A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors)

by Randi Alexander

When she reached the hotel, her nose and ears were chilled but Noelle kept walking. It was still early and it wasn’t like she had to meet anyone. Besides, she wanted to see the window display at Bergdorf Goodman. She really did. And it was only two blocks from the hotel.

  She walked a little faster then slowed down when she reached the beautiful building that had once been the home of the Vanderbilts. Unlike Lord & Taylor’s traditional yet traffic-stopping Nutcracker theme, the dazzling displays in the windows of Bergdorf Goodman were very avant-garde, like something out of the mind of an artist showcased in the Museum of Modern Art. Noelle gazed longingly and wished the department store was still open.

  With a wistful sigh, she turned around and took her time covering the two blocks back to the hotel.

  Ten minutes later, she exited the elevator car and started down the corridor to the new suite the hotel had given her after the shootings. Without breaking her stride as she rounded a corner, Noelle extracted her card key, looked up and came to an abrupt halt.

  Sergio Ramirez, looking drawn, straightened away from the wall and gazed at her, his eyes unreadable.

  Despite her orders not to do so, her heart started beating quickly and heavily in her chest. Telling herself not to be a ninny, Noelle closed the distance between them.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, proud that her tone was uninflected.

  He reached out a hand then let it drop before it touched her. He ran it through his disheveled hair instead. “I’m sorry.”

  She opened the door and held it for him. “For?”

  He stepped inside the room then turned to face her. “I had to…take care of something important.”

  She nodded, letting the door close behind her. She locked it.

  “There was a mole. I had to—”

  She waved a dismissive hand, interrupting him. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “I want to.” His voice roughened. “And I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave before I had a chance to talk to you.”

  Hope burgeoned in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Then came the fear, reminding her of Gil.

  “Say something, damn it,” he snapped, tone no longer conciliatory or apologetic. “And if it’s something I don’t like, you’re not leaving this room.”

  Hope won, and something eased in her chest. “I’m thinking,” she said.

  “About?”

  She smiled, thinking of the suitcase presumably still at Gil's, where it could remain until hell reached absolute zero. “Shopping.”

  “What?” He sounded bemused.

  She laughed. “You just gave me the perfect excuse to go on a shopping spree.”

  His brows snapped together even as he caught her arm and pulled her to him. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

  Her hands came up and cupped his face. “Were you asking a question?”

  “Yes.”

  Her smile dimmed a little. “What about after?”

  “I come visit you in your city.”

  “Long distance, then.”

  “Yes.” His hands found the small of her back, pulling her closer. “It’s a start.”

  She slowly nodded. “It’s a start.” Her hands drifted down to his shoulders. “So do I get to see where you live?”

  “Later,” he promised and brought his mouth down to hers.

  December 25

  Some time later, Sergio wrapped himself around Noelle, molding her softness to the planes and hollows of his body, her back to his front. Lips brushing her ear, he murmured, “You were on Santa’s nice list this year.”

  Noelle slanted a questioning look at the man behind her.

  “You got me, didn’t you?”

  A slow smile lit her face. “And you even unwrapped yourself.”

  ####

  About the Author

  Ann Bruce is the pseudonym for a self-professed computer geek who, in between snowboarding, reading comic books, and wearing out the buttons of her PS3 controller, writes because it's an acceptable means of explaining all the voices in her head.

  For the latest news, free reads, and more, visit www.annbruce.net.

  Other Titles

  The 19th Precinct

  Deadly Fall

  Book 1

  After her estranged husband is thrown down twenty-seven stories, a woman with trust issues must rely on the detective investigating her to find the real killers before she finds herself skydiving without a parachute.

  Read more

  A Naughty Noelle

  Book 1.5

  A vice cop meets the perfect woman for him, all the while bad men with guns are chasing him.

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  The Duquesnes

  To Die For

  Book 1

  Coming 2014

  Finding her half-sister’s dead body is just the start of a vacation that drops Ella Sandell into a whirlwind of secrets and lies and people willing to kill to keep them buried.

  Read more

  Rules of Engagement

  Book 1.5

  So, what happens when you surprise a man whose last lover shot him and left him for dead? After waking up handcuffed to his bed, you decide he's the perfect man to help you lose your virginity.

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  It Takes a Thief

  Once a Thief

  Book 1

  Coming Winter 2013

  A former cat burglar discovers that coming out of retirement is not as easy as she thinks—especially when she finds herself at the mercy of a mark who wants something more than her professional expertise.

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  The Hunters

  Before Dawn

  Book 1

  A darkly beautiful, seductive vampire who is literally the man of Mercy's dreams and an ill-mannered, bad-tempered vampire hunter. The choice is rather obvious.

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  Stand-Alone Titles

  Parker's Price

  She's sexy, smart...and not for sale. But that won't stop him.

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  Rebound

  Manipulative people need love too.

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  Excerpt from Rules of Engagement (The Duquesnes, Book 1.5)

  “You don’t remember what happened?”

  Confusion swamped her features. “What happened when?”

