One Hot December (Mills & Boon Blaze) (Men at Work, Book 3)

by Tiffany Reisz

  Hard as steel...and hotter still!

  Never mess with a woman who carries a blowtorch in her backpack. Welder and artist Veronica “Flash” Redding’s playful sense of evil sometimes gets the better of her. Like when her insanely handsome, wealthy, suited-up boss gave her the most sensuously wicked night of her life...then dumped her. Yep, revenge is a dish best served hot.

  Only Ian Asher isn’t letting Flash get away quite so easily. He’s not ready to forget the intensity between them. The searing heat when they touch. And the deliciously demanding control Ian wields in the bedroom. Now he has only the holidays to convince Flash that they belong together...and that even the most exquisite, broken things can be welded back together.

  It was rough and wild, hungry and desperate...

  Flash loved it. She loved it as much as she loved Ian, and the only thing she hated was that she was too scared to tell him that. He made her feel too much.

  They stood by the wall, their bodies still joined as Ian rested his forehead on her shoulder.

  “I’m never like this with anyone but you,” he said as he caught his breath. She loved hearing him out of breath. “You bring out the worst in me. Or the best. Can’t tell sometimes.”

  “I bring out the you in you.”

  “You like me like this, don’t you?”

  She loved him like this. But she couldn’t say that. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite get it out.

  “More than you know, Ian.”

  Maybe more than he’d ever know.

  Dear Reader,

  If you’re anything like me, you love the ’80s movie Flashdance but always thought it was missing a little something—namely a holiday romance, right? As soon as I started writing One Hot December and I made my heroine a welder, I knew I had to name her Flash in honor of Flashdance. And, of course, I had to work in the word maniac in the story just once, because I am a child of the ’80s and always will be.

  The actual inspiration for One Hot December came from a writer friend of mine who is Jewish and married to a Christian. They celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas, as many interfaith couples do. She said it’s nearly impossible to find a romance novel that includes both holidays. So here ya go, Sara. This book’s for you. And of course, it’s for all my readers who celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas. I hope you enjoy the story of Flash and Ian and their romance that will last long after their hot December together.

  Happy Hanukkah! Merry Christmas! All my best holiday wishes to one and all, no matter what you celebrate. Even if you celebrate neither holiday, we can certainly celebrate love and romance together, and we can do it all year long.

  Tiffany Reisz

  One Hot December

  Tiffany Reisz

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  TIFFANY REISZ is a multi-award-winning and bestselling author. She lives on Mount Hood in Oregon in her secret volcanic lair with her husband, author Andrew Shaffer, two cats and twenty sock monkeys named Gerald. Find her online at tiffanyreisz.com.

  Dedicated to...

  Sara and Sara and Flash

  Acknowledgments

  Writing the Men at Work holiday trilogy for Harlequin Blaze has been the writing highlight of my year. I’ve had so much fun writing these books. I can only hope my readers have half as much fun reading them as I’ve had writing them.

  A huge thank you to my editor Kathleen Scheibling for her enthusiasm about the books. Working with you has been a true pleasure, Kathleen. I knew when I saw you collected sock monkeys, too, that we would get along just fine. Thank you to the entire Harlequin Blaze team for all their work on the edits and cover and marketing.

  Thank you to my agent, Sara Megibow, for not only encouraging me to write the books, but for helping me get all the Hanukkah stuff right in One Hot December. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Thank you to my beta readers, Jennifer Rosen and Robin Becht, for your great notes.

  And thank you, of course, to my husband, author Andrew Shaffer, who makes it very easy for me to write happy-ever-afters.

  Contents

  Cover

  Back Cover Text

  Introduction

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Extract

  Copyright

  1

  VERONICA “FLASH” REDDING slammed her locker door shut for the last time. She pulled on her leather bomber jacket and popped her collar to hide the red welt on the side of her neck. Trading her steel-toed work boots for bright red Pumas, she put the boots in her backpack, slung her backpack over her shoulder and took a quick steadying breath. She could do this. More importantly, she had to do this. She would have told herself to “man up” but with the way the men in her life were behaving lately, manning up would be a step down. She’d have to woman up instead.

  She found her boss, Ian Asher, standing behind his desk, poring over a set of blueprints for their next construction project—a small and desperately needed medical clinic in the rural Mount Hood area. A handsome thirtysomething black man stood next to him—had to be Drew, their recently hired project manager. She listened as he listed off changes they’d have to make to comply with new building regulations that might pass the Oregon legislature next year. Flash stood in the doorway while she waited for them to acknowledge her existence. Considering how good Ian had gotten at ignoring her, this might take a while.

  “What if these regs don’t pass?” Drew asked Ian. “You really want to redo the whole plan to comply with building codes that aren’t even on the books yet?”

