We’re sharing five FREE festive reads as a Christmas gift to our readers! You can find all of them below…

We hope you enjoy:

• Her Monte Carlo Christmas by Natalie Anderson
• Reunited Under the Tuscan Sky by Nina Singh
• The Secret Prince’s Christmas Wish by Traci Douglass
• The Widow’s Kissing Bough by Jeanine Englert
• Snowbound at Christmas by Katie Frey

*

Her Monte Carlo Christmas by Natalie Anderson

CEO Matteo and Sasha’s chance Christmas reunion turns heated…even before they board his private jet to Monte Carlo!

“I’ll take everything.”

Sasha Browne glared at the back of the licorice-colored wool coat blocking her view of the counter space. All she wanted this cold Christmas Eve was one macaron—a sliver of bliss to fuel her escape-to-Europe fantasy. Only, the tall, dark, undoubtedly handsome man in front of her had just ordered the lot. She craned her neck, hoping to catch the new shop assistant’s eye. But the woman had turned redder than Rudolph’s nose and her voice rose like a jingling bell.

“Everything?”

“Si. Everything.”

Sasha’s heart bumped. That accent and edge of demand reminded her of the man who’d introduced her to the sweet almond delights seven years ago. She bit her lip, annoyed he still slid to mind so quickly. He was and always would be an impossible Christmas wish.

The blushing assistant was all thumbs trying to box up those last macarons. The previous store attendant wouldn’t have let this happen, but Sasha had known bubbly Violet would be a perfect steward on the elite tourist train she managed the crew for. Sasha had encouraged her to apply and now at least one of them was doing something amazing this Christmas. But Violet’s replacement hadn’t yet noticed that Sasha came in every day for just the one macaron.

“Thank you,” the man added belatedly.

Sasha drew a shocked breath and choked at the same time. He turned at the splutter. His pistachio-green eyes gleamed with intensity, contrasting against his tanned skin and dark, just-tousled-by-a-lover hair. His sudden stunning smile both softened and emphasized his angular jaw. Matteo Gatti.

Impossible.

He couldn’t be in Manhattan. He lived the jet-set billionaire playboy life in Monaco—which might as well be the moon. Yet past and present collided as she stared at those gorgeous features that had long been imprinted on her mind. Even more impossible was the fact he was more devastating than she remembered. No wonder the assistant was so butterfingered. Matteo needed no skill to seduce, just that smile.

Her heart leaped, then plummeted as memories stabbed and mortification sprang forth. Irritation flared—better that than the other emotions tumbling up in a sizzling, unwanted heap.

“Got everything you wanted?” she growled.

“No.” He gazed at her keenly. “Not everything. Not yet, Sasha.”

For a beat, she was breathless. He’d not just remembered her name; he’d invoked something else—something dangerous and slick that echoed within her.

“What an incredible surprise,” he added.

Except he didn’t seem overly surprised to see her. While Sasha was stunned to zombie status.

He nodded toward the pile of boxes building on the counter. “I needed some last-minute gifts.”

Macarons were his go-to presents? Bitterness shot deep. She’d thought they were their personal thing. “You’ve left none for anyone else.”

Not that she needed gifts this year.

He cocked his head, his gaze now smoldering. “You’re angry about that?”

All the feelings slammed into her—mostly excitement, aching, delight. This impossibly handsome man hadn’t just been charming. He’d been honest and kind and funny and everything, and apparently her fascination had never ended.

But it was impossible. She stalked to the door, but he was right behind her, a mountain of boxes in his arms.

“Avoiding me again, Sasha? Running away?” he muttered from right behind her.

Actually, she’d neither avoided him nor run away. Her life had literally gotten in the way—they truly were from different worlds. Gritting her teeth, she held the door, then watched in outraged amazement as he immediately started handing out the boxes to anyone passing by.

“Merry Christmas!” He gifted box after box on the street as if he were Santa Claus himself. Certainly everyone who passed him stared and then smiled as if starstruck. Though to be fair, he didn’t need to give away boxes of confections for that to happen. “Merry Christmas!”

“Seriously?” She glared at him. “You said they were last-minute Christmas presents.”

“And they are,” he countered. “Random acts of kindness for total strangers.”

“I only wanted one.”

“A single macaron?” He held the last box in his hands and smiled. “Then you weren’t buying a gift. It was for yourself.”

So what if it was? “I’m hardly the selfish one here. You’re the one taking everything with no thought of anyone else.”

“Seven years ago, I sent you macarons. Wasn’t that thoughtful?”

The feelings slammed harder still and she allowed anger to top them all.

“Did it make you feel good to be kind to the poor chambermaid?” she asked. Her resurgent anger wasn’t so much about what had happened, but that she’d wanted so much more and apparently still did. One second in his presence and she was crush-city again. “That gift got me sacked.”

“What?” Startled, he frowned. “How? Why?”

Those twenty-four hours had changed so much for her. “Because in that card, you thanked me for my time and said you’d had an amazing night.”

“That was entirely true.”

She fought off a flush. That night, she’d been eighteen, he’d been twenty-five. She’d been working in that decaying hotel, he’d been a guest. Or so she’d thought. It hadn’t been his accent or charm, nor his bewitching eyes or smile—those things seduced everyone. But for that one night, she’d listened to him and he’d listened to her. There’d been banter. There’d been debate. Laughter. Long conversations and also silences that spoke volumes. They’d bonded. Intensely.

“Your message was misinterpreted. I had no idea you were the VIP who was supposed to have received exceptional service. You can imagine the ‘extras’ they thought I’d given you.” The scathing attack from her manager had stunned her. She’d been so hurt at his assumption, but it was the usual—an attack on her background, that she and her mom were totally on the poverty line.

Matteo’s frown deepened. “I didn’t intend for anyone else to see that message and I certainly didn’t mean for it to be misconstrued. Receiving thanks from a guest shouldn’t have been something you got fired for. Nothing inappropriate happened.”

To her infinite regret.

But she’d long blamed him for drawing attention to her when she could least afford it. “Yet you’re still unaware of the impact of your actions on others around you.” And he still was. “You didn’t think there might be another customer who might like one measly macaron?”

“Actually, I was hoping there would be.” His amusement flared. “You’ve been at that shop the last two days.”

She blinked, stunned that he’d know that. “Because I work next door.”

He glanced at the building. “For Roman Fraser? In what capacity? Do you work for him directly?” His voice sharpened.

His alpha flare amused her. Both Matteo and Roman were billionaire heirs who’d blown their family businesses beyond stratospheric success. She knew Matteo had pulled his back from the brink first because it had almost been decimated by the drama of his family itself.

“Not directly. I’m in human resources. I make sure other hotel chambermaids don’t get unjustifiably dismissed on the whim of misogynistic managers.”

His smile flashed back. “Good for you.”

While that happened to her because of Matteo’s misconstrued message, she had to acknowledge he’d not known. And he’d inspired her to get out eventually. It had taken years, but she’d made it to Manhattan, holed up in a tiny apartment and destroyed her poor mother’s mountain of medical debt one tiny payment at a time. Now she was in save mode, but she was cold and lonely and unfortunately thoughts of Matteo Gatti still popped into her head with annoying frequency. Okay, with every macaron. He would always be associated with them.

“Why are you even here?” she asked. “Why were you watching me?”

“I’ve had meetings across the road most of the week and the macaron store caught my eye.”

“Because they’re your go-to gift?”

“Because I always notice them. I always…” He paused. “Did you ever get to try them?”

She couldn’t lie when he eyed her with such intensity. “Yes. I ate every last one. All by myself.”

He glanced down at the last elegant box in his hands. “These are good, but they’re not the best.” He handed it to a woman walking past before turning back to Sasha. “You should have only perfection.”

Anticipation sparked in her veins. “You think you can deliver that?”

“Yeah, I do.” He drew closer still. “What are your plans for Christmas?”

Christmas was a nonevent this year. She’d volunteered to work through most of it because next year she was going to be on the other side of the world breathing in foreign festive traditions. She was saving hard for it.

“I don’t have any plans, in case you’re wondering,” he added softly when she didn’t reply. “I think we should join forces and find you the perfect macaron.”

She stood very still, unsure not of what he was suggesting but whether he really meant it. “You once told me perfect macarons came only from Paris.”

“Correct. Got your passport on you?” The invitation in his eyes deepened—intense and illicit. “Come with me, Sasha.”

He couldn’t be serious, yet she knew he was. She also knew he was offering more than a single macaron. He was ludicrously impetuous and incredibly tempting, and she’d never able to indulge in him the way she’d desired to once before.

“I can’t just leave the country,” she muttered. “I have to work.”

“I don’t believe Roman Fraser’s head office is open through Christmas. He might work those days, but he wouldn’t expect his office employees to.”

It was true. She and the other few workers in the office had finished for today. “But I have to be back there on the twenty-seventh. There’s not the time for an overseas trip.”

“It’s the perfect duration.” He shrugged. “Anything more than three nights is excessive. Disappointment sets in. Or worse, drama.”

He was teasing, but from what she’d seen online about him in the years since they’d crossed paths, three days apparently was the average duration of his affairs. He was too used to having his own way.

Sasha wanted to get her own way for once. She’d also like to annihilate this stupid crush she’d been saddled with for seven years. She just needed time to process the chance. “Maybe I’ll meet you at the airport.”

His expression intensified. “You didn’t turn up the last time you promised you would.”

“You mean I didn’t leap to your summons.”

“It wasn’t a summons. It was an innocent invitation. As is this.” He bent close and breathed, “Come home with me for Christmas.”

For him, nothing was ever impossible. But perhaps for once in her life it wasn’t impossible for her either. In this moment, she had the freedom to do whatever she wanted. Adrenaline soared. “You do know you can’t private-jet-to-Paris your way into my pants.”

They both paused. Something flared in his eyes, but then he blinked. “I would never assume such a thing.” He took five paces and opened the rear door of a sleek car that had been idling at the curb. “In fact, I’m going to disappoint you because we’re not heading to Paris. First we fly to Nice.”

Nice? Sasha released the breath she’d been holding and climbed into the car—unable to resist. Because there was one fact she couldn’t get past.

Matteo Gatti was nice.

***

Matteo was being naughty and he wanted to be naughtier still. In fact, he wanted to be wicked. But he could hardly throw her over his shoulder and haul off to the nearest hotel. He’d take a breath and calm down because this was merely unfinished business, right? His frantically racing pulse was purely down to serendipitous surprise. He’d never imagined he’d see her again. But he had and Sasha Browne tempted him like strong, silky chocolate. Luminous, curvy, mouthwatering, the sizzling promise of her youth had more than materialized in the woman beside him now.

He’d been based across the street from that macaron store. With his shameless sweet tooth, the shop had caught his attention, and every time he saw a macaron, he fleetingly saw her in his mind. It was impossible to explain. It had been only one night and completely innocent. But it had left him with a feeling of something lost.

Something lust, he mocked cynically. Simple, very basic unfinished business.

Two days ago, she’d walked out of that store and he’d been too astonished to do anything but stare. Incredibly she’d appeared at exactly the same time yesterday. Again he’d been too shocked, too slow. Today he’d entered that store early, determined to get her attention. Mission accomplished. Now he needed to get them moving in case she changed her mind. “We’ll need to pick up your passport.”

She rummaged in her shoulder bag and waved a slim document at him.

He took it from her and flipped through pristine pages. “It’s brand-new.”

“It just arrived at the office. That’s why I have it with me. I’ve never traveled overseas.”

“But you work for Roman’s travel arm.” Roman Fraser was both competitor and friend. Mostly competitor. Like Roman, Matteo had suffered loss. Unlike Roman, Matteo partied. Because life was too short to take everything too seriously. Too seriously meant too much care and the only thing Matteo ever let himself care deeply about was his business.

