A Naughty Christmas Carol — Jina Bacarr

He worked his way to the top...only to lose the woman he loves. Can he get her back?

Nick Radnor is a Wall Street trader who has it all. Except love.

Three sexy female ghosts try to save Nick's soul and reunite him with his first love Monique on this naughty Christmas Eve

30,000 words

Nick and the Ghost of Christmas Past go back to his college days when he met Monique

Nick shivered. Damn ghost was getting under his skin. Being back here was not easy. All those wonderful memories with Monique came back to him. How she moved her body and teased him with her sassy words. How she played with her pussy. How she smelled.

Hungry, raw desire emanating from every pore. Her eyes filled with want.

With love.

Nick had no time for such foolishness now. Making deals and playing the Wall Street big shot came first.

Still, he'd sure like to see the old place again. This was his favorite time in his life. College. And For the first time he had somebody. Monique.

Nick headed toward the country house standing on a crossroads off the main highway. Untouched by time, it was surrounded by a countryside still rural and populated with lush green groves and yellow and pink wildflowers during the summer. Little had changed here since the horse and wagon plowed over the dirt and stone track.

Or had it?

Roar…roar.

A black-helmeted guy whizzed by him on a fast motorcycle, sending Nick jumping into a snowdrift.

“Did you see that?” he asked the Ghost, brushing himself off. “He nearly clipped me.”

The Ghost smiled, but said nothing.

Walking toward the driveway, Nick dodged kids zooming along the cleared sidewalk on skateboards, then a girl jogging by wearing ski pants and leggings.

“Merry Christmas!” yelled out a group of bundled-up carolers as they raced by in an open pickup truck, then burst into a chorus of a jolly holiday tune.

Nick waved back.

The Ghost shook her head. “They can't see you, Mr. Radnor,” she said. “They were waving to the jogger.”

“I knew that,” Nick said, not admitting his ego had taken a hit.

She smiled. “Of course, you did.”

Before the ghost could give him any more guff, he opened the wrought iron gate and walked up the winding pathway toward Monique's old place. “I remember our last holiday here. I rode up on Christmas Eve on my motorcycle and we had phone sex using my old man's mobile phone.” Nick swallowed hard. “It was the only thing he left me when he got sent up.”

Pretending not to notice his discomfort, the Ghost said, “Go on, Mr. Radnor.”

“Nobody had a cell back then and Monique didn't know I was watching her from outside the window.” Nick laughed at that. “We joked about it afterward, then had a great time getting it on in the old four poster.” He paused. “We were always messing around back then.”

“That motorcycle should look familiar to you,” she said, pointing to the motorcycle parked on the side of the road.

Nick grinned. Whaddaya know, the guy who almost clipped him was a younger him. He could see him sneaking around outside the country house, trying to peek through the lacy curtains blocking his view. He wasn't close enough to see inside and it was killing him.

Panting with anticipation as only a twenty-two-year old college kid with a perennial hard-on could, his younger self was holding a clunky, old mobile phone that looked like a plastic white elephant next to the slim cell he used now.

“You have such beautiful breasts, Monique. Round and luscious. And those nipples,” Nick heard the young man say into his cell with a sexiness in his voice he didn't try to hide. “I'd like to suck on them.”

“Listen to him spell it out like it was a stock quote,” Nick said, shaking his head and watching his younger self shivering outside the window.

An orchard of apple trees surrounded the young man outside like a timbered fortress, protecting him from the curious stares of snoopy passers-by . . .