkling inside. Customers who scurried into the shop searching for a warm respite from the wintry weather would not be disappointed. The cozy, fragrant bakery was as welcoming as a nana’s kitchen, and as comforting as the first luscious bite of a frosting-drenched cinnamon bun. The patrons would settle down into the overstuffed sofas clutching mugs of steaming cocoa, their eyes closing in bliss as the buttery pastry melted in their mouths. He knew these things were true for he had experienced these sensations every day for a fortnight. And truth be told, Nicholas Klaus was a hard man to please.

  The brownstone looked like a gingerbread house, four stories high. Lacy curtains tacked back with garnet velvet ribbons framed each window, and candles flickered against the frosted glass. Branches of bittersweet and rosehip berries overflowed the window boxes, and garlands of fresh greens trimmed the doors. A more picturesque shop would be difficult to find, even in this charming little town of Eston, New York.

  Of course, the most enticing part of the café was not the decadent pastries or the heady scents of cinnamon and cloves. The reason he felt compelled to visit the bakery every day of his extended vacation was hustling down the street, her arms filled with a large basket of apples. Lucy Anne Brewster, proprietor of Sweet Inspiration and baker extraordinaire, was a delicious package he desperately wanted to unwrap for Christmas. A wild mass of red curls escaped from her tight knit cap, and a hooded woolen coat concealed her white baker’s uniform. For the first time in his carefully controlled life, Nicholas found himself inexplicably attracted to a woman. And he was annoyed beyond reason.

  From the very first day, he was mesmerized by Lucy's smile. Her plump rosy lips caused temporary speechlessness. The sprinkle of freckles across her blushing cheeks, like cinnamon on a plum kuchen, and blue eyes fringed with long black lashes were nearly his undoing. But when the damned woman bent over to fetch a cookie sheet from the oven, Nicholas felt a flash of fire so unexpected, he nearly toppled over. She revealed a curvy arse packed perfectly into her baker's pants. An uncontrollable flare of lust consumed him as sweat dripped from his forehead, along the side of his face into his thick beard.

  And now he stood, like a bloody imbecile, on a freezing street corner in upstate New York, hoping for a glimpse of this red-haired goddess. Good God, his brothers would howl with laughter to see him in such a state. His father would be less than pleased to find Nicholas so obviously distracted from business. His mother, however...hmm, he had the distinct feeling that his mother would unleash that famous-dimpled smile and say, “Finally. It took you long enough, Nicholas.”

  The embarrassing truth was that he had barely spoken to the woman. He initially visited the shop because a colleague mentioned that Sweet Inspiration had the best sugar cookies he'd ever tasted. Nicholas was a baker. His specialty...cookies. The quest for perfection consumed almost every waking moment of his life. Although he spent many hours laboring in his state-of-the-art kitchen, he also traveled the world to savor sweet delights from every country. He doubted that some little café in Eston, New York could best his rich, flaky sugar cookies. And yet, he found himself drawn to this townhouse several weeks ago.

  He was hard pressed to criticize the shop. Inside, customers curled up on sofas with plump muffins and a book. Others clustered around café tables with friends, sipping cappuccino from sturdy ceramic mugs. The scent of vanilla and spices permeated the bakery, and twinkling garlands of lights framed the windows.

  A young woman, adorned with glittering piercings and bohemian attire, waited on him the first day. Nicholas ordered a sugar cookie. No beating around the bush. He would taste, evaluate, and be on his way. His father expected him back to their village shortly. Cookie production skyrocketed at holiday time, and they needed him at home.

  The first bite was surprising. The next, a joy. Each bite reminded him why he was so passionate about baking, why a simple cookie could transform a moment. He felt like a giddy child on Christmas morning, savoring the most delectable treat. This was no ordinary cookie. It was light, yet rich; simple, yet...there was a subtle and fascinating combination of flavors he could not identify. And Nicholas prided himself on his ability to discern any flavor. His taste buds were as experienced and worldly as they come. When he found his plate empty, he sighed and eagerly scanned the display case, ready for more.

  He leaned down to inspect the other treats and caught a blurry image through the glass case -- a nymph in the kitchen. Long strands of copper-colored curls cascaded down her back. Delicate blue eyes and a rich lusty laugh caught his attention instant
ly. Slowly he stood and peered over the counter. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall. He watched, transfixed, as she reached back to knot her thick hair. Her little white T-shirt molded nicely to her chest, and two delicious cherries poked out, begging to be nibbled. By him.