“Yes. And I earn more as an HR manager than I would as a travel guide. Now I’ve cleared Mom’s medical bills, I’m saving for my adventures.”

Matteo took a second to process. “She passed away?”

“Just over two years ago.”

He remained still.

“She’d had a bad turn that day,” Sasha added. “That’s why I was late to work.”

That was why she hadn’t met him? Then she’d been sacked. Emotion floored him. “I’m so sorry.”

She bit her lip, then smiled. “I assume you’re planning to spend Christmas avoiding all your arguing cousins and backstabbing stepsiblings.”

“Right.” He half smiled back.

She remembered. But of course she did. It seemed that she, like he, remembered everything about that night. Seven years ago, his fickle father had abandoned not just wife number three and all four stepkids, but the business as well, prematurely catapulting Matteo into the role of CEO. He’d had to head their fragmented family too. Old money wasn’t easy money. Every family member—new and old, born in or by marriage—had their own agenda. They demanded his time, opinion, money most of all. With what little remained at stake, failure hadn’t been an option. He’d had to assess an aging hotel in coastal New York. Sleepless and struggling to make the first of many massive decisions while avoiding the infighting between uncle, cousin and company secretary, he’d paced the corridors and encountered a shockingly pretty chambermaid pulling a night shift. Unable to resist, he’d made small talk. Initially she’d been polite, but after a while, she’d gestured to her trolley.

“As much as I’d love to spend all night listening to you, I have toilets to clean.”

She’d had no idea who he was, felt no need to impress him, and her caustic realism had been refreshing, reminding him his were very rich kid problems. He’d laughed. Apologized. Followed her anyway because the teasing challenge sparkling in her eyes compelled him.

“You really don’t have anything better to do?”

For once, he’d confessed the raw truth. “I’m avoiding my family.”

“Because?”

“Somehow I have to keep them from killing each other while at the same time turn the business around in a way that satisfies everyone, and I don’t know how or where to start.”

Cocoa-eyed, curvy Sasha had stared right into his soul and hadn’t sugarcoated her words. “We all have tough things to do. Sometimes you just have to make a decision and get on with it. If it turns out to be the wrong one, then learn from it and try again. No one’s perfect. Certainly not the first time.”

They’d slid into an intimacy he’d not had with another—neither before nor since. In those endless—yet too short—hours, they’d talked. He’d learned she was working as much as possible to support her ill mother. He’d carried the heavy bags to the bins as she’d asked about his accent. He’d learned about her travel dreams. He’d been attracted to her, of course, but it had been impossible. She’d been staff and he’d not been just a guest but the prospective owner of the place. As dawn had broken, they’d laughingly debated breakfast buffets and the merits of French pastries, and he’d discovered she hadn’t known what a macaron was. So he’d asked to meet her before her shift began the following night. But she’d not turned up. He didn’t have her number, so he’d written that note and left the box he’d had couriered at reception. But he’d never imagined the negative impact his doing that would have on her.

Now as they exited the terminal and boarded his jet, which was sat waiting on the tarmac, he couldn’t help asking. “You really didn’t have Christmas plans? No dinner with friends?”

“Honestly, I’d rather work than be an extra at someone else’s event,” she said. “I don’t need all the traditions. Mom and I had lovely Christmases. It was never extravagant, just the two of us, but it was nice.” She shrugged as she sat and fastened her belt. “Hopefully I’ll have better ones in the future with my own family.”

That desire was so very different to his. Tormented by the fallout of his parents’ separations from their assorted partners, all he knew was that family equaled drama and disappointment. He avoided his family as much as he could. Especially at Christmas. And he’d never, ever have his own.

But perhaps this one Christmas could be completely different for them both.

“So you won’t be disappointed if we don’t dine on turkey and ham and all the trimmings?” he joked.

“I’m only coming for the macarons.”

“That’s all?”

Her chin lifted. “Well, three days is never going to be long enough for me to explore all I want to.”

“No?”

“I want to savor everything.”

A soft strawberry blush bloomed in her cheeks and her chocolate eyes were infused with heat. His skin tightened as he drank in her beauty.

“I’ll get an assistant to get you some clothes so they’re there when we arrive,” he muttered huskily, reaching for his phone.

“You’re not buying me clothes.”

That tension pulled harder still. “You’re not going to need any?”

She held his gaze. “I can get my own.”

“Really? When? Because all the shops will be closed by the time we land.” Matteo growled. “It’s Christmas. It’s only a few clothes. You can always give them away. Or if you really can’t accept that offer, you can just wear some of mine.”

Her eyes darkened and his satisfaction swelled. Yes, the prospect of her wearing nothing but one of his shirts had one part of him purring. But this was different to the usual amusement he briefly shared with a beautiful woman. Seven years ago, he and Sasha had bonded on another level, and he couldn’t resist reaching out to her again on that intensely personal, emotional plane. The soulful one.

“Sasha,” he sighed. “Tell me everything.”

***

Time literally flew. Sasha sat opposite Matteo in a large recliner on his luxury jet and effortlessly slid back into the brilliant honesty and banter they’d had all those years ago. Hours slipped by. He listened as she told him about her mom, work, travel plans. He updated her on the endless saga of stepsiblings, backstabbing and high maintenance of his spoiled society family, on the restoration of the company he’d taken on too young. They laughed, but she saw somber responsibility flicker in his eyes—just as she had seven years ago. She saw something else too, and when the jet finally landed, her pulse kicked.

“It’s just a hop from here,” he muttered.

Hop as in helicopter. As in headset, leather seating and amazing views.

“I can’t believe I’m here. I’m in Monaco.” A minuscule country overly populated with royals and race car drivers and outrageously rich people.

He escorted her to a sleek sports car, laughing at her wide-eyed expression as he took the driver’s seat. “Come on.”

There was so much to take in. From cathedrals to the casino to the curling roads of the Grand Prix circuit, the harbor views and beaches gleaming in the full moon and sparkling lights. She was giddy as he pointed everything out, his smile wide, his laughter warming her bones. Back in the heart of Monte Carlo, he turned in to an underground parking garage. An elevator whisked them to the top floor.

“This is where you live?” Sasha couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t taken her to some fancy hotel; he’d brought her to his home.

“Yes. Though I travel a lot.”

His penthouse was sleekly, perfectly finished. On the vast table, a large bottle stood in a gleaming bucket. The surrounding ice had barely melted, meaning someone had delivered it recently. His butler? He was a billionaire, after all. And she did not fit in here. She gazed at the array of pretty colored confections displayed in the open box beside the bucket. “That’s a lot of macarons.”

“Every flavor available.”

“I can’t possibly eat them all.”

“It’s Christmas,” he teased. “Aren’t we supposed to overindulge?”

She’d never overindulged in anything.

“Take a bite of each and decide your favorite,” he suggested softly.

Only now she wasn’t hungry at all, at least not for—

“Sasha?”

“This is incredible,” she mumbled.

“You’ve only just worked that out?” His smile turned wry. “What does it matter? Sometimes you just have to make a decision and get on with it.”

He quoted her advice from all those years ago—hardly profound, simply practical. Truthfully she’d made the decision hours ago when she’d boarded his jet. They both knew that. So she would take a sliver of pleasure. She selected the nearest macaron.

“I was always sorry I never got to see you enjoy your first,” he said huskily.

The flavor burst on her tongue and she savored the light texture that belied the richness of the creamy filling. But she couldn’t enjoy this alone.

“Don’t you want a taste?” She held the remaining half toward him.

His green eyes lit like phosphorescence. “You know exactly what I want.” He walked close and took her wrist in his hand.

She gazed up at him. “Yes.”

Laughter melded with tenderness, and instead of tasting the macaron, he took her mouth.

Finally. She shivered as his lips slid over hers. This was what she’d wanted. This was everything. He was her fantasy crush, just for Christmas, and it was better than any dream had ever been. She dropped the macaron and sought his skin instead, moaning as he deepened the kiss. Electricity surged, driving her to touch, to take—food and champagne forgotten because there was nothing better than the taste of him.

He tugged her clothing feverishly with trembling fingers, accessing skin and parts so sensitive that she shook with only the lightest of touches. As those touches firmed and deepened, the emotional memory that had pushed her to say yes to something so outrageous, so out of character, now pushed her to hold nothing back. Because that was the magic between them—that beautiful, almost brutal baring that perhaps could happen only between two people passing in the night. That was all this was, right?

“Matteo…”

He paused, his hands cupping her breasts, his lips an inch from her neck, his breath warming her. “You want me to stop?”

The pain in his hoarse question made her lean closer. “Never.”

His groan of relief gave her the last courage she needed.

“But you just need to know something.” Her heart skittered. “You do get to be with me for my first…” She mumbled, “I’m as virgin as my passport.”

He looked into her face, all the questions written on his. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” Awkwardly, she babbled. “I’ve been working a lot and I do only what I want to do and only with who I want.”

“Sasha—”

“That’s you. Here. Now. Just now.” She gazed at him, worried at his silence. “It’s circumstance, that’s all.” It wasn’t that no other guy had caught her attention the way he had all those years ago. Well, okay, it partly was, and maybe she was sounding desperate, but she couldn’t stop herself.

As she stared, slashes of scarlet spread across his high cheekbones.

“It’s already Christmas Day here,” he muttered. “Maybe I could be your best ever Christmas present.”

“Best ever?” She chuckled at his teasing arrogance but melted too because he was going to give her what she wanted. “That’s a big promise…”

“Then I’d better get to delivering it.” He caught her in his arms.

Being pressed close against his big body amplified her awareness of his strength. But if that hadn’t been the evidence she needed, watching him undress did. He set her in the middle of his massive bed and she stared. His rippling, rock-hard muscles made her soften. She rose to her knees to get nearer. Aching.

He met her, kissed her again with stunning tenderness. He gently pushed her back down and carefully removed what clothing he hadn’t already undone until she too was bared and ready for his delectation. And delight over her he did, savoring every inch of her skin, setting her alight with a lush graze of his lips, slide of his tongue, stroke of his fingers and sweep of his hands. The too-slow, too-sweet rhythm was sensual torture. Utterly unraveling, she arched as the bite of ecstasy hovered a breath beyond reach.

“Matteo…” she begged breathlessly.

“Yes.”

Affirmation, permission, attention. He was here. Hers. She quaked as the waves of bliss began, but he braced her, holding her tightly through the fierce onslaught of her orgasm. And after, when she softly laughed on a sated sigh, he moved up her supine body.

“I’m not doing you a favor,” he asserted as he coaxed her thighs farther apart. “You’re my present. One I want more than anything.”

She gasped in unbearable delight as he dropped his weight onto her. This was more than hedonism. This was heavenly and wholly, desperately right.

He kissed her, capturing every ounce of her attention, making time end. There was only his touch, only this searing connection between them. Heated and slick, she arched again, pressing her hips against his hardness. “Matteo…”

His grip tightened. “You want me, Sasha?”

She sighed a shuddering breath. “I’ve waited so long…”

It ought to be a risk, but she was comfortable with all she was confessing. She’d instantly, always, felt not only this craving but this connection with him.

“Si, tesoro.” It was the softest whisper, but he held her firmly and finally thrust home.

“Yes,” she cried. This was what she’d wanted. This was everything.

He sucked in a breath, audibly hauling himself together before gathering her closer still.

Unafraid, unashamed, uninhibited, joy shimmered between them. Sasha savored every inch of him, reveling in the wild freedom to do so. He let her, met her and flipped it again, making her shudder through another sensual release until he’d wrung every ounce of pleasure from her stunned body.

“So much for no one being perfect the first time.” His growling whisper melted her. “You’re perfect, Sasha. In every way. You always have been.”

Overwhelmed, she buried her face in the side of his neck, hiding the tears that suddenly sprang. This was too precious, too good.

