by Alexis Anne, Audra North, Julia Kelly, Alexandra Haughton
He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her deeper this time. The desire that had been smoldering in her since she spotted him swooped up through her, sending her soaring for the clouds.
He broke away but left his arm securely around her waist. “I’m more than okay with it, but perhaps we should think about finding somewhere a little more private. Do you care about ringing in the new year?”
“Will you kiss me at midnight?”
He flashed her a wolfish grin. “And more, I promise.”
Then he caught up her hand and together they made their escape.
About Julia Kelly
Julia Kelly is the award-winning author of sexy historical and contemporary romances about smart women and the men who love them. She picked up her first romance novel and the bad habit of reading well past her bedtime when she was 13.
The first in Julia’s trilogy of Victorian-set romances, The Governess Was Wicked, is due out with Simon & Schuster’s digital imprint Pocket Star in 2016. She is also the author of Seduction in the Snow and The Wedding Week both of which appear as part of the One Week in Love series. In 2015, she was awarded first place in the Contemporary Romance Writer’s competition for her unpublished contemporary sports romance Second Chance Girl. Julia is also a founding member and host of First Draught, a monthly YouTube show and podcast exploring writing and romance.
During the day, Julia is an Emmy-nominated journalist in New York City where she chases breaking news and bosses reporters around. She never met a pair of stilettos she didn’t love and still stays up too late reading.
Julia loves connecting with readers and is always happy to chat about romance, history, and everything in between!
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Also by Julia Kelly
Novellas
Seduction in the Snow
Anthologies
One Week in Wyoming
One Week in Hawaii
This Christmas
Alexandra Haughton
This Christmas, Maggie Embry feels like a misfit toy. When her parents announced their divorce over Thanksgiving leftovers, it rocked the foundation of her life—even though she’s almost thirty, not six. By refusing to take sides, she finds herself with nowhere to go for the holidays. Which is fine by her because the magic of the season has lost its sparkle.
Reluctantly, Maggie agrees to join her best friend’s little family celebration—it’s better than spending Christmas alone. But when their party grows by an unexpected number at the candlelight Christmas Eve service, it’s a blast from the past who just might be able to help her find her missing pieces…
Chapter 1
So this was Christmas.
That’s what the calendar said, what the stores had been saying for months with a never-ending procession of green, red, and silver and gold doodads. Plus, she was in a chapel festooned with poinsettias and boughs of holly. So it had to be Christmas.
It didn’t feel like Christmas.
Maggie had dressed with festive care, though. No need to further upset the universe—or her hostess—with a flagrant disregard for the season. But inside? She was a batch of fudge left too long on the stovetop. The muddy snow lingering on the edge of the sidewalk.
The blob of baby drool on her dove grey cashmere cardigan.
“Oh, honey. Are you sure you don’t want me to take her?” A burp cloth was shoved in her direction a few minutes too late. Though it looked nothing like a burp cloth—it coordinated with the checked, embroidered dress her goddaughter was wearing. Right down to the smocked border. Made so much more sense for baby Lena to be wearing that particular style; Maggie had always thought Trey looked like Little Lord Fauntleroy in those twee little ensembles.
Maggie waved off her best friend and dabbed at the slime even though it felt a little blasphemous to wipe up baby spit with a cloth that was so fancy. How Caroline stayed caught up on laundry was a mystery. How she kept the fancy pieces so clean—and her own clothes!—was the true Christmas miracle.
But they were in the south. In the years since Maggie had moved her “Yankee butt” below the Mason-Dixon, she had witnessed several such miracles. But they never came knocking on her sturdy Midwestern heart.
“Nope.” She gave up on the sweater and snuggled the infant a little closer. “Gotta earn my keep if I’m to have a seat at the Great Walker Holiday Dinner tomorrow.”
“Girl, you promised to help Phil with the t-r-a-i-n setup tonight. That’s enough to earn you a permanent place in my heart much less an extra helping of my famous au gratin potatoes.”
“Mm-hmm. Promises, promises.” Really, it was a small price to pay, pushing aside her recent Scrooge-like leanings and helping out with the more traditional aspects of the holiday. Plus, feeling like the odd-man out in her friend’s sweet family Christmas celebration was better than being alone.
Maybe.
It was salt in the wound of her heartbreak to not be with her own family on Christmas. But she didn’t have a family anymore, did she? Not after Mom and Dad announced the end of their thirty-year marriage with little fanfare while divvying up the Thanksgiving leftovers. And Maggie refused to play the pick-a-parent game—especially at Christmas. That was a stand she wasn’t willing to make. Or able to, if she was honest. Which she supposed she should be, seeing how she was sitting in church.
The only good side, she guessed, was that they were divorcing when she was an adult capable of saying no and not a sad, scared little six-year-old caught in the middle. Though Maggie hadn’t felt at all capable in the month since they’d dropped the bombshell.
Especially that first night.
A squirmy toddler squeezed past her knees shouting some kind of nonsense word as he went. Maggie wondered if she should try to stop his progress to the aisle, but he was a slippery little sucker, and, before she knew it, Trey was caught up in someone’s arms and hefted up high. The squealing was deafening.