  He shook his head. What in God’s name is happening to me? The cookies, ask her about the cookies.

  For the first time in his life, Nicholas Klaus found himself tongue-tied. Unable to spit out any meaningful vocabulary, he simply pointed to a tray of gingerbread and whispered, “Two, please.” His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

  The curly haired angel smiled at him, and the sound of bells exploded in his head. She wrapped the two cookies in tissue paper and placed them in a bright red bag, Sweet Inspiration embossed in gold on the front. Nicholas nodded his thanks, and the moment was over.

  Except that he could not get her, or her delicious cookies, out of his mind. He discovered her name and a bit of information about the bakery from her employees. After only three years, she had a devoted following in their town. And the owner was clearly adored by her workers. They described her as “sparkling,” “talented,” and “generous.”

  Nicholas silently added, and sexy. After demolishing a wide assortment of pastries, he staggered back to the inn and slept. His fitful dreams involved pastry cream and Lucy Anne’s nipples, plumped up nicely in a red lacy bra. She crumbled sugar cookies over her breasts and laughed at him, pulling his face down to her vanilla-scented cleavage. Nicholas woke up sweating and frustrated as hell. He'd been enchanted by a red-haired goddess.

  Captivated by the seductive baker and her culinary creations, Nicholas found himself lingering in Eston, New York. His long weekend turned into a fortnight, and every day he discovered some new delicacy in Lucy’s shop. She haunted his dreams each night, taunting him with her soft white skin and sugary confections. In the light of day, he'd not yet found the courage to speak to her.

  But that was about to change. Tomorrow, he had to return home. And he would be damned if he would return to his village without discovering her secrets. All of her secrets. His raging desire for the petite chef was driving him mad, and he was determined to savor her like an excellent French brandy. Tonight he would seduce luscious Lucy Anne Brewster, and cure himself once and for all of his obsession. He brushed the melted snowflakes off his face, and crossed the street toward Sweet Inspiration, ready to discover the ingredients to Lucy’s treasure.

  Chapter Two

  Lucy's mind was on apples. Apple pies, apple muffins, apple crisp and loaves of nutty apple bread. She carried a basket loaded with tart Granny Smith fruits. Mrs. Henderson expected ten mile-high pies for her annual Christmas party tomorrow. The pies were a specialty of Sweet Inspiration. Thinly sliced apples, nestled in bourbon-laced custard, overflowed the delicate flaky crust.

  Lucy spent hours cutting out tiny apples, leaves, and flowers to decorate the tops. Of course, Mrs. Henderson invited Lucy to attend the festive party, but there was no time. Her holiday orders were enormous, and work always came first.

  Strangely enough, this was the first Christmas season she felt a touch bittersweet when she heard St. Joseph’s choir caroling in the town square. As she watched the families swaying to the music, their mitten-covered hands linked, she felt a pang of...something in her chest. Probably just indigestion from her coffee. But she had a sneaking suspicion that it might be more like a bit of melancholy. It had been a very long time since Lucy linked hands with anyone. It would be heavenly to wake up on Christmas morning in someone’s arms. Someone who cared enough about her to choose a special gift, not just another wilted poinsettia or box of soaps.

  The new customer in her shop was certainly not helping matters. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was huge, towering over her by a good foot and a half. His shoulders were wide and solid, his hands enormous. The stranger’s demeanor was seriously intense. Lucy had not witnessed a single smile. He wore wire-rimmed glasses over his hazel eyes, and had a thick black beard to match dark wavy hair.

  Every day for weeks he'd settled down in a corner with various cookies, pastries and decadent desserts. The look on his face while he sampled her wares was positively disconcerting. He appeared to be memorizing each bite, analyzing the creations. At first she thought he was a food critic. His buttoned-up appearance and overwhelming focus on her food lent credence to that idea. But a food critic would not be visiting her shop so frequently.

  Lucy was mortified that her hands shook each time she waited on him. When she leaned over the table to serve her pumpkin crème brulée, his delicious scent hit her like a steam engine...smoky rum and dark spices. Rough callused hands gripped the shaking dish, and saved her the embarrassment of dropping the dessert in his lap. Horrified by her reaction to him, she fled. But not before she noticed him peeking down her blouse. His look of hunger had nothing to do with her crème brulée.