He drew a soft blanket to cover them both and folded his arms around her, stopping her from chilling as she came down from that heart-searing high.

“Best Christmas present ever,” she mumbled, struggling to put this back in the box it belonged. It was a holiday thing, for these few days only. She couldn’t truly fall for him—

“No.” He threaded his hand through her hair, gently tugging until she tilted her face to look up at him.

His gaze was sincere, serious. “I thought we were settling unfinished business, Sasha. That this was a Christmas indulgence,” he muttered huskily. “But it isn’t.”

Her breath stopped. “No?”

“No.” He smiled. “It’s a gift, yes, but just the beginning of one destined to last.”

Her long-lonely heart fluttered as his intense tenderness enchanted her effortlessly and completely.

“It’s us, Sasha,” he promised softly, pulling her close again. “This is the beginning of us.”

And that was exactly what it was.

*

Were you head over heels for this passionate Christmas reunion romance? Then dive headfirst into the linked Billion-Dollar Christmas Confessions duet with:

Alex and Ellie’s story in
Unwrapping His New York Innocent
by Heidi Rice

Roman and Violet’s story in
Carrying Her Boss’s Christmas Baby
by Natalie Anderson

 

Reunited Under the Tuscan Sky by Nina Singh

Having won an Italian castle in need of renovation, Lyndsay comes face to face with Matteo – the one who got away…

Someone was most definitely messing with her. That was the only explanation.

Lyndsay Holcomb shifted in her seat and stared at the monitor in disbelief. Then she read the email once more. Maybe the translated piece had an error. Because there was no way this was actually happening. For the mail to be correct, it would mean that Lyndsay had been blessed with an unbelievable stroke of luck.

Judging by past experience alone, luck generally did not fall too often on Lyndsay’s side.

She had to call Brett. He’d be able to read the original email rather than only the translation provided. Her brother’s Italian was much better than hers thanks to the foreign exchange student he’d persuaded mom and dad to host all those years ago. Brett and Matteo had advanced to full-blown conversations by the time the latter had left the United States.

Matteo. Even now, after all this time, the thought of his name sent a shiver of longing up her spine. She gave herself a mental thwack. How silly. That she was still so affected at the thought of her schoolgirl crush. Also, how cliché. That she’d fallen for the handsome exchange student hosted by her family via her older brother.

Surprisingly, Brett answered on the first ring. Wow, he must have been more worried about her than she’d guessed. Really, she thought she’d been putting up a more convincing front than that.

“Hey, sis. How you doing?”

Yep, definitely concerned. He hadn’t even teased her about bugging him on a Saturday night. Brett and her parents were not convinced at all that Lyndsay was handling her recent divorce well. A girl could wallow for a while at losing her husband of three years, couldn’t she? Especially considering said divorce was a direct result of a lurid affair on said husband’s part.

Lyndsay didn’t bother to answer or with any niceties of her own. She needed an answer to her own question first. “I’m going to forward you an email,” she told him, as she hit Send. “I need you to read it and tell me if the translation is accurate.

Several seconds passed in silence before Brett shouted in her ear.

“What? No way! Is this legit?”

Lyndsay rubbed her forehead. “I think so. I believe I just became the owner of an abandoned castle in Tuscany.”

“Way to go, Lynds!” Brett cheered. “That’s quite the Christmas gift.”

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to—”

Her brother cut her off. “I’m really proud of you. You got this!” Lyndsay didn’t have the heart to tell him just how little she believed that. “Wait till I call and tell Matteo. He’s only like a half hour from there in Florence.”

Lyndsay’s shot out of her chair. “No, wait! Brett, please don’t do that—”

But her brother had already hung up.

That settled it. Lyndsay was definitely in the middle of some strange, long dream. She’d also been dreaming a week ago when she’d received the email that she’d been chosen out of a lottery to purchase an abandoned castle in Tuscany for a ridiculously low price.

And Matteo Sarani was most certainly not standing at the airport gate holding a placard with her name on it. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her. That was just some hired chauffeur who had a surprising resemblance to the man she’d been crushing on since she was a teenager.

But then he saw her and smiled. The shiver that ran through her confirmed what her brain was trying to deny. That was most certainly him. Jet-black wavy hair over sharp gray-blue eyes a woman could get lost in. His features had sharpened; he had stubble along his cheek that only served to accentuate the whole tall, dark and handsome thing.

Somehow, he was even better looking than she’d remembered.

She made her way slowly toward where he stood, her feet as heavy as bricks. What in the world was she going to say?

“Matteo? Is that you?”

“Lyndsay! Buongiorno!” Matteo threw an arm around her shoulder and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Lyndsay ignored the alluring scent of his aftershave. It wasn’t easy. “When Brett told me he’d arranged for my ride from the airport, I had no idea it would be you.” She was going to kill her brother for this.

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t greet my good friend at the airport on her first trip to my beautiful country?” Matteo asked, taking her luggage.

Good friend.

Matteo had never seen her as anything more than that while Lyndsay’s pulse was rocketing at seeing him again. Was she ever going to learn?

“Come, my car is just outside.” He gently took her by the arm and led her through the door.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Matteo threw over his shoulder as they made their way. “Or that you’re now the owner of an Italian castle!” he added with a shake of his head.

She was finding it hard to believe any of this herself.

***

The one that got away.

It wasn’t a terribly common term in Italy, a much more American saying. But Matteo consumed American media and movies enough that the term had haunted him since he was eighteen.

For him, Lyndsay was the one who’d gotten away. He’d thought about her every day for years. He may have been young when he’d fallen for her, but in all the years that had followed his departure from the US, no other woman had called to him the way Lyndsay had. And she still did.

Matteo thought he’d prepared himself to see her again. He’d been woefully wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for the jolt of emotion that had spiked in his chest at the sight of her at the airport.

Through some miracle she was now sitting in his car as he drove her to her new property right here in his homeland.

“Tell me again how this all came to be?” he asked.

Lyndsay blew out a breath, a smile hovering on her lips. “Well, I saw an article in a travel magazine about a lottery where they were practically giving away abandoned castles. For a small fee, and my signature on a contract that I would fix the place up and make it habitable within three years, the castle would go to whoever’s name was randomly picked.” She paused, shaking her head as if still in disbelief. “So I went online and signed up, thinking I had a better chance of winning the New York Lotto.”

Matteo processed what he’d just been told. He could guess the rest. What were the odds? It was almost as if reuniting with Lyndsay was meant to be. Had fate given him a second chance? Or was the universe toying with him? Tempting him once again with something he so badly wanted but remained wholly out of his grasp.

Lyndsay’s sudden gasp pulled him out of his thoughts. They were driving by the town of Volterra on the way to her castle. She stared at the sight, her mouth agape. The town was in the process of lighting up for the evening. The regular brightness of the shops and businesses was accentuated by the myriad of colorful Christmas decorations.

“Would you like to stop?” he asked, kicking himself mentally for not thinking to make the offer before.

The smile she beamed at him almost had him losing focus on his driving. “Yes, I would,” she answered with zero hesitation. “I’d like that very much.”

***

Lyndsay felt as if she’d stepped into some kind of Christmas wonderland as Matteo led her around town five minutes later. Every restaurant and shop was decked out in bright holiday lights, cheery Italian versions of classic Christmas carols sounded through the air. The large fountain in the center was illuminated in changing neon colors projected onto it from some kind of light source.

Tempting aromas from various vendors and restaurants had her mouth watering. Matteo must have read her thoughts.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“I had dinner on the plane, but I wouldn’t mind a small snack.”

He winked at her. “I know just the thing.” Gently taking her by the elbow, he led her to a nearby food stall.

A few words from Matteo and the vendor, a grinning portly man in a Santa hat, handed her a small paper bag. Curls of steam rose from the top. A nutty, sweet scent reached her nose as she peeked in the bag. “Chestnuts!”

“That’s right. Italian chestnuts freshly picked and roasted on the spot.”

Lyndsay giggled in delight and popped one out of its cut shell, then popped it in her mouth. A burst of flavor exploded on her tongue.

“I know just what to wash those down with,” Matteo told her, guiding her to yet another stall a few feet away. Within seconds, they were handed a couple of paper cups. Lyndsay brought the beverage up to her nose for a sniff. The drink smelled divine, spicy and fruity. “Wine?”

He nodded. “Warm, spiced wine. It’s a specialty around the holidays. Perfect for the chill in the air.”

Lyndsay took a hearty sip and savored the rich, spicy taste. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. She’d needed this. The past year had been one nightmare after another, beginning with the discovery that she’d been cheated on repeatedly through her marriage then followed by the ugly battle of the divorce. It all seemed so long ago now. Well past her. It helped that she was half a world away. Could she really make a home here?

She stole a glance at Matteo’s profile as he sipped his wine. He was handsome and charming as ever. Was he seeing anyone? Did he have a woman in his life?

Whoa.

She was getting way ahead of herself here. The ink on her divorce papers was barely dry. Lyndsay had a lot to figure out about herself and her future. Diving headfirst into an old crush would only complicate her already chaotic life.

Silently, she turned back toward the fountain and made her way to the soothing sounds of the splashing water. Matteo followed close behind her. She was about to sit on the concrete ledge to gather her thoughts and enjoy her snack when he abruptly reached for her, straightening her before she could sit. In her surprise and startlement, Lyndsay nearly lost her balance, falling against his chest.

“Uh, sorry, cara. Sitting on the fountain is not allowed.”

But Lyndsay could barely process the words. The feel of him against her had sent her senses in a tailspin. The warmth of his breath tickled her cheek.

He whispered something in Italian, his voice strained and thick. She didn’t give herself a chance to think. Rising up on her toes, she touched her lips to his in the briefest, gentlest of a kiss.

Several beats passed with neither of them speaking a word. Matteo appeared to be in shock, his eyes wide with surprise. What had she done?

Somehow, she got her mouth to work. “I—I’m sorry. Maybe the wine is stronger than I thought—”

He cut her off, tilted her chin so that they were eye to eye. “Don’t apologize for something I’ve dreamed of for many years. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”

Lyndsay blinked up at him in confusion. “You have?”

He simply nodded once.

It took several beats for his words to sink in. “If we can’t sit on the fountain, we’re going to have to find a bench.” Her legs were sure to give out any second. Whether in shock or pleasure, she couldn’t even be sure.

Lyndsay appeared stunned as they walked to a nearby bench. He should have never blurted out such words so carelessly; he should have put much more thought into his declaration. He was usually so much more controlled in his emotions. But he’d been so thrown off at the sensation of finally having her lips against his. He could barely think straight when she’d kissed him, the only thought that registered in his mind was that he wanted more. Much more.

“For many years?” she asked, surprise clear in her voice.

“Si, cara.”

“But you never said anything back then.”

He shrugged. “I was so young, a guest in your home. A friend to your older brother. It seemed a dubious line to cross.”

“Huh. I suppose that makes sense. What about after? All those years that went by?”

Matteo took her hand in his, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Whenever I spoke to Brett and your name came up, he told me you were in a relationship.” He swallowed before continuing, remembering how crushed he was the day he’d heard she was engaged. “Then came word of your nuptials.”

***

Ten minutes later, as they drove the three miles to her new property, Lyndsay still couldn’t quite convince herself what she’d just heard. Had the man of her dreams really felt the same about her for all this time? It was almost too much to process.

Her mind barely registered their surroundings when Matteo pulled up in front of a structure and turned off the car. They appeared to be at some crumbling stone building with a crooked tower.

“Why are we stopping here?” she asked, following him out of the car.

Matteo gave her a bemused smile. “We’re here.” He motioned with his arm. “Your castle, madame.”

The blood rushed out of her brain. It appeared the surprises weren’t quite done with her yet. She immediately shook her head. “Oh, no. No, no, no. This can’t be right.”