“Flynn, you made it! Phil look who’s here.” Caroline was practically vibrating on the pew next to Maggie. But it had nothing on the harp strings twanging and thwanging inside her own gut.
The service hadn’t started yet, the entire chapel echoed with similar greetings, but this one made her want to stroke out. This guy Flynn was obviously young and fit—and loved kids. Oh, no. No. Surely Caroline knew better. If her best friend was playing matchmaker…
Maggie looked straight ahead, focusing on the mocking twinkle lights intertwined with green garlands. It was either that or kill her best friend with laser beam eyeballs. And that would be a shame. Maggie’s favorite cardigan would recover from baby drool—maybe—but laser beam eyeball fallout would be pretty messy.
She felt betrayed. It was almost worse than Thanksgiving with her parents.
Caroline hadn’t mentioned a thing to her about someone else joining them. Maggie had no idea who this newcomer was—his back was to them while he crouched down and tickle monstered Trey. It was going to be hard enough to keep a brave face for the kids, but they’d be in bed soon. And she’d have to make nice with this… stranger for who knew how long.
Trey clambered back over her knees, and she reflexively cuddled the baby closer. Caroline yanked on her sleeve and cooed, “Of course there’s room. Mags, scoot over.” When a big hand came to rest on the pew, a shadow moved over her. A shape loomed. Next to her, Caroline half-stood, offered her cheek, and the someone she assumed was the mysterious Flynn kissed it not one foot from Maggie’s face.
This was a mistake. She should have stayed home. She didn’t belong in this festive—happy—gathering.
“Merry Christmas, Flynn. How was the flight in? Oh, my gracious. Take off your coat and meet our little girl.” Maggie didn’t know whether to give the baby back to Caroline or if she should hold
her up Lion King style. In the end, she just kept sitting still, staring straight ahead while Caroline fussed and fiddled with the red headband on Lena’s forehead. “Phil, scoot over, so we can all fit.”
And there, in the wreckage of the storm, Maggie awkwardly moved over—the old nap of the pew’s velveteen conspiring against the brocade of her pencil skirt as she hop-scooted over—and the stranger crowded in to the pew next to her.
She murmured some obligatory greeting, but it got lost in the organ starting up. And then she got lost in the feel of his arm coming around her shoulders, heavy and warm, and his hair tickling her nose as he bent to kiss baby Lena.
* * * * *
She was going to hell.
That, or she was already in hell.
No, she was feeling too much corporeal pleasure to actually be in hell; hell was supposed to be full of intense suffering. And sulfur. Not some unidentifiable spicy scent emanating from the hard, warm male body wedged into the pew next to you. Though she was suffering…
Every breath he took was amplified through her body because of the tight squeeze. His lean hips fit fine, but he had a linebacker’s shoulders and had to sit half-sideways. Plus, he still had his damned arm around her. It made her skin fit three sizes too tight. Made her want to lean in and cuddle close. Made her think of a four-letter word and very non-angelic actions.
Hell was full of fallen angels; just sign her up.
But he’d be there, too, because oh, holy night, his voice was about to melt her candy-cane striped panties. That soulful baritone did not belong in a house of God. It belonged in some dimly lit, smoke-filled bar in the French Quarter. It was bourbon over ice. It was that inarticulate sound made at the moment of climax.
Maggie fought the urge to fan herself with the program. That would only stir up the pheromones he wore like expensive cologne.
She knew those pheromones.
It was possible she was hallucinating—it certainly wasn’t wishful thinking. There was no way Phil’s friend could be…Him.
She’d pieced together that this guy sitting next to her was Flynn, the friend in the Foreign Service. Maggie had heard stories about him over the years—last she’d heard he was appointed to some plum position in Buenos Aires—but had never met him.
His name had been Chris, or so she thought. What did she really know about her reckless one-night stand in Chicago? Besides, this guy Flynn hadn’t so much as blinked when she’d said hello. And surely she merited at least some kind of recognition from a guy she’d slept with a month ago.
No, this was clearly a case of a sexy doppelgänger. It couldn’t be Him.
But his voice. And the way he smelled peppery and smoky and lit her body up from the inside out…
The longer Maggie sat pressed up against him on the pew, the more she almost sprained her eyeballs trying to get a covert look at him. Ugh, she just couldn’t tell.
Your body can tell.
Baby Lena started fussing. Since her mother was now trapped in the middle of the pew, Maggie reached for her to take her out. Glory be—an escape! But no, baby Lena did not want her auntie. Especially once the newcomer leaned over and whispered, “Let me.”
Oh, God, his voice sent electric currents up and down her spine.
Maggie listened to that voice make quiet little “you’re okay” noises at Lena, watched those big, hairy arms cradle that sweet little bundle of baby to his broad, sexy chest, and knew—as sure as today was Christmas Eve and a big fat hymnal nestled in the pew back in front of her—Flynn was her Chris.
Or Chris was Flynn.
Whatever he was called, he was the same guy.
Maggie took a deep breath before forgetting that his scent made her dizzy, and they stood for a reading.
She should be relieved to no longer be pressed up against him—but she couldn’t stop watching him play with the baby. Should be paying attention to the minister. There was a minister here somewhere, right?
