Free Santa Viking by Sandra Hill

the answer is yes. My Christmas Curse eleven years ago.”
    “Huh?”
    “Larry the Lizard told me I had a sexy mouth. That was just before he slept with my best friend, Alice.”
    “I wouldn’t sleep with your best friend,” he vowed. “I’d rather—”
    “Get serious.” They were on the driver’s side of the car. “Now, slowly, I want you to take out your keys and open the front and back doors.” When he did as ordered, she told him to get in the driver’s seat. “I’ll sit behind you where I can aim my gun right at your head.”
    “Puh-leeze!” Erik frowned. This is not good. He’d been hoping she would sit in the passenger seat where he could more easily grab for the weapon  . . . or his own rod on the floor under the driver’s seat.
    “What’s that thing?”
    Oh, damn! Her eyes had homed in on the tip of his revolver peeking out like a beacon.
    “Move back,” she demanded, training her firearm on his face while she leaned down and picked up his gun gingerly between a thumb and forefinger. For a moment, he saw fear flash in her eyes. “Are you a crook or something?”
    He couldn’t help grinning. “You mean like you?”
    “No, not like me, you jerk. I mean a real crook. A bank robber, or a rapist, or a murderer.”
    He shook his head. “I’m not a bad guy. Well  . . . uh  . . . I’m not all that good, either, but—”
    “Shut up,” she snapped, motioning him into the car.
    He slid behind the wheel. “Testy, are we?”
    She scurried into the back seat, immediately positioning her gun with a bead on his unprotected skull, the whole time muttering about Jeffrey Dahmer and Freddie Kruger.
    “How ’bout lowering the gun, darlin’? I’d hate to get my hair mussed.”
    She started to comply.
    That ’ s it, honey. Put my metal undershirt in your cross-hairs.
    She changed her mind when she realized his back was pressed against the seat. “Just drive.”
    He was easing the Bronco out of the parking lot when he saw a police car, bubblegum light flashing, pull in front of the Piggly Jiggly. The two officers who got out didn’t seem in any big hurry. They probably thought it was a routine shoplifting.
    “Where to?” he asked, slanting the woman a glimpse over his shoulder. She was biting her bottom lip in concentration.
    Those lips again.
    “Just head down the highway. I have to think.”
    That would be a refreshing change. “You could probably take off your disguise now,” he advised. He’d like to get a better look at her. All he’d been able to see thus far were high cheekbones, a light sprinkling of freckles over a slightly upturned nose, and big, big brown eyes. She was probably a redhead, if her eyebrows were any indication. He hoped she was ugly, so his wandering lust would come to a halt. Even so, he wondered what kind of body she hid under that Santa costume.
    But then he immediately brought himself back to reality. Why the hell should I care? I know my personal life is going down the toilet lately, but this is the pits. I ’ m having impure thoughts about a nun with PMS?
    “Geez, watch the road,” she shrieked as he almost drove onto the berm. Luckily there wasn’t much traffic. “And I’m not taking off my disguise  . . . yet.”
    Yet? “Why not?” he asked suspiciously.
    “Pay attention and drive faster,” she commanded, ignoring his question. When they’d traveled a few miles, she told him to turn right onto a rural road. After a prolonged silence, she added, “So if you’re not a crook, how come you have a gun?”
    “I’m a bodyguard.”
    “A bodyguard!” she exclaimed. “Like Kevin Costner?”
    “Yep! Except that women say I favor Brad Pitt.” He cast a sidelong glance at her over his shoulder and jiggled his eyebrows. Women loved it when he did that.
    “You are about the same age as Brad Pitt, I suppose.”
    “Hey, I’m not that old. Brad Pitt must be close to fifty. I’m only thirty-five. How old are you?” Boy, see if I waste my