Matteo stared at her. “What’s wrong?”

He had to ask. “What’s wrong? What exactly am I supposed to do with this…” She couldn’t even come up with a word for it. “I can’t possibly do enough to fix this up.”

Matteo gently took her by the shoulders. “I’ll help you. We’ll do it together.”

She had to laugh. “How exactly? This will take years.” She spun away, rubbing her hands down her face. “I should have never entered that lottery or signed that contract. I should have never even come here!”

She’d been so foolish, thinking her life could change on a dime. That she could live some kind of fairy tale. She wasn’t built for a challenge so big. And she wasn’t ready for any kind of new relationship. Even if it was Matteo.

She had to get back to her life and accept reality.

She felt him come up behind her. “I get that you’re scared,” he whispered over her shoulder. “I am too. But I won’t let myself lose the chance to be with you again. I’m not the hesitant teenaged boy I once was.”

That was certainly an understatement. Not that Matteo had ever struck her as boyish, even back then. He’d always possessed a ruggedness, a hardness that had called to her.

But a strong attraction wasn’t enough. Especially given the circumstances.

“I know we can do this together,” he reassured.

Was Matteo making any sense? Did they really have some kind of future together?

Lyndsay gave her head a brisk shake. This wasn’t the time for yet another impulsive decision. She didn’t even have a home here. No way she could live in this crumbling pile of bricks.

“You knew you were going to have to renovate, cara,” Matteo continued, gently turning her to face him.

“Yes. But I thought there’d be walls. And a roof!”

“You’re scared,” he repeated.

“Of course I am. This is a tremendous undertaking. I was impulsive and foolish and overconfident.”

But Matteo was shaking his head. “That isn’t what’s frightened you. You’re scared of what’s happening between us.”

Lyndsay wanted so badly to deny it. She didn’t bother, there was no point. The words would simply fall flat. Matteo was right and they both knew it.

He leaned in and wrapped his arms around her waist. Then he pulled her up tight against his length. Before Lyndsay could take another breath, her lips were on his. The taste of him flushed her senses. So familiar yet foreign at the same time. This kiss was so much more than the gentle peck she’d dared back at the fountain. This was the kiss she’d been longing for, dreaming about for decades now.

Like water through a sieve, all the doubt and fear fled her mind to be replaced by the full scope of love she’d felt since she’d first laid eyes on him all those years ago. He was right. They could fix the castle together. Or maybe not. It didn’t really matter.

With Matteo, she was home either way.

*

If you loved Reunited Under the Tuscan Sky, be sure to read Wearing His Ring Till Christmas by Nina Singh.

 

The Secret Prince’s Christmas Wish by Traci Douglass

This Christmas Eve, surgeon David will tell Dr. Cate his true feelings for her. Once he also reveals his royal secret…

December 24, 2016

Between residency duties and meeting everyone and adjusting to her new routine at the medical center this past month, Dr. Cate Neves had barely had a chance to realize it was Christmas Eve. Not that the weather in California was anything like it had been where she grew up in Boston. She’d left the cold and snow behind a month ago now, and while she missed it during the holidays, she couldn’t say she minded the warmth and sunshine here.

She also didn’t mind hanging out with her new friend and fellow resident, Dr. David Laurence. He’d been the first person she met upon her arrival on the Stanford campus, and he’d taken her under his wing and shown her the ropes here. He’d also proven himself to be a hard worker, taking extra shifts and going the extra mile for his team. Plus, he was always willing to work in a study session with Cate for the board exams.

She admired those things in him: his work ethic, his selflessness, his goodness. Honestly, she admired a lot of qualites in David. Probably way more than she should…

You’re here to become the best internal medicine physician you can be. Not to hook up with the hot doc you spend all your time with.

She’d never had to deal with being attracted to a coworker before, but now…

Cate sighed and stared around the crowded conference room the residents had taken over to use as their office. While some of the most brilliant up-and-coming minds in medicine sat in that room, a big brain didn’t necessarily make for an orderly environment. Papers and empty food containers and cups scattered the place, and the caretaker in Cate itched to clean it up.

From childhood, she’d been the responsible one. Had to be, what with her father walking out when Cate was only ten and her and her mother having to keep a roof over their heads and some semblance of order in their lives. She’d learned early on nothing came for free and after her father had walked out, she’d also learned people couldn’t be trusted. Watching her single mother work her fingers to the bone to put food on the table, Cate had vowed never to be in that position again.

“Almost time!” David took a seat beside her at the table and opened his laptop, his dark hair tousled from hours of seeing patients and a shadow of dark stubble on his chiseled jaw. Even exhausted, he was the most handsome man Cate had ever seen. And those blue eyes of his… Wicked gorgeous, they were. Like Brant Rock Beach near the Cape on a bright summer morning. He smelled like the soap and starch of his pale green scrubs, and his warmth chased away any residual chill she might have felt from the cold outside.

David nudged her with his elbow, jarring her out of her silly daydreams. “Tough day?”

Cate shook off a shiver of delight at his low, rumbly words, whispered like they were just for her. God, stop acting like a skeezah over this guy. He’s your friend. Even if you’d like him to be more… Cate cleared her throat and frowned down at the fingernail she was picking at. “Nah. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to share?” David raised a dark brow at her, one corner of his full lips quirked up into a sexy half smile.

Heat prickled Cate’s cheeks and she looked away. Gah, get a grip! There were moments when she wondered if David might like her too as more than a colleague or friend, but it felt too awkward to ask. Cate’s confidence was reserved for her patients, not her romantic life.

“Uh, no. Just the usual. Boards and stuff.” She shrugged it off and sat forward, pointing at his computer to change the subject. “Nervous?”

Besides the impending holiday, today was Match Day for Critical Care Fellowships. Match Day was usually when medical students across America found out if they got into the residency program they wanted. Because David had applied for a fellowship after he completed residency though, he had to endure the process twice.

Her smart watch beeped, and Cate and David locked gazes, saying in unison, “Noon.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, blindly pressing Enter on his computer. When he didn’t peek right away, Cate couldn’t wait any longer and glanced at his results herself.

“You got it, David.”

“What?” One blue eye peeked open then the other. He blinked at the screen.  “I got it,” he repeated, sounding a bit stunned. “Critical Care here at Stanford! Yes!”

Then, before Cate knew what was happening, they were on their feet, whooping and cheering, and David hugged her tight.

“Congratulations!” she managed to squeak out past the pounding in her ears and the constriction in her throat. Man, he felt as good pressed to her as she’d always imagined he would. All taut muscle and warm strength.  She never wanted to pull away.

David squeezed her closer, burying his nose into the crook of her neck, and Cate thought she might pass out from sheer joy. He whispered, “I couldn’t have gotten through this without you.”

She felt the same, clinging on to him like a life preserver. Or a warm blanket in a blizzard, savoring the feel of his body against hers. David was a few inches taller than her, and they fit well together, safe and secure. Struggling to keep from melting into a puddle of adoring goo at his feet, she buried her nose in the shoulder of his scrub shirt and said the first silly thing that popped into her head that wasn’t related to tackling David to the floor and having her way with him. “Now, um, we need to pass our boards.”

“We will,” he whispered near her ear, his lips brushing her skin, making her shiver. “You’ll be brilliant, Cate. You always are…to me.”

She took a deep breath, inhaling his good David smell before forcing herself to step back. Any more of this and her secret crush wouldn’t be secret anymore. But when she looked up, their gazes met and held, and the rest of the room seemed to fall away. David’s eyes flicked down to her lips and she felt it like a physical touch, her mouth tingling in anticipation. He leaned in slightly. She leaned in slightly. If Cate stood on tiptoe, she could kiss him and…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The pager hanging from the lanyard around her neck went off as an announcement came over the hospital PA system.

Code blue Diagnostic Imaging. Code blue Diagnostic Imaging.

Cursing, David took off with Cate hot on his heels. Code blue meant life-and-death.

They sprinted up the stairs to the third floor, where a nurse had already begun CPR, while another adjusted the patient’s IV drips. As David took over CPR, Cate ran to the computer in the room and brought up the electronic chart to see if there were any contributing factors to the patient’s current state.

“Looks like kidney failure. His potassium is increasing rapidly,” she called to David.

“Right.” He turned over chest compressions to a second-year resident who’d just arrived, then said to Cate, “Solution, Dr. Neves?”

“Calcium gluconate to stabilize the heart and insulin to shift the potassium into his cells.”

“Excellent.” David turned to a third nurse hovering in the doorway. “Draw blood work and send it to the lab.”

“Epinephrine in,” the IV nurse shouted. “And we’ve got a pulse.”

The room inhaled a collective breath of relief.

They still had no idea if there’d be lingering problems with the patient due to oxygen deprivation before anyone had started CPR, but the man was alive. Cate and David lingered until the patient was wheeled down to ICU for closer observation, then they returned to their busy shift.

Once they reached the conference room again, David made an announcement. “To celebrate everyone getting their top matches today. Or to commiserate those who didn’t.” He glanced over at Cate. “Or just to have an excuse to get together with friends before the holiday, everyone is invited to my place tonight for a cookout. Eight p.m. Spread the word to any residents not here. You all have my address. Feel free to drop in for the whole evening or as your schedules allow. And happy holidays to one and all!”

Cate waited until the rest of the residents left the room before saying to David, “That’s nice of you to do that.”

He shrugged and closed his laptop. “Not really.” His smile took on a hint of sadness. “A lot of us are away from our families right now and I’m tired of being lonely.”

Her chest squeezed with longing, for home and hearth and the man beside her. Cate swallowed hard and tucked her hair behind her ear, looking away in case he could read too much in her eyes. “Well, thank you anyway. Anything you need me to bring?”

She’d turned away to gather her things from the table but froze when David took her hand, tugging her to face him again. “Just yourself, Cate. You’re more than enough for me.”

Cate stood there for a long moment after he left, her heart racing and eyes wide.

Maybe this connection between them did go deeper than she thought.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d get the best Christmas present ever this year.

David.

If things went well tonight, she planned to tell him how she felt about him.

***

“Have yourself a merry Christmas…”

Prince Davian Michael Julian Arthur Constantine de Loroso stepped back from the small tree he was decorating in the corner of his Sand Hill apartment and assessed his work. Covered in mismatched ornaments picked up at the bargain store around the corner, it was a far cry from the designer trees adorning the royal palace back in his island homeland of Ruclecia, but it still reminded Davian of his childhood and the holidays.

For the umpteenth time that day, he swallowed hard around the lump in his throat—a longing for a place that didn’t exist, one with no expectations or restrictions or necessary lies. Unfortunately, he wasn’t likely to get rid of that feeling anytime soon. Not with his family demanding his return to their homeland as soon as he finished medical school and their insistence on his using a pseudonym, both for security reasons and to keep the paparazzi at bay, while he was in America. He’d chosen David Laurence because it was close enough to his own name to avoid confusion.

Davian sighed and adjusted the twinkling star atop the tree. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his family. He did. What he didn’t love was the constant pressure to conform to his father’s expectations of what a second son should do and be in service to the almighty throne. His father was king of Ruclecia, as Davian’s older brother would be one day after him, but Davian had little to worry about in the line of succession. With the birth of his brother’s two children, Davian was now fourth in line to the throne and likely would never inherit it. Good. In all honesty, he’d never wanted it. What he wanted most of all was to be a doctor. To serve others. To make a difference.

“Let your heart be light…”

He placed a few more ornaments and strands of garland, then pronounced it done with a grin.

The guests would be here soon, and Davian still had to set out the food and drinks. His steps grew lighter as he got ready for the party, knowing Cate would be here too. She was like a breath of fresh air in his life, so happy, so free, so fun.