  Jake lifted a brow, his expression sardonic. “When you were attempting to enter this cabin,” he reminded her dryly. Then, with emphasis, he added, “Illegally.”

  The confusion didn’t disappear.

  “As in, without the owner’s consent.”

  “But…” Her voice trailed off as realization dawned. “Oh God.” She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath. “That can’t be right.”

  He mentally crossed out amnesia and drawled very sarcastically, “Oh, it’s very right. I assure you, Katarzyna Delaney.”

  Her eyes flew open at his harsh, humorless tone, or maybe it was his pronunciation of her name. KAHT-ah-ZHEE-nah. Perhaps she wasn’t used to people who didn’t butcher her name on the first attempt. Luckily, he’d had plenty of practice with non-Anglicized names. All part and parcel of his previous job.

  “My cabin has the bullet hole and the bullet from your weapon to prove it.” Even with the faint Southern accent softening his words, they still had bite.

  His captive looked as if she hoped the bed would open up and put her out of her misery. “Your cabin?” Her lashes lowered as she bit down on the corner of her lip. “That can’t be right,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

  “Technically, it’s my cousin’s.”

  Her eyes flew to his. “Your cousin’s? Who’s your cousin?”

  He eyed her warily. “I’m the one who should be asking the questions.”

  Frustration crossed her features. “Just tell me if your cousin is Ella Willis.”

  “Ella Willis,” Jake echoed, neither confirming nor denying her statement.

  “A close friend,” Katarzyna explained hurriedly.
“She offered me the use of her cabin for the next two weeks. Her husband is my lieutenant.”

  Jake stared at her. She looked earnest enough, but the people in his world lied for a living. He dismissed the police ID—those could be forged. And Ella knew he was here. She wouldn’t have offered the cabin to someone else without warning him first.

  “Listen, you have to believe me. Please.”

  There was only one way to settle this. He crossed the room, snatched the cell phone lying on top of the highboy, flipped it open and powered it on. The reception wasn’t great and he had to move to the window before a single bar appeared in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. He punched in ten digits and waited. The third ring was cut short.

  “Hello?” a voice mumbled sleepily.

  “Ella, it’s Jake.”

  He heard sheets rustling and imagined Ella was pushing herself into a sitting position.

  “What’s wrong?” his cousin demanded, all traces of sleepiness gone from her voice.

  “I’m at the cabin and I have an unexpected guest. She claims you sent her.”

  Ella took the telephone away from her ear and murmured something he couldn’t make out. He assumed she was telling her husband to go back to sleep. Then she sighed into the telephone, confirming his worst suspicion. “Is she a tall, good-looking redhead?”

  It was his turn to sigh. “Yes.”

  “Answers to Katarzyna Delaney?”

  Another affirmative.

  “Yes, I sent her.”

  He muttered an expletive, cast a hard look at the woman handcuffed to his bed—who was unashamedly listening to his conversation—and would’ve stalked from the room had he not been worried about the cellular reception. He settled for turning his back on the bed and the woman bound to it.

  “You could’ve warned me.”

  “Yes, I could have,” Ella agreed in a disconcertingly reasonable tone, “if you hadn’t shut off your cell phone. Sometimes you take that whole loner thing too far. It’s not healthy. Ted Kaczynski was a loner.”

  A low growl rumbled from his chest.

  Ella blew out a breath. “You can get mad at me and yell at me all you want, but don’t take your temper out on Katarzyna. She’s been through enough.” When the growl didn’t cease, she added, “She needed to get away for a bit, so I offered her the cabin.”

  “While I’m still here,” he pointed out between gritted teeth.

  “So?” she drawled, using that careless tone of voice that always set off warning bells in his head. After a beat, she said, “She’s attractive. You’re available.”

  He was glad his interfering cousin wasn’t in the same room because he might’ve strangled her. Then her husband would’ve arrested him. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

  Still, his voice lowered dangerously, as much to keep his captive from listening in as from temper. “Are you setting me up?”

  “Dear God in heaven, no! She’s sworn off relationships with men, so you’re safe. Besides, I don’t think anything permanent would work with you.” She paused. “I was thinking more along the lines of a fling.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jake muttered, running a hand down his face. “You’re pimping me out.”

  ####

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  Excerpt from Before Dawn (The Hunters, Book 1)

  “I’m sorry, but guests are not allowed in this area.”

  He moved deeper into the office. “You sound a little hoarse,” he said, ignoring her statement, and held out a flute filled halfway with champagne. “Take this.”

  Mercy automatically accepted the offering. “Thank you, Mr.—?”

  “Edmond,” he said, a hint of an accent flavoring the name. It sounded French, which suited the name and his Gallic coloring.

  “Thank you, Mr. Edmond.”

  He shook his head but his hair barely moved. “Just Edmond.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  He lifted his own flute, tipping it toward her. Feeling a little awkward, she touched her flute to his, very aware of his eyes following her every movement. Not wanting to insult a man who’d forked over two hundred and fifty dollars for a ticket to the fundraiser and a potential donor, Mercy took a sip, just enough to coat her mouth and her esophagus.