  “They’ll be on the books,” Ian replied.

  “You sure?”

  “He’s sure,” Flash said from the doorway.

  Ian glanced up from the blueprints and glared at her.

  “Flash, how can we help you?” Ian asked. He did not look happy to see her.

  “Our boss’s dad is a state senator,” Flash said, ignoring Ian to speak to Drew. “That’s how he knows the codes will probably pass.”

  “If we don’t build it to the new codes and they go through, then we’ll have to retrofit it next year,” Ian said. “We’re going to do it right the first time. And my father has nothing to do with it.”

  “What’s the deal with all the new regs, anyway?” Drew asked. “Four bolts per step? And that’s a lot of steel reinforcements for a one-story medical clinic.”

  “You moved here from the East Coast, right?” Flash asked.

  “DC,” Drew said. “Why?”

  “You know you’re standing on a volcano, right?” Flash asked. “And not a dormant volcano, either.”

  “Stop trying to scare the new guy, Flash,” Ian said, his strong jaw set so tight she almost heard his teeth grinding.

  “Scare me?” Drew scoffed. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re overdue for a massive earthquake in the Pacific Northwest,” she continued.
“And not your average massive earthquake. I’m talking the sort of earthquake that they make disaster movies about starring The Rock.”

  Drew’s eyes widened hugely, and Flash grinned fiendishly in reply. She knew she was grinning fiendishly because she’d practiced that grin in the mirror.

  “Is that true?” Drew asked Ian.

  “We’re in a safe zone here,” Ian said. “Safer. It’s the coast that’ll get hit the hardest.”

  “Yeah, we’ll be fine on the mountain,” Flash said. “Unless the earthquake triggers the volcano to erupt.”

  “I...” Drew gathered up the blueprints. “I’ll just go call the architect. Now. Right now.”

  “I can weld your desk to the floor if you want,” she said as Drew pushed past her and walked down the hall at a brisk clip. “My treat!” she called after him.

  “You’re a horrible person,” Ian said when they were alone in his office.

  “Hazing the newbies is what we do. You want me to remind you how the guys hazed me when I started here?” she asked. “I mean, it was nice of the boys to build me that tampon caddy for my locker in the shape of a tampon, but did they really have to make it five feet tall and carve my name into it?”

  “Yeah, they’re lucky they have their jobs after that stunt.” Ian sat down in his desk chair. “You got them back good enough, didn’t you?”

  “You mean when I welded their lockers shut with all their stuff inside?”

  “Yes,” he said, glaring at her again. Or still. Glaring had been his default expression around her for the past six months. “That’s what I mean.”

  Ian was a gorgeous man and when she got on his bad side—which was often—she had to count to ten to keep herself from begging him to throw her down on the desk, rip his tie off, shove it in her mouth and do things to her body that it didn’t know it wanted done to it yet.

  “Safe to say we called it even after that,” she said.

  “They didn’t do something else to you, did they?” Ian asked, running one hand through his sandy blond hair to pull it off his forehead. He needed a trim. She liked it longer, especially when it fell across his eyes while bending over to look at blueprints. But if Mr. Ian “Bossman” Asher wanted his hair to match the fancy suits he wore, he should probably tidy up. “I thought things—”

  “The guys and I are good now,” she said. “I haven’t had to weld anyone’s car door shut in months.”

  “Thank God. You are a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

  “Because I’m the only woman on your crew?”

  “Because you’re a maniac.”

  “Do you call all the women who don’t like you ‘maniacs?’ Does it make you feel better about yourself?” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned casually in the doorway. She felt anything but casual around Ian Asher, but he didn’t need to know that.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he nodded. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair of me,” he said, sitting forward at his desk and clasping his hands. His jaw was set tight like it usually was when she stepped into a room. “I’m sorry I said that.”

  She shrugged. “It’s all right. After you fucked me and dumped me, I called you every name in the book and invented a few of my own. You can call me a ‘maniac’ if you want.”

  Ian stood up immediately, walked—almost ran—to his office door, pulled her inside and shut the door behind them.

  “Can you keep your voice down?” he asked. “I’m trying to run a reputable company here.”

  “Then why did you hire me?” she asked.

  “I didn’t hire you. My father did.”

  “Oh, yeah. Then why haven’t you fired me?”

  “Because you’re very good at what you do.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said with a wink. Since she had nothing to lose anymore, she turned and sat down on the top of his desk.

  “I wasn’t talking about that night.”

  She crossed her legs, which was hard to do in loose canvas pants but she made it work.

  “Oh... ‘That Night.’ It has a name. I’m so good in bed our one night together has a name.”

  “That Stupid Night,” he said. “That Drunk Night.”