So wonderful…

Tiny bubbles of joy fizzed through his nerve endings like champagne. Each time he closed his eyes, he pictured that moment in the conference room earlier. Cate in his arms. Cate pressed to his body. Cate looking up at him like he hung the moon and stars.

Heady stuff for a man who’d been kept in the shadows his entire life and only summoned as a diversion to distract the press or avert another royal crisis. But with Cate, it wasn’t just about that. When they were together, Davian forgot all about his past, all about the looming issues of telling his family he was done with royal life, of telling them he refused to do their bidding anymore and that he had his own life and career. When they were together, Davian only thought of Cate and the life they could have together one day.

Once you tell her the truth…

That was the only dark cloud on his horizon tonight. Telling Cate who he really was. She deserved to know before things went further between them, and Davian wanted to tell her. He just needed to find the right time. Perhaps tonight after the party.

A knock sounded on the door and Davian froze, the fresh raspberry in his fingers hovering over the top of a glass of rosé on the granite breakfast bar leading into his galley kitchen. He checked his smart watch, then smoothed a hand down the front of his silly festive light-up reindeer sweater and dark jeans. Must be Cate. She’d said she’d come early to help him set up.

His pulse tripped a little as he took a deep breath, then headed for the door. It always felt a little magical seeing Cate, but tonight even more so. With the carols playing softly in the background and the soft colored lights from the tree filling the living room, Davian found it easy to imagine they were in a fairy tale. He hoped Cate felt the same.

Please let her feel the same…

He opened the door, eyes widening when he saw that Cate had on the same reindeer sweater as him. What were the chances? With them, apparently pretty good. “Uh, happy holidays.”

“Merry, merry,” she said, holding up a bottle of wine in one hand and a gift bag in the other.

For a second they just stared at each other, before Davian stepped aside to let her in. As she passed, he couldn’t resist inhaling her sweet scent of flowers and sunshine and something indefinably Cate. Better than the most expensive perfume back at the palace.

“Oh, wow.” Cate set her stuff on the coffee table in the living room, then walked over to his newly decorated tree. “It’s so cute! I love Christmas.”

“Me too,” he said, walking over to stand beside her. “Did you grow up with a lot of traditions?”

“Eh, not many.” She reached out to trace a finger gently over a glitter-encrusted candy cane on one branch. “My mom was usually working on Christmas Eve. Time and a half and all. And it was just the two of us, so we’d open our gifts Christmas morning, then spend the rest of the day—if she had it off—watching movies or doing puzzles or whatever.” Cate shrugged, the corners of her mouth tilting down a tad as if she remembered something sad. Then it was gone. If Davian hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would’ve missed it. She glanced over at him and smiled, sunny and bright again. “What about you?”

“Oh, uh…” He stared at his bargain-basement tree again, still prouder of it than any he’d had growing up. Tell her. Except he couldn’t. Not yet. Not with his other guests due to arrive any minute. No. When he told Cate the truth—and he would—he wanted them to have privacy and more than enough time for him to answer all the questions and concerns she would inevitably have. Later tonight. They could sit on the sofa in front of the tree and finish the bottle of wine she’d brought and then, finally, Davian would tell her everything. So, for now, he lifted a shoulder and answered as vaguely as he could. “We did the usual things, I guess. Wassail and presents and snowmen outside on the lawn.”

“Wassail?” she snorted, then raised a brow at him. “Aren’t you fancy.”

“You have no idea.” Davian winked at her and was about to put his arm around her waist, just because he couldn’t resist any longer, when someone rang the doorbell. Saved by the buzzer. As he walked to the door, he said to Cate over his shoulder, “We can talk more after the party, if you want?”

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she nodded and said, “I’d like that.”

Me too, Davian thought. More than I can say.

The rest of the night passed in a busy blur. People arriving and leaving. Dinner outside on his small patio—Davian grilling and Cate serving drinks and stories to keep everyone entertained. Then they all sat around his small raised firepit, Christmas twinkle lights glowing in the warm California evening, and sang carols and toasted to good friends and better memories.

By the time everyone slowly dispersed, it was close to midnight. Cate and Davian cleaned up the mess left outside, then went in to sit on the sofa in front of the tree, just as he’d planned.

Cate poured them each a glass of rosé, finishing off the bottle, then curled up in her corner opposite Davian, tucking her stockinged feet beneath her. “We should probably study for the boards.”

“Nah.” He laughed, resting his elbow against the back cushions. “You work too hard.”

She snorted. “Like you don’t.”

David drank his wine and nodded. “True.”

Cozy and warm and a tiny bit buzzed, they both pressed back into the cushions. Hard to believe in a few months all this would be over, and they’d go their separate ways. Davian’s heart pinched. Tell her.

“Cate, I…” he started, the words sticking in his throat. It was the first time he’d reveal his true identity to anyone. What if she rejected him or betrayed him to the press? He didn’t believe Cate would do either, but it was hard to shake the vulnerability anyway.

She yawned and stretched, then leaned closer to place her hand on Davian’s arm. “What is it? You can tell me anything, you know. I won’t judge you.” Her smile lit up his night like the North Star. “I care about you, David… I care about you a lot.”

Her words grew quiet then, her green eyes soft and serious. He felt the sincerity in her tone all the way to his toes. “I care for you too, Cate.” He took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers and tugging her a little closer. “Very much.”

They sat so close on the sofa that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her irises and hear the slight catch in her breath. And suddenly the most important thing, the most necessary thing in the world to him was kissing her. All the rest could wait until afterward. He moved slowly, dazed and love drunk, sliding his free hand behind her neck to pull her to him, enjoying her tiny shiver of awareness. She looked as mesmerized as he felt by the sparkling, shimmering spell of wonder around them. Maybe it was the best Christmas present ever. Maybe it was his greatest wish come true. Whatever it was, Davian couldn’t let this moment pass them by.

Then they were kissing. Soft at first, then hotter and more demanding. She wrapped her arms around his neck, parting her lips. He took advantage, sliding his tongue along hers, tasting her for the first time—spice and sugar and delicious passion. Cate moaned, seemingly as desperate for him as he was for her. He couldn’t contain his feral, possessive groan and Cate shuddered in his arms, gripping the front of his sweater tighter.

“David, please,” she whispered near his ear, driving him nearly wild with need. “I want you.”

Still, he wanted to be sure. Had to be sure. His heart hammered in his chest and his throat felt tight as a noose. He cared for Cate, more than he cared for anyone else in the world. If he was honest with himself, he loved her. They hadn’t known each other long, but when it was right, it was right.

David pulled her into his lap to straddle him, and cupped her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze. Their time was almost over. Just a few more months until boards, then Cate would go back to Boston, and he’d start his new fellowship. They might never see each other again after this, so he had to be sure. “Cate, is this what you want? Really?”

Her lovely face was flushed, and her eyes glimmered with certainty. She shifted restless on his lap, rubbing against him and making him groan louder.  “God, yes. Please. I love you, David.”

She leaned in and kissed him again, cutting off his fervent vow that he loved her too. After that, there was only emotion, passion short-circuiting his brain and his good intentions.

Every touch, every caress seared into his memory.

Davian treated Cate like the precious treasure she was. As they made love, the world dissolved until it was just them, just that moment, just that night. Lit by the glow of the Christmas tree, everything seemed more intense, more magical, more special.

Afterward, they spooned on the sofa, cuddling together under a warm, soft blanket. The stereo continued to play carols at low volume as they dozed. Davian couldn’t remember a better Christmas.

Tomorrow, he’d tell Cate the truth. First thing in the morning. They’d have all day to talk it out. But right now, they needed sleep. Davian spooned Cate tighter to his chest, her sleepy little mewls making him smile. With his arm tucked securely around her waist, he drifted off.

Merry Christmas indeed.

*

Discover what happened after Davian and Cate’s Christmas Eve encounter in

The GP’s Royal Secret
by Traci Douglass

Coming soon in Mills & Boon Medical!

 

The Widow’s Kissing Bough by Jeanine Englert

Widow Lia is determined to uphold Christmas traditions for her daughter. Can Leith persuade her to embrace the future?

Kirkcaldy, Scotland

Christmas Eve, 1741

An orange fell from above and crowned widow Ophelia Douglas in the head. She rubbed the sore spot and winced as the rogue fruit bounced to the floor and rolled under the buffet in the dining room. Giving her seven-year-old daughter, Isobel, a proper holiday in their new town house in Kirkcaldy was all Ophelia wished for this season. It was time to set aside her grief and live once more. Celebrating the holiday season was a fine start. Deep down she knew it was what her late husband, Thomas, would have wanted.

‘This blasted kissing bough shall not end me,’ she muttered. ‘It is merely twig, evergreen, ribbon, and fruit.’

She crawled along the floor in search of the last piece of fruit that needed to be added to the kissing bough. She spied it and stretched her hand as far as she could under the furniture without wrenching her arm from its socket. Her fingertips touched but then slipped off the orange. ‘Curses,’ she muttered.

‘You always did have short arms.’

Startled, Ophelia hit her head on the buffet, uttered a curse, and then backed out from under it. She sat back on her haunches and blew an errant brown tendril from her face. ‘You always know exactly what sweet words a lady wishes to hear, Leith Kennedy.’ She frowned at him.

He smirked and offered her his hand, which she reluctantly accepted, knowing full well any attempts to rise gracefully in her full skirts would be wildly unsuccessful. He pulled her up with ease, her hand warmed from his own. She let go and brushed off her apron, attempting to avoid his scrutiny.

‘Should I ask?’ he said, his dark gaze scanning her features.

‘Just decorating for the holiday dinner this eve,’ she answered tightly, forcing a lightness into her tone. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘Your maid let me in as she left for the market. I came early to see if you needed help and all, since…’ He shrugged away the rest of the sentence. There was no need to say it aloud.

She and Isobel were celebrating the season for the first time in three years since Thomas’s passing. Her heart faltered before regaining its rhythm. It was high time she moved on with her life, but how?

‘It was good of you to come,’ she said. ‘You must receive many invitations this time of year.’

‘I was grateful for your invitation and pleased you chose to celebrate.’ He gifted her a smile.

Why the man had to be so ungodly handsome she didn’t know. He had been ever since they were children. They’d been neighbours in town and thus thrust together since they could walk. Somehow time and tragedy had not separated them. Even when Thomas had passed and Ophelia had shoved Leith brutally away to deal with her grief, his friendship had never wavered. She’d half expected him to decline, but she was thankful to have a friendly face amongst the sea of family who would be casting doubt upon her decision to move into her wealthy aunt’s old town house alone with Isobel. No doubt he’d be the only one not offering unsolicited advice in the guise of ‘helping’.

She blinked away her nerves and studied her old friend. His charcoal trews and jacket accentuated his dark eyes and hair, and his white tunic and cravat were pristine. He appeared fresh and crisp like the winter wind, while she was mussed as if she had waged a battle and lost, which was close to being true. She had instigated a private war against her holiday décor and was losing. Despite her working diligently for hours, the room had changed little, although the evergreen trim adorned with red ribbon on the mantel and buffet did look lovely, which afforded her some satisfaction. It was the incomplete lopsided kissing bough hanging from the doorway that plagued her.

‘Do you need help?’ he asked, glancing up at the unfinished decoration dangling precariously from its hook.

She flushed. ‘Aye. I cannot seem to straighten it no matter how I arrange it, and I have lost an orange under the buffet. Since we did not celebrate the holiday the last few years, it must be perfect in our new home. I want it to be a fresh start.’

His dark brown eyes softened. ‘For Isobel?’

‘Aye,’ she answered quietly, clasping her hands together. ‘The kissing bough was Thomas’s favourite decoration of the season and one of the few memories Isobel still has of him.’