  Further adding to her mortification was the sad fact that she was dreaming about him. Wicked, naughty dreams. Never in her twenty-eight years of life had she experienced such lusty nighttime reveries. Those big rough hands, soft full lips, and rock-hard body brought her unimaginable pleasure. Only in her dreams did her mystery man smile, a slow seductive grin that reminded her of the big bad wolf.

  If only she had the courage to introduce herself. Although she was out-going and friendly with her patrons, she found herself too flustered to speak to her mystery customer.

  Lucy sighed as she nudged the door to Sweet Inspiration open with her boot, carefully balancing the basket of apples in her arms. A large hand, encased in a handsome leather glove, grasped the door above her head. She glanced up, and in the twirling snowflakes, saw his face. Dark, serious, and lightly dusted with melting snow.

  “Oh! My goodness, I didn’t see you there. Um, thanks...for the door, I mean.” Good gracious, Luce, pull yourself together. You sound like a bumbling idiot!

  “My pleasure, Miss Brewster.” His voice was so deep and rich, Lucy shivered. He gently took the basket from her arms, and smiled. A slow, seductive, wolfish smile, and Lucy shivered again.

  “It’s quite cold out this evening. We should really get inside.” He gestured to the inside of the shop, and Lucy nodded mutely.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked as she pulled off her cap. He seemed mesmerized by the sight of her messy curls falling down around her shoulders. Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to her face.

  “Everyone around here knows your name, Miss Brewster, owner of Sweet Inspiration, and friend to all. I’ve heard many intriguing things about you.”

  Lucy laughed. “I find that hard to believe. Nothing about me is ‘intriguing.’ You, however, are a mystery.” She blushed as the words popped unbidden out of her mouth.

  “Am I? How so?”

  “You’ve been here every day for weeks, and I don’t know who you are. You’re not a food critic, by any chance? I hope you’ve been enjoying our food.”

  “Not a food critic, just a fellow baker duly impressed by your creations. About those sugar cookies...”

  “Lu-cy! Thank God you’re here! Thirteen cousins are dropping by for my party, and they have extremely hearty appetites. I hope you have enough apples to increase my order. I think fifteen pies should be adequate.” Mrs. Henderson, red-faced and clearly frazzled, grabbed Lucy by the shoulders and shook vigorously. “You do have extra apples, don’t you?”

  Lucy extricated herself from Bertha's grip and patted her arm reassuringly. “Calm down, Bertha. I have plenty of apples. Would you like a few platters of cookies, too? Are there children coming?”

  “Why, yes, there are children. Quite a handful, so poorly behaved. Why, the last time they visited...”

  Lucy cut her off before she started another story. Mrs. Henderson had a tendency to be long-winded with her family dramas. “Why don’t I include a platter of Santa cookies? The children love those. And Genevieve made beautiful candy canes this morning. We’ll fill a f
ew stockings and add them to the order.”

  “Wonderful! You are a darling girl. I’ll see you in the morning.” Bertha wrapped a bright pink muffler around her face and hurried out of the shop.

  Before Lucy had a chance to find out her mystery man’s name, another arm reached out and grabbed her. “Lucy! Come and see our new puppy! He’s an early Christmas present from Santa!”

  Little Amy Chandler was tugging Lucy’s hand and pointing to a bundle of fur wrapped up in a blanket on her mother’s lap. Dogs should not be in the bakery, but the puppy did look adorable. Lucy better say a quick hello. And of course she would send them home with a bag of homemade dog biscuits, shaped like elves. In a matter of moments Lucy was surrounded by children all wanting to pet the new puppy.

  ****

  Nicholas carefully folded his coat over the back of a café chair and watched Lucy giggle with the children, as the puppy (lucky bastard), licked her face like an ice cream cone. He could barely contain his irritation.

  First of all, a dog had no place in a dining establishment. What the hell was the woman thinking? Secondly, if a customer attempted a last-minute order change, Nicholas would firmly instruct him that all orders were final five days prior to the gathering. How could one efficiently run a kitchen without rules? Thirdly, and most importantly, Nicholas could smell gingerbread. Cookies. And they were burning. Lucy was oblivious. And her young assistant with the nose ring was leaning over the front counter watching the puppy, utterly clueless about the impending culinary disaster.

  Nicholas tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for someone to remember the cookies. He knew by the scent that the cookies were browning, probably a bit too dark around the edges. Still waiting. Now the assistant was snuggling with the puppy, and an old man was regaling Lucy with some ridiculous story. Oh, the hell with it.