  “We weren’t drunk. You’d had two beers and I had two shots of whiskey and neither one of us is a lightweight. Don’t blame booze for your own bad decisions,” she said, raising her chin. “Or was it a bad decision? You tell me.”

  “Yes, it was. That I’m having this conversation with you is proof it was a bad decision. I don’t want to be having this conversation with any of my employees. I’m trying to be a good boss here. You’re not helping.”

  “How am I not helping?” she asked.

  “Because you don’t want me to be a good boss.”

  Flash almost felt bad for him. Almost. He was rich, he was handsome, he had been handed a high-paying job at a multimillion-dollar construction company with a bow tied around it, compliments of Daddy, so it was really hard for her to muster up any sympathy for the man. If he ever had a real problem in his life, it sure as hell wasn’t her.

  Then again he was also six-two, broad-shouldered, and annoyingly good in bed. She knew that for a fact thanks to “That Night” six months ago. And that meant she did feel for him a little bit. A little teeny tiny bit. Not that she would tell him that. He didn’t need to know she liked him. In fact, the less he knew about that, the better.

  “Poor Ian,” she said, shaking her head. “A victim of desire. You’re a Lifetime movie. Can we get Chris Hemsworth to play you? You two have the same hair. And the same shoulders. I remember because I’ve bitten them.”

  “You’ve bitten Chris Hemsworth’s shoulders?”

  “A lady never bites and tells. Too bad I’m not a lady.”

  “Flash.” He started to cross his arms over his chest but then seemingly thought better of it. Instead he stuffed his hands into his pockets, as if they’d be safer there.

  “Ian.”

  “You aren’t supposed to call me Ian. When you call me Ian people start to think we are more to each other than boss and employee.”

  “Once upon a time I hopped into your shower to wash your semen off my back after you put it there after some very intense doggy-style fucking. Now...tell me again how we’re just boss and employee.”

  “You,” he said.

  “Me.”

  “Why do I put up with this?” he asked. “Some kind of latent masochism, right?”

  “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” She ran her fingers up her short scarlet red hair, spiking it even higher. It was a classic punk look according to Suzette, the multi-pierced stylist who had talked Flash into trading in her long traditional locks for a short, wild razor cut two years ago. Long hair and construction sites didn’t go well together, anyway. Plus she liked scaring the old-timers at work, who still thought any woman with hair shorter than her shoulders was a lesbian or a communist. Not that she minded be mistaken for a lesbian. They were half-right, anyway. But a communist? Oh, please. Socialist, maybe, but a communist? Ridiculous.

  “What do you want?” he asked. “Please tell me and leave my office so I can, you know, do what I do.”

  “Masturbate while thinking about me?”

  “Flash, please.” He looked so wildly uncomfortable right now she almost laughed out loud. Not often a man as strong and as handsome and as together as Ian Asher looked self-conscious. It was kind of adorable. Which made it so much fun to torture him like this.

  “You know that’s not my real name. My name is Veronica. You can say it. You called me Veronica that night. I mean, ‘That Night,’” she said, putting the words into finger quotes.

  “Everyone calls you Flash.”

  “You called me Veronica when you were inside me.”

  “Flash, da
mmit...”

  “Dammit isn’t my name, either. Say my name and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”

  “Flash, I’m not—”

  “Say my name and I’ll tell you why I’m here. Then I will leave you in peace. Or in pieces depending on how much I’m annoying you today.”

  “Pieces is more accurate,” he said. “I need to be steel-reinforced around you. You are an earthquake.”

  “That’s the sexiest thing any man has ever said about me.”

  Ian removed his hands from his pockets, stood up to his full height and stepped forward, close enough to her that he could bend and kiss her if he wanted to. He must not have wanted to, unfortunately.

  “Veronica...” he said softly, so softly it was almost a whisper, and almost a whisper was exactly how he’d said her name that one stupid night. Her plan to torture him was backfiring. Now she remembered it all...everything she wanted to pretend meant nothing to her. No pretending when he said her name, no pretending when he looked at her like that.

  They’d gone out for drinks one night after work, about six of them, her and Ian and four other guys. The others were all family men, had to get home early. She and Ian had lingered at the bar, talking. But not about work, about art. His father had hired her, not him, and he hadn’t known that she’d learned to weld because she was a metal sculptor in her free time, an artist. He’d assumed she’d picked up the trade from her father the same way he’d gotten into the construction business. She’d shown him a picture on her phone of the six-foot-high climbing rosebush she’d welded out of copper and aluminum, and he’d called it a masterpiece. And then he’d called her a masterpiece. And before either of them knew it, they were kissing. They’d kissed all the way back to his place and all night and here she was, six months later, still thinking about it.

  “I quit,” she said.

  Ian’s eyes went so wide she almost laughed.

  “What?”

  “I quit. This is my two weeks’ notice.”