‘As her godfather, it is my duty to create a perfect holiday for her, too,’ he began. He removed his jacket, slung it over the back of a chair, and approached the buffet. ‘I shall set to the task at hand. I will need nails, a hammer, some string, and another apple.’ He winked at her and soon his torso partially disappeared under the furniture.

She scurried off and retrieved the requested items. Upon her return, the orange rested on the table along with the kissing bough he had removed from the threshold. He examined the decoration as if its inner workings were as complex as the patients he served as one of the local doctors of Kirkcaldy. He extended his open hand, never taking his gaze from the bough. ‘Nail,’ he requested. She placed one in his hand, and he inserted it delicately. ‘Hammer,’ he said, extending his open hand again. She rolled her eyes and set it in his palm.

If the man wasn’t a dear childhood friend and Isobel’s godfather…

‘I can feel your irritation.’ He chuckled. ‘But I appreciate your assistance.’

‘Aye.’ She reminded herself that this celebration was for Isobel and maybe a tiny bit for herself.

*****

Leith hammered the nail gently into the cluster of twigs twined together for this season’s kissing bough. He tried hard to disregard the longing that had washed over him when Ophelia emerged from beneath the buffet with her auburn hair loose and her dark gown and apron askew. Her subtle beauty had always intrigued him, and when she’d set her pale green eyes on him, he’d faltered. He had no right to feel anything for her today or any day since she had married their mutual childhood friend, Thomas. But as he often told his patients: one cannot control everything despite the will they possess.

And whom one loved was one of those very things.

He lowered the hammer and studied his work. Pleased with the outcome, he looked at the remaining orange and apple. He picked up the apple and string and asked for another nail to hammer the fruit in place.

‘What do you think?’ he asked, lifting the completed kissing bough.

‘Do you not wish to add the orange?’ She bit her lip.

Confused, he glanced at it and then back to her. ‘Thomas only used apples.’

‘Aye,’ she said, her voice wobbly. ‘He did.’

His chest tightened. ‘I thought Isobel would prefer it to be the same, but I can change it.’

Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. ‘Nay. You are right. It should be the same.’

He reached out and placed his hand along her forearm. ‘Lia,’ he said softly, using the nickname he’d had for her since they were children.

She shook her head and wiped away a tear. ‘Nay. I am fine.’

‘You are not. Nor do you have to be.’

She scoffed. ‘Aye. I do. I am alone. I have no choice but to be fine, to be strong, to be everything for Isobel.’ She moved away and stared out the window. ‘It is what is expected of a widow, is it not? To grieve, move on, and remarry?’

He sighed. ‘Perhaps it is what is expected, but it is not what you must do.’ He stared at her, wishing he could absorb her fear and pain, even though he couldn’t. ‘You can wail at the market square and pound your chest in fury if you wish.’

‘But it shall not change anything.’ She faced him and the sorrow on her drawn features was his undoing.

He walked to her, knowing full well he shouldn’t get too close. ‘Then do something to change your life and Isobel’s.’

‘Like what?’ she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Marry me.

He swallowed the words and did not speak them, but stared back at her.

‘The doctor has no prescription for my recovery?’ she teased. ‘That is unexpected.’

The mantel clock chimed the hour. ‘I must get ready,’ she said. ‘Isobel shall be up from her nap soon. I will send her down when she wakes.’

He nodded. ‘I will hang the bough before then.’

‘Thank you for being here,’ she said.

‘There is nowhere else I wish to be.’

Ever.

She nodded and left.

Leith scrubbed a hand through his hair, knowing full well he let his opportunity to reveal his feelings pass on by.

Again.

*****

Ophelia stood at the top of the landing trying to muster up her courage to host her first holiday dinner since Thomas’s death. She was about to walk downstairs when voices halted her progress.

‘Uncle Leith, if I tell you my holiday wish, will it still come true?’ Isobel asked.

‘Of course. I shall even tell you mine, just to be sure.’

‘Mummy has been so sad. I wish she would smile.’ A long pause followed. ‘Uncle?’

‘Aye,’ he said. He cleared his throat. ‘That is my holiday wish, too.’

‘Really?’

‘Cross my heart.’

‘Then it must come true if we both wish it, mustn’t it?’

‘Aye.’

Ophelia swallowed the lump in her throat and went downstairs, being sure to step on the board that creaked so they would hear her approach.

‘Mummy’s coming,’ Isobel whispered loudly. ‘Shh…’

As Ophelia reached them, Isobel rushed to her and wrapped her arms around her skirts. Leith went to her and kissed her cheek gently, and a flicker of awareness made her flesh tingle.

‘You are the picture of holiday bliss,’ he said. The emotion in his eyes told her that he knew she’d overheard their exchange. He offered his arm, and she accepted it, welcoming his support.

She paused at the table, her gaze scanning the ample offerings of roast goose, potatoes, carrots, mincemeat pies, and sweets that far exceeded what she could afford. ‘Leith,’ she murmured. ‘Was this your doing?’

He smiled. ‘I sent your maid along to the market with my carriage and asked her to pick up a few additional items for our celebration.’

‘It is lovely, is it not, Isobel?’ Ophelia smiled at her daughter, whose grin filled her heart with joy.

‘If only Father could have seen it.’

Leith pressed his hand over Ophelia’s own as her smile wavered, and his warm, steady strength flowed through her. ‘Aye. He would have loved it, especially those extra sweets.’ She tickled her daughter’s side and Isobel’s laughter trilled through the air.

*****

‘I cannot thank you enough for coming and spending the eve with us. As expected, my family loved having you here and you were a sound buffer to my mother’s attempts to match me yet again with my second cousin, Ralph,’ Ophelia said. She sat on the settee and stared into the fireplace, sipping from her small glass of wine. ‘You made today special for Isobel…and me.’

Leith’s heart pounded in his chest. He moved away from the mantel, where he had been standing, and sat next to her. He had to tell her. Even if he lost her friendship. Even if he lost contact with Isobel. He could no longer live in the space between what was and what might be as he had since Thomas’s death. He turned to her, resting his arm along the back of the settee.

‘It is hard to believe how long we have known each other, Lia.’

She chuckled. ‘All our lives really. I cannot remember not having you in my life.’

‘Nor I. And I want desperately for you and Isobel to be happy,’ he said.

‘You need not worry. I am happy enough tonight.’ She reached out and squeezed his arm, her hold lingering. ‘Without you, I fear I would not have made it through.’

‘But that’s just it. I want to do more than enough. I want to be with you and Isobel and make you happy…every day. Ralph is not your only option.’

She set down her goblet, shaking her head, the fine glass spheres hanging from her ears catching the candlelight. ‘I fear I have had far too much wine. What are you saying?’

‘I want to be your husband and be a family with you and Isobel.’

She studied him and then smirked. ‘You looked so serious that you had me fooled for a moment, Doctor.’

He slid forward and took her hand in his, reveling in the smooth feel of her delicate fingers against his own and the slight pulse racing along her wrist. She smelled of lavender and sugary sweets, and her eyes caught the flickering light of the fire. His gaze fell to her lips, and they parted involuntarily. ‘I am serious,’ he said. ‘I love you. My heart has always been yours.’

No matter how he longed to kiss her and hold her, he didn’t dare. They were on a precipice of change, and he’d not risk floundering now.

‘Why? You could have your pick of any woman in Kirkcaldy. Why would you ever pick me?’

‘Why would I not? You are beautiful, kind, and have always seen the real me.’

‘You mean the arrogant, self-serving man you can be?’ she teased.

‘Aye.’ He laughed. ‘But also the best parts of me, I hope.’

She squeezed his hands and then pulled away. ‘Aye. I do. Your generosity and kindness are more than I deserve. But I am not ready, even though it has been over three years.’

‘Aye, and I do not ask you to marry me. Not yet at least. I only ask that you open your heart to the idea of us. That you see me as more than the friend I have been all these years.’

‘And what of Thomas? All this time were you unhappy of us? Jealous of him?’

‘Nay. Thomas was the best of us. I was always happy for you both. You were the two people I loved most in the world. When he died, I was angry. I never understood why it wasn’t me who died in that riding accident. You two could have lived your lives together. While I would not have been missed.’

‘You know that isn’t true,’ she stated. ‘We would have missed you.’

‘Perhaps, but you could have gone on. Whereas losing Thomas shattered you. And, if I am honest, there is a part of me that is jealous of the love he still claims from you even though he is gone from this world.’

*****

Ophelia felt numb. Leith had loved her all these years. Her mind couldn’t fathom the words he said, but they had to be true. Leith was a poor liar, one of his redeeming qualities.

One of many.

She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. All his attentions, jokes, and visits. Had they been more than friendship?

Perhaps. But what of her late husband?

‘Did Thomas know of your feelings?’

Leith dropped his gaze and picked at a small pull of fabric along the settee. ‘Aye. He did. Asked me about it once long ago before you married. I confessed I cared for you. Instead of being jealous, he just said, ‘I cannot blame ye. She is perfection.’’

‘That is all he said?’

He chuckled. ‘Nay. He also said he would knock my teeth out if I ever overstepped.’ He glanced away, his eyes misting over briefly before clearing. He met her gaze again and smiled. ‘And I knew he would.’

‘Why did he never tell me?’

‘No reason to I suppose. You were happy. He knew that. What threat would I have ever posed?’

It was all so much to take in. Perhaps too much.

‘I will take my leave,’ Leith said and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. Her heart fluttered in her chest, a new awareness blooming under her skin.

Before she could think, she turned to him and seized his lips with hers. He stiffened but then kissed her in return, murmuring her name against her mouth, ‘Lia.’

The ache in her name released her abandon. She leaned into him once more. He slid his hand along the nape of her neck, his feathery touch like fire along her flesh. Could it be that she could be happy and love again? That she could make this proud man happy, too? That they could be a family?

Too soon he pulled back, his breathing unsteady. ‘I did not mean for you to feel beholden to kiss me.’

‘I didn’t, you fool. I fully intended to kiss you.’

He ran his fingers over her brow. ‘You did?’

‘Aye,’ she whispered. ‘I wanted to make yours and Isobel’s holiday wish come true.’

‘You did. You are smiling.’

‘Aye. But it doesn’t mean anything.’ She looked up. ‘We were under the kissing bough. ’Tis tradition.’

‘You mean the kissing bough across the room?’ He laughed.

‘Yes. Dr. Kennedy, I have decided to accept your prescription for my recovery.’

‘And what exactly is it?’

‘To seek out the happy opportunities before me, such as you, as unexpected as they might be.’

‘Then I shall be available for just that, Lia. Tonight, and always.’

*

If you enjoyed this festive second-chance romance, don’t miss Jeanine Englert’s Falling for a Stewart series:

Eloping with the Laird

The Lost Laird from Her Past 

Both available now!

 

Snowbound at Christmas by Katie Frey

A kiss last year only led to misunderstandings. Is this Christmas, snowed in on the ranch, their second chance?

Emily

“Hang on. I’m driving through a snowstorm. To deliver a horse. On Christmas Eve. While you enjoy a private engagement party in the Dominican. This is worth a pretty big favor.”

The snow was falling fast and Emily’s wipers were working overtime to keep the windshield clear. Her radio spouted blizzard warnings and she hoped the volume was loud enough for the dire reality to be picked up by her best friend.

“Technically, you’re delivering a foal,” Hannah answered. “But yep. Of course. Name the favor, I got it.”

Emily’s mind was blank. What favor could she ask for? Ahead, she saw the winding drive of Hartmann Homestead. “I’m five minutes out, max.”

“I’m so sorry to do this to you on Christmas Eve. You’re literally saving me here. Our vet has a wicked case of food poisoning, and I have no idea who else to call.” Hannah, or the future Mrs. Hartmann as Em liked to call her, echoed her apology for the millionth time.