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up like they’d been that night. He looked now, as he had then, like a hipster wet dream come to life. No, that wasn’t quite right. There was no irony in his look; no practiced urban charm.
She cocked her head a little. Now that she thought about it, he looked a little bit like Jesus. Not like the pale, European Jesus of museums. Like the Jesus Jesus could have been if he’d stayed a carpenter. Big, callused hands. Thighs like a tree trunk. And a hard chest she knew for a fact tapered down to a flat stomach which led to a…
Oh look, everybody was sitting down now. Praying. She could pray.
The pew’s occupants had shifted at some point during the reading, and when she sat down, it was half on his big thigh. Maggie started to pop up like her butt had springs, but he wrapped an arm around her hips. And laughed?
Evidently he’d handed the baby back to her mom at some point. How had she not noticed that handoff? Oh yeah, the sexy Jesus fantasy.
No. He wasn’t sexy Jesus. He was Chris. Flynn. Whatever! And now she was basically giving him a lap dance. In church.
Maggie struggled to sit normally, but there was just no room. Thank God everybody sat head bowed, eyes closed, and wasn’t watching her squirm. Not that anyone knew her here. And wasn’t that just another fist to the gut?
Within three seconds of walking into her parents’ church, she’d be greeted by name, and by hug. Here, three people knew her name—and one of them was currently picking his nose at the other end of the pew.
Well, she supposed Chris-slash-Flynn knew her name, so that made four. But even if he didn’t know her name, he knew her. Biblically.
Maggie risked eternal damnation by hissing Caroline’s name and poking her. Big sexy Jesus-slash-Chris-slash-Flynn was laughing again—wasn’t he so jolly?—as they played musical chairs and Maggie squeezed back into her spot. Trey scrambled over to take the place she’d so recently vacated, and Chris bounced the toddler on his knee.
Which would have been cute, but in their current pew situation, it meant his thigh kept rubbing against hers and a woman could only take so much!
Baby Lena apparently agreed, little infant mewls turning quickly to outrage. Maggie practically leapt over Chris to get out to the vestibule. Clearly, she wasn’t getting anything spiritual from this church event, so she might as well take her sinful self out and be useful.
Too bad she’d left her coat and clutch in the chapel, or she’d have been tempted to fetch Lena’s stroller and hightail it outta there.
Walking up and down the long entryway calmed baby and Maggie both. The music was muted, and the light streaming in through the windows painted the carpet with soft rainbows. She leaned in to press kisses to the sweetest baby forehead in all the land, hummed along to the carols playing inside the chapel, and ignored everything else but this moment with her precious goddaughter. These days, Trey only allowed cuddles when he was sleepy, so she relished the unlimited snuggle potential with this little girl.
Sometimes, when she stopped to think about it—which wasn’t often, thankfully—Maggie was astonished that the only babies she cuddled belonged to her sister or her best friends. And maybe that was for the best. If her parents could toss in the towel on a seemingly happy marriage after years of emotional investment…
“There you are.”
The deep voice, though respectfully low, startled her from more maudlin thoughts.
Chris. There was no doubt now. He was walking her way. Placing one big foot in front of the other until he was standing right there. With her. Again.
“Caroline thought you might need something from this.” He gestured somewhat helplessly to the diaper bag. It was almost comical—this giant, capital-M Man carrying a metallic leather diaper bag—but Maggie struggled to find anything humorous in this situation.
He set the bag on the floor next to Lena’s stroller, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “But it looks like you’ve got everything under control.”
“Oh, yeah.” Except for the riot of emotions warring in
side her brain and body. Sure, she was totally in control. “Thanks. We’re good.”
He didn’t leave, just crowded in closer to her. My God, did this man have no respect for personal boundaries?
Stupid question. Stupid, stupid Maggie for bringing up the last time they’d been this close. The memory whirled in her mind’s eye like virtual reality. Better than virtual reality. Witchcraft.
It was diabolical, the way she conjured the memory of Chris’s body and lips and the exquisite nearness of that one night and the way it blended with the nearness of him now—making it hard for her to do anything but stare at his mouth and wish…
What? What did she wish? That she could erase the last month of her life, entirely? Or that she could wake up on Thanksgiving and somehow alter the course of destiny?
No, she couldn’t do any of that. But she could address this situation in a mature way and move on. “Go, um, go ahead and go back in. We can talk later. Don’t want to miss the candlelight.”
Why wasn’t he leaving? He just stood there, still stroking Lena’s arm back and forth until she finally grabbed hold of his finger. Great, she was jealous of an infant.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not really into it.”
“Oh?” She thought of the way he’d sung each song, voice full of energy and warmth. The way he’d pointed to the program so Trey could follow along with the reading even though he was years away from reading. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He turned a little pink, and she watched in a kind of horrified fascination. The sight of that blush high on his cheekbones turned her on.
He cleared his throat. “Well who doesn’t like Christmas?”
These days, she didn’t. But she wasn’t going there again. So she sought to change the subject, and he let her.
“You look a little like Jesus.”
He laughed at her inanity, baby Lena stirred, and he moved closer.