  And squeezed her eyes shut as her head swam and her hand faltered, tilting the flute dangerously. She really should’ve eaten something beyond the banana and carton of cherry yogurt at lunch.

  A hand caught hers. She had the impression of icy coldness a heartbeat before warmth washed over her like rain. The champagne flute was rescued from her unsteady fingers. Despite the voluntary darkness, her head continued to bob like a bottle tossed in the sea. Her hand reached back and found the solid surface of her desk.

  “Mercy?”

  That compelling voice filled her head, dampening the waves. She exhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath ’til that moment. A heavy, artificial scent filled her nostrils and she instinctively turned her head away. Satin brushed the naked skin of her legs, cool and slick. His cape. Fingertips skimmed the curve of her cheek, the line of her throat, the slope of her exposed shoulder. And she couldn’t protest, couldn’t stir herself from the lassitude that trapped her in its silken grip. Not even long enough to lift her lashes, let alone break away.

  The exploration continued, soft and gentle and warm…and somehow familiar.

  There was nothing to fear from him. That thought whispered through her mind like a tendril of smoke.

  Mercy let herself drift, let the sensual pleasure of his touch lull her.

  The hand holding hers drew it upward until her palm met a chest that felt like marble under the layer of cloth. Soft lips grazed her jaw line. He whispered her name again. From the jumbled, hazy mess of her thoughts, one question emerged.

  “What are you?” she breathed.

  Lips brushed her earlobe. “The man of your dreams.”

  ####

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  Excerpt from Deadly Fall (The 19th Precinct, Book 1)

  “Damn it, Ethan,” Nick Markov muttered, trying to steady his drunken partner and keep him from falling flat on his face and doing permanent damage to it. “Your wife’s going to have my ass for this.”

  Ethan Murtagh’s scowl bordered on a pout more suited to a two-year-old. “I can walk on my own two feet,” he said, his words only slightly slurred. He stumbled, nearly taking them both down.

  Nick grunted and muttered, “Right.”

  It was several frustrating moments before Nick managed to strap his partner into the passenger seat of the black SUV parked in front of the bar. Ethan had been, once again, trying to drink himself into a stupor. He didn’t handle disagreements with his significant other well. The current dispute was over the photographer who had shot his wife’s swimsuit spread the previous week in the Bahamas.

  “You’d better hope Torie’s asleep when I get you home,” Nick said, getting behind the wheel.

  A disgruntled sound came from the sprawled figure beside him. Nick answered with a grunt of his own as he pulled out. At almost one in the morning on a Wednesday night, it was relatively quiet in the Sixties on the Upper East Side, so it was a few short minutes before he was turning onto Fifth Avenue. Deciding it wouldn’t take long to get Ethan upstairs and into his nineteenth-floor condo, Nick stopped the SUV in front of the building, killed the engine and flipped down his visor to display his credentials. He released his seat belt buckle, then reached over for his partner’s. Ethan mumbled a protest, swatted at Nick’s helping hand and fumbled with the door handle. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Nick grabbed a fistful of his partner’s jacket.

  “Stay put,” Nick said. “You open that door, you’ll land on your pretty face and Torie will never forgive me.”

  Ethan fell back in his seat, head tilted back, eyes closed. Satisfied, Nick opened his door, got out and made his way to the passenger side door. Ethan didn’t move when he pulled the door open. Nick silently groaned at the possibility of having to carr
y his less-than-petite partner upstairs.

  Before Nick could reach for his semiconscious partner, small pebbles pinged the roof of the SUV and bounced off his head and the sidewalk. Frowning, he skimmed a hand over his hair and his gaze across the roof of his vehicle. The pebbles glittered faintly under the mellow glow of the streetlight.

  Not pebbles. Glass shards.

  Nick glanced up—and froze, his gaze transfixed by the body above him.

  With a faint sense of incredulity, Nick stared, breath trapped in his lungs, as the blurred line of stark paleness grew larger and sharper as gravity closed the distance between its victim and the sidewalk. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the white face seemingly directly above him. For timeless seconds, that was all he saw, but his mind filled in the rest with disturbing clarity. He saw the wide open mouth and the rounded eyes, filled with the horrifying knowledge of one’s own imminent death.

  Nick was wrong about two things—the body wasn’t directly above him, and the ground wouldn’t stop its free fall.

  It was directly above the SUV.

  His own eyes widening at this realization, Nick fisted his hands in Ethan’s jacket, hauled his partner from the vehicle and jumped back, grunting when the edge of the door caught his shoulder. Ethan stumbled and both men went down hard as the body met metal.

  The sickening thud was nearly drowned out by the explosive crunching of metal and shattering of glass as the SUV gave like an aluminum pie plate under the sudden force.

  As the squeaky sound of the SUV’s shocks being tested beyond their limits mingled with the other sounds of destruction, Nick, his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, found himself flat on the ground, face first, his head covered with his forearms. The damp, industrial scent of the sidewalk filled his nostrils as he took in the heavy, metallic clinking sounds as parts fell off the vehicle.