Emily had had a front-row seat to Hannah’s whirlwind courtship, having moved to Bozeman with her best friend fourteen months earlier to take a position at Bozeman Health as head of the ER department.

Truth was, Emily didn’t track favors. Hannah was her sister from another mister if ever there was one. They were past that.

And she’d be in the Dominican right now, celebrating with her friend, if it wasn’t for a certain someone who would also be there. So instead she was here, available to pitch in.

“Enjoy your family and your party. I just hope I can help. I’m not a vet,” she reminded her distraught friend. “I’m pulling up now.”

Emily braked as she approached the gated homestead. The barn, freshly painted white with black trim, was visible thanks to the thousands of white Christmas lights dangling from every possible fence post and piece of trim. She drove toward it, slowing due to the icy courtyard.

“Jackson has been working with the Pryor mustangs for months, and this will be our first birth on the ranch since we got engaged—” Hannah started.

“Pressure much?” Emily muttered under her breath. Her tires skidded as she hit a patch of ice. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Weather’s coming down hard. Forecast is calling for twenty inches tonight, but the way it’s falling, I’m thinking that’s a light estimate.”

“You can stay at the house,” Hannah promised. “Just help save Misty.”

“I’m here, and I’ll do my best.” House nothing, she’d be lucky to make it out of the barn given the current whiteout conditions.

As she scanned the courtyard, she saw very few vehicles. The Hartmanns, all the siblings and their significant others, had flown to the Dominican for the engagement party, as had the head of their crew and half the senior ranch hands. And the ranch hands who were left? According to Jackson, they were too drunk to deliver a foal in distress. Too drunk and about to be fired.

Emily bit her lip. Ironically Hannah had already granted her a favor—forgiveness for Emily’s absence from the engagement party. After last Christmas’s debacle, the most humiliating secret Santa exchange of her life, she couldn’t bear the thought of a two-week getaway with the happy couple and their best man. Clay Klien was Jackson’s best friend, and the awkward fourth wheel to most dinner parties.

Clay, like Jackson, got a hoot out of calling out Emily’s “fish outta water” status in Bozeman, Montana, referring to her as “Boston” more often than Emily. Sure, when they’d first crossed paths it had been easier. She’d been shy, taken aback by his good looks and rugged build. A bit obvious in his attractiveness, she now thought, as though the slight could make him somehow a little less sexy. Trouble was, it didn’t.

For Em’s first few months in Bozeman, she’d thought their sparring repartee had been flirty, and there’d been a kiss that made her believe sparks would fly between them. Then he’d set her straight with their secret Santa exchange, giving her the worst gift she’d ever received in her life and ghosting her for a week.

Nope. She owed Hannah for allowing her a reprieve from her maid of honor duties at this party. She’d deliver ten foals if that kept her in the good books and away from Clay.

“I gotta go, girlie. I’ll call you when Misty and I are all good. Don’t sweat it. I got this.”

After disconnecting, Emily pulled the edges of her coat closed and reached for her chunky knit scarf.

*

The barn was surprisingly hot and humid and smelled like earth and horses. It was cleaner than she’d expected, which was a good sign given the impending delivery.

“Ma’am. Glad you’re here.” She was greeted by one of the ranch hands, red-nosed and a bit bleary, as predicted by Hannah.

“I’d like to see the horse.” Emily unzipped her coat but left it on, following the ranch hand to the stall at the back of the barn.

“We got things pretty under control. Clay’s in the back, Misty is restless and sweating pretty bad, but the foal isn’t far from position. Can’t help but think Boss was overreacting just a bit.”

Emily blanched. Clay? Here? She regretted wearing scrubs. Hannah’s urgency had robbed Emily of the chance to get out of her hospital gear, and now she probably looked about as good as she felt. This wasn’t the deal. If Clay was here, she didn’t need to be. Didn’t want to be. Especially in scrubs.

“You gonna just stand there, Boston, or were you gonna help?”

Clay’s voice crossed the barn and reverberated in her stomach. Of all the people to call, why did they call her when they could have called him? When they did call him? More urgently, why was Jackson’s childhood best friend and current best man here at all? Shouldn’t he be in the Dominican?

Emily made her way to the back of the barn and shrugged off her coat. “I thought you were in the Dominican.” She sucked in a breath, not wanting him thinking she was tracking his whereabouts. “Nevermind. I’m sure we’ve got this in order.” She nodded toward the ranch hand.

“Right.” Clay nodded, dismissing the ranch hand.

Emily tightened her lips. “I meant you could go. I can handle this delivery on my own.”

Clay frowned. “Jackson called me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Instead of thinking about why they’d both been called here, she responded, “I’m a doctor. I think I can handle a delivery better than…” She frowned, scanning the stall. He’d laid out blankets, and the area was spotless. There were several buckets of steaming water and shining shears. “Someone with no medical experience,” she finished, struggling to maintain a forced superiority.

Of all the people to spend Christmas Eve with. Clay Klien.

“Deliver many foals have you?”

He had her there, and the slightly upturned corner of his perfect mouth gave his irksome confidence away. “You know I haven’t.”

“So does Jackson. Which is why he called me. Relax, Boston. We’ll get this done, and I’ll be out of your hair. And don’t go running to Hannah about it either. He’d hate for her to think he undermined your friendship or whatever.”

Clay turned his back to her, and she slung her jacket over the wall of the stall. So he didn’t want her there any more than she wanted to be there.

So why was a small part of her happy that this cowboy fantasy incarnate was spending the evening with her, no best friend chaperones in sight?

 

Clay

It couldn’t have worked out better if he’d planned it. Which he kinda had.

Jackson hadn’t wanted to leave his prized horse alone and pregnant, just in case something went wrong, and when Clay had learned Em had sidestepped the two-week Dominican trip, he was happy to volunteer. He knew Hannah well enough to assume she’d help her best friend and check on Jackson’s prize horse.

The truth was, even if the horse hadn’t gone into labor, Em was his long game. She wasn’t easy. She was deliciously complicated. And getting her on her own? Especially after his last humiliating mix-up? It had been a challenge. Sure, he hadn’t expected to finally be alone with her on Christmas Eve, but now was as good a time as any to make his case.

And so, his bet had paid off! Em, still in scrubs, fresh-faced and beautiful, was here, giving him a second chance at secret Santa.

After she’d taken the horse’s vitals, she’d relaxed and turned to chatting, lecturing him on his incorrigibility. Which he found adorable. Like her.

Things he didn’t mention: why he’d messed up irrevocably at the secret Santa last year; why he hadn’t corrected the mistake, instead taking refuge in his work; why he couldn’t stop thinking of her, no matter how much he tried.

She didn’t want to hear that the morning of their secret-Santa exchange, his mom had announced an affair and a divorce, leaving his father in pieces. Then his gran had passed away. Emily didn’t want to hear that he’d messed up. Given her the wrong gift, then focused on his mama and his family instead of making things right. It had been a long year.

No. She didn’t want to hear any of that. But he was going to try to tell her anyway. He hadn’t expected to get the opportunity, but here it was, and while he was many things, he wasn’t wasteful. Tonight he would make things right. Put it all on the table. Play cards his way.

Misty had been panting and restless for an hour, and they had covered all manner of small talk. Emily was now elaborating on her thoughts on Hannah and Jackson, on dating.

“Why are you single then? If it’s that easy?” he asked, voice low and gruff.

For a moment he didn’t think she’d answer.

“I mean, I guess you could say my relationship with my dad was pretty messed up.” She paused and pushed the hair out of her face.

“How’s that then?” He asked the question softly, so as not to scare off the truth.

To his surprise, she grinned. “Messed up because it was super healthy.” She continued, cheeks pink, “I mean, because of Dad, I trusted men for a long time.”

Her Boston accent had a way of making even the simplest statement sound exotic. It was not the disclosure he’d been expecting. He nodded.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do that anymore. Trust men, that is. The benefit of the doubt is something I only reserve for friends.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She frowned, but to his relief didn’t get up and storm out. “What about you? Jackson has told us more than one story about your on-again—”

“Off-again, off-forever—”

“—girlfriend.” She frowned again, not letting him get away with anything. It was one of the things he liked about her. She was tough.

“Off forever,” he repeated. “She’s been my ex-girlfriend for a long time.” It was important to him that Em understood the distinction.

“Yeah, well, that’s what they all say,” she said.

Benefit of the doubt indeed.

“No really.” How could he convince her? He closed his eyes and then smiled, remembering her favorite artist from a painful wedding-planning meeting involving the perfect playlist. “On a scale of zero to…Adele, this breakup ‘set fire to the rain.’”

“That explains why you kept going back to her then.”

Except it didn’t. Clarissa was easy. Convenient. Predictable. Fit in the box his parents and everyone else in his life had assigned him. She was also boring. Lacked spunk and a Boston accent. And he was also not in love with her. Not even a little bit.

“Men. I mean, do you really need to be taught not to go back to a lit firework? That’s what going back to an ex is like. It will blow up, each and every time. You lose your self-respect and your Netflix password.”

“I guess you have an ex file, too?” he asked, jealous.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“That is why I never share my Netflix password with anyone. I’m a grown man. I pay my own subscription.”

“Don’t act like you’re the good guy, Clay. Don’t forget—I know you.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not bad or good. Just disappointing.”

Ouch. “That’s harsh,” he said instead of being defensive.

He was prevented from digging into the truth, digging into the sadness in her voice, by Misty, who started pawing at the ground, tail swishing.

“I think it’s time,” they said in unison.

*

Something a lot of people didn’t know was that horses urinated while in labor. He wasn’t surprised by the action, but Emily sure was. Another woman might have shrieked, but Emily was focused.

“Atta girl, keep going baby,” she cooed at the horse, totally calm. “She’s coming!”

He reached for her, and she responded to his touch, taking a step back in the stall to let the mare deliver unaided.

“Nature is so damn beautiful,” he said, staring at her profile. Emily Barrett was a natural beauty indeed.

When the labor was over and the foal birthed and comfortable against the mama horse, Emily straightened.

“I need a shower.”

They both needed a shower. Instead of protesting, Clay just nodded. They crossed the barn in silence, but when Clay opened the door, it was Emily who sucked in her breath.

“I guess we’re not going home.”

The courtyard was covered in thirty inches of fresh white powder, the snow sparkling in the reflections of the Christmas lights on the main house.

“Well, not to our home anyway. Misty is gonna be fine. Let’s leave her for a few hours with her girl.”

Clay had a key to Jackson and Hannah’s house, and once inside he focused on lighting a fire while Emily showered. When the flame was roaring, he lit a few of Hannah’s candles.

In case the power went out.

Right. Could he be any more obvious?

The main house was decorated to the nines, with large pine boughs on every mantel, laced with cranberries and crystals and silver glitter. Hartmann Homestead was magic, thanks to the best decorator money could buy. It even smelled like Christmas. After slipping into the guest room shower, Clay did his best to make himself presentable, helping himself to Jackson’s wardrobe.

When he rejoined Emily in the living room, she had already added to the scene. A charcuterie board on the coffee table was set beside a bottle of Antone’s whiskey. Mia, Hannah’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, had just partnered on a distillery with her handsome former NFL player boyfriend. And damn it, they made a pretty decent whiskey.

She’d set out two rocks glasses. Good. She wanted a drink. With him.

“I can’t believe they’re getting married,” she started as he entered the room.

“Believe it. I’m the best man. You’re the maid of honor. It’s happening,” Clay reminded her.

He looked over at her as she leaned into the oversize leather cushions of the couch. Her hair was in a messy bun, piled on top of her head, held in place by a Bic pen. There was nothing fancy about her. His parents would freak if he ever convinced her to date him officially—a Boston girl, as far from his and the Hartmanns’ circle as you could get. His mom, so into politics and state drama, had her own idea of whom he should marry. But those women didn’t move him. He didn’t burn for them. But Em? He simply couldn’t stop wanting her.

Sure, he’d tried, figuring it would be too complicated to date his best friend’s wife’s best friend. A woman from another world, about as opposite to a Montana man as possible. Definitely not the right woman for a rancher, even if she could deliver a foal.

But here he was. Here she was. And how right it felt.

“Just because it’s happening doesn’t mean I have to believe it.” She was cute when she was making a point.

“I guess that means you don’t see yourself getting married one day? Can I ask why not?” He’d rather ask anything than address the knot in his stomach that accompanied this revelation.

“You know, I asked Hannah. About why she was marrying Jackson. And she gave me exactly the kind of answer I was expecting. Waxed on and on about professing your love in front of friends and family.” She took a sip of whiskey and smiled.

“I mean, she’s not wrong…”

“Honestly. Why don’t I just make a sex tape then?”

“Is that an invitation?”

She shook her head, cheeks turning an alluring shade of persimmon. “Seriously though. Explain to me how getting married is any different than an emotional sex tape. Putting everything out there for everyone to see. Ugh, no thank you.”

“No marriage for you then.” He took a sip of whiskey.

“Well, there isn’t exactly a lineup of suitors, so it doesn’t matter if I’m for marriage or against it, does it?”

“I’m sure you’d be surprised at how many men would sign up for that job.”

“Don’t start being nice now. I know how much you don’t like me.”

How much he didn’t like her? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Outside the wind howled. The blizzard was getting worse by the minute.

“It’s not really a secret.” Emily stood and stretched. The hem of the top she’d borrowed from Hannah rose an inch above the waistline of her pants and offered a glimpse of midriff that had him hard in a second. He swallowed and willed himself to focus on the nonsense she was spouting.

“It’s not a secret,” she continued, “that Hannah and Jacks have been trying to set us up. They aren’t exactly known for their subtlety.”

“I’ll give you that.”

“I mean, that time they no-showed on us? Last Christmas? And we had to eat together?”

Should he tell her that he’d asked Jacks not to come?

No.

“Yeah, what was that about?”

If she’d left that night, he wouldn’t have lived the most transcendent evening of his life. The memory of Emily pressed against him, whimpering as he kissed her, was one that kept him up at night.

It was embarrassing how often he thought of it. Their accidental date, the group dinner that had ended up as an intimate fondue for two. A bottle of wine turned into aperitifs, their ankles touching under the table. A goodbye hug that had turned into a kiss on her cheek and ended with her pressed against the brick wall of the alley by the restaurant, his hands in her hair and her lips hot against his.

Then everything went to hell.

But she hadn’t brought up the kiss. Not the following day, not ever. He hadn’t seen her again until their group Christmas a week later.

She exhaled, as though reading his thoughts. “And don’t get me started on secret Santa.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” That whole evening had been embarrassing enough without rehashing it now.

He still wanted his second chance.

He stood silently. The scarf she’d given him smelled like her. By far his favorite gift last year. But she hadn’t included a card. He didn’t want to let on that he knew it had come from her.

“It was pretty special tonight. With Misty. All of it,” she said. She wasn’t looking at him; instead, she stared into the fire.

“Em.” He tested the sound of her name. “I asked Jackson not to come. Last year. I wanted a night with you.”

The revelation pulled her gaze away from the fire. Large gray eyes widened at his confession.

“And why’s that?” Her voice was low. Gone was her customary sarcasm and fiery retorts.

“Because I wanted to kiss you. Badly. Like I do right now.”

He studied her face, but she was stoic. That was part of what he liked about her, the way her brain worked. The way she hid everything, except for her eyes.

“Oh.” She chewed her lip, staring at the fire again, lost in her own thoughts. He reached for the Bic pen that still held her hair in a messy bun and slowly pulled it from her head. Light brown hair spilled onto her shoulders.

“Em,” he repeated. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

 

Emily

Of all the ways she’d envisioned Christmas Eve, sitting in Clay’s lap had escaped her fantasies. As she nodded her consent, his hands were everywhere. Touching her face, trailing to her hips, cupping her ass and pulling her into his lap. He was hard against her, and she felt more feminine, more desired, more herself than she’d felt in years. Actually, that wasn’t true. She’d felt like this before. Almost one year ago. But he hadn’t called her back. Hadn’t wanted anything more. Didn’t feel the way she did.

His five-o’clock shadow scraped against her collarbone as he pressed a trail of hot kisses from shoulder to neck.

“Clay.” She managed to breathe his name.

He paused. Not the effect she had hoped for. Instead of talking, she pressed a hot kiss onto his mouth.

It didn’t matter that he was wrong for her. That he had ghosted her. Right now she wanted to feel good, and Clay Klien was just the man for the job.

His hands were at the hem of Hannah’s shirt, tugging it up. She lifted her arms over her head.

He looked at her. Sometimes you don’t see the line until you cross it.

She kissed him again, quiet this time. She said everything she couldn’t with her kiss.

I want you back. I’m ready for more.

She unbuttoned his shirt, each button unveiling another few inches of hard, smooth chest. His body was perfection. She reached for his belt buckle.

He didn’t stop her—instead lifted his hips. This was happening.

How long had it been? Too long. She couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think of anything apart from the hot kisses against her neck.

“Em,” he started between kisses.

“You talk too much, cowboy,” she panted, pulling the shirt from his waistband and letting her hands run up the muscles of his stomach. He was hard everywhere.

“Talk too much, do I?” He laughed, then flipped her over onto her back. His weight pressed her into the cushions and she sank under the bulk of him. Then he hesitated.

“Something wrong?” she asked at the sudden pause.

He was looking at her strangely. Jaw tight and face unreadable.

“I was just thinking you’re awfully beautiful, Em.”

The admission surprised her. Something in the way it caught in his throat. Instead of brushing off the compliment, she took it, not realizing until that moment how much she needed it.

He kissed her again, this time softly.

If she was younger, more naive, she might have read into the way he looked at her. But right now it was about feeling good. She arched into him, relieved when he got the point.

When his fingers dipped into her scrubs, she widened her legs, hands on his back urging him closer.

But Clay was unhurried. He found her slick and wet, ready for him. He groaned as his fingers entered her and manipulated her with exquisite torture.

“Clay,” she moaned.

“You first. I want to watch you.” And so he continued. Kissing his way down her stomach until he reached her hips, then tasting her with an enthusiasm that pushed her over the edge.

She shook. Literally shook, as he licked and sucked her. Her hands gripped the couch, fingers biting into the cushions. When she came, her eyes were pressed shut, but she knew he was watching her. Could tell from the way he groaned, from the whispered “That’s right, baby.”

When she opened her eyes, he was sheathing himself, and she pressed them shut again, spreading her legs wider in answer. As he entered her, she kissed his neck, then wrapped her legs around him.

“You’re…” He didn’t finish, just pushed more, filling her completely.

Then, with a rhythm that stirred her to distraction, Clay showed her exactly what she’d been missing.

 

Clay

The fire died out before he was finished with her. She was slack against him, naked and sated. His hand trailed soft circles on her lower back. Merry Christmas indeed.

“I’m still curious—why shouldn’t I get you started on secret Santa?”

He had a feeling the question wouldn’t go over well, but judging from the way she’d moaned earlier, he figured they could definitely turn her mood around should the need arise.

She stiffened. “Really, Clay? You’re going to ruin a perfectly fine night?”

“Perfectly fine?” It was dark enough for her not to see his pout.

Then she pinched him. She was kidding. Her cheek was pressed against him, but she answered without moving her head. “I just mean, after the night we had last year, your secret Santa gift was a bit—”

He’d suspected that was it. “Disappointing?”

“It’s okay. I mean, I got the message. If this is all we’re gonna be, I guess it’s—”

“Perfectly fine?” he answered dryly. Now he had to come clean. “I got you something else this year. A different gift.”

“How did you know you’d be seeing me?” She traced her hand along the side of his chest, sending shivers down his spine.

“I didn’t know,” he lied. “I carry it around. And yes, before you jump in, I know that’s lame.”

“Carry what around?” She lifted her head and her gray eyes stared at him in the low light.

“Your secret Santa present,” he admitted.

“We’re not doing secret Santa.” Her eyebrows knit together. “I don’t get it.”

“From last year.” There was something about the weight he poured into each word.

From last year. He knew the words were more than a simple message. Knew Emily was smart enough to hear what he was really saying. That he’d messed up. Given her the gift he’d intended for his grandmother. He felt more naked than he’d ever felt in his entire life.

“So the book?” Her touch stilled and she stared intently at him.

“I’d bought it for my gran.”

“Why didn’t you give it to her? Why give me Easy Western Plants for Container Gardening?”

“She died. The day after our…date. I was pretty messed up.”

She stilled. Her face was stoic and unreadable. “I guess I would have been, too.”

He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Anyway, after I failed to call you…and the cold shoulder you gave me at the party, I didn’t think you’d want this.”

He reached for his coat which he’d hung over a chair beside the couch. He offered her the envelope, ribbon still around it.

He couldn’t turn back now.

 

Emily

She was at a loss for words. Silently, she accepted the envelope, marveling at the wax seal. The paper was soft, the corners bent and no longer crisp. She fought the temptation to lift the envelope to her nose. Did it smell like him?

She slid a finger under the wax seal and opened it. “You bought me a star?”

“Er, yeah.” He looked away, but she caught his chin with her fingers.

“Why, Clay? Why did you get me a star?”

“It’s actually a constellation. I pulled it from the lunar calendar. The date of the night we spent together. When I kissed you. That was the day I decided to own that lucky star.”

What was he saying?

“When you gave me the cold shoulder, and I saw your gift to me, I figured I’d totally misread the situation.”

“Clay. That scarf, I knit it myself. For you. I’ve never made anything for anyone before and you never even wear it.”

He laughed. Then pulled the scarf she’d given him a year ago from the inside of his coat.

“Wear it? I bring it everywhere. And how I feel for you? It’s like gravity. Unfightable. Science.”

“Gravity? Science?”

He closed the space between them, his hand reaching for her cheek without hesitation. “Em. Fighting with you has been the highlight of my year. Teasing you—”

“Infuriating me, more like it,” she interrupted.

“Fine. Infuriating you. Anything to get a reaction. I feel like a ten-year-old boy pulling your pigtails. But I’m not a ten-year-old boy, and I’m interested in a lot more than your pigtails.”

“Are you, now?” she whispered, licking her lips.

The muscle along the edge of his jaw tightened and she marveled at the raw masculinity he exuded.

“You know I am.” His hands fell to her hips, following the curve of her body. He was ready for round two, and she felt the proof.

“Wanna make a sex tape in front of your family and friends?” he joked.

She choked. “What exactly are you asking me?”

“I want you. I’ve wanted you more than anyone I’ve ever come across in my life. I love fighting with you. And I want to fight with you, for you, over you, until I die.”

Emily was a doctor. She knew it was impossible for her heart to freeze. For her breath to catch in her chest. But at this moment, she was hearing everything she’d never known she’d wanted to hear.

His green eyes searched hers.

“So, what you’re saying is you want to declare our feelings in front of friends and family?”

He kissed her. “I want to kiss you in front of friends and family. I want everyone to know that you’re the star of my life. That I’m the man of yours.”

There was only one thing she could say. Only one feeling she could voice. And to her surprise, she did.

“I love you, too.”

And with that, Clay Klein smiled. “Merry Christmas, Em.”

*

Read more about the Hartmann Heirs in these books from Katie Frey!

Montana Legacy

How to Catch a Cowboy

 

We hope you enjoyed these five festive free reads! Wishing all of our readers peace and joy this Christmas – love from team Mills & Boon x

By Lauren Gardiner