Return to USA Today bestseller Tiffany Reisz’s Original Sinners series with Winter Tales, a collection of three fan-favorite Christmas novellas plus a brand-new novella exclusive to this anthology.
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In December Wine, the long-awaited story of Nora Sutherlin’s first meeting with Nico can finally be told. Nora enlists her editor (and sometimes lover) Zach Easton on a mission to track down Kingsley’s long-lost son. Nicolas “Nico” Delacroix turns out to be young, strikingly handsome, and very French. He wants nothing to do with his father...but everything to do with Nora.
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This special holiday-themed collection also includes the novellas The Christmas Truce, Poinsettia, and The Scent of Winter (previously available only as ebooks). A new bonus short story starring Søren rounds out the Winter Tales anthology.
Praise for Tiffany Reisz
“Daring, sophisticated, and literary… Exactly what good erotica should be.” — Kitty Thomas on The Siren
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“Kinky, well-written, hot as hell.” — Little Red Reading Hood on The Red: An Erotic Fantasy
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“Impossible to stop reading.” — Heroes & Heartbreakers on The Bourbon Thief
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“Stunning… Transcends genres and will leave readers absolutely breathless.” — RT Book Reviews on the Original Sinners series
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“I worship at the altar of Tiffany Reisz!” — New York Times bestselling author Lorelei James
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“Sensual, smart, and hilarious." — Library Journal on One Hot December
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“The Bourbon Thief isn’t just good, it’s exceptional. The story captured my imagination; the characters captured my heart.” — Literati Literature Lovers
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“I loved the Original Sinners series... Her prose is quite beautiful, and she can weave a wonderful tight story.” — New York Times and USA Today bestseller Jennifer Probst
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“Tiffany Reisz’s The Original Sinners series is painful, prideful, brilliant, beautiful, hopeful, and heart-breaking. And that’s just the first hundred pages.” — New York Times bestselling author Courtney Milan
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"[The Siren] is amazing and definitely a favorite read so far this year." — USA Today
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“Breathtakingly gorgeous. The Siren is a story you won’t be able to put down and whose characters will stay with you long after you’ve reached the end.” — Roni Loren, national bestselling author of Crash Into You
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“With her fearless erotic writing, Tiffany Reisz just might be the next Anne Rice.” — Shoshanna Evers, bestselling author of How to Write Hot Sex
Contents
December Wine
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
The Christmas Truce
I. Nora’s Christmas Truce
II. Kingsley’s Christmas Truce
Poinsettia
Poinsettia
The Scent of Winter
1. Unholy Orders
2. Capture the King
3. Trillium Woods
4. The Hawk and the Hare
5. The Scent of Winter
Bonus Short Story: Blood & Snow
1. An Unexpected Visitor
2. An Unexpected Announcement
3. Hospitality & Hostility
4. Terror & Joy
5. An Unexpected Question
6. Blood & Snow
About the Author
More Books by Tiffany Reisz
December Wine
Chapter One
Author’s Note: This story takes place between the end of The Mistress and the beginning of The Saint, the fourth and fifth books in the Original Sinners series.
Paris, France
Their train arrived in Paris after six. They went immediately to their hotel, Castille Paris, but as soon as they were alone in their suite, Nora said, “Let’s find some coffee.” This idea was met with approval. She put on her red trench coat; he hadn’t even taken off his wine-colored overcoat yet. They set out south along the Rue Cambon, where they strolled around the gardens. Even in winter, Paris was lovely, romantic, and strange, though there was no snow on the ground and the little city trees were all bare. A mist of rain hung suspended in the gray evening air, creating hazy halos of gold around the street lamps. They barely spoke and Nora heard little more than the sharp sound of the hard heels of her black boots echoing against the sidewalks. They weren’t the only people about, but they felt alone together, sheltered by their shared secrets. Nora clung to his arm as they walked and he pulled her even closer, his arm around her back as they neared the café. Anyone who saw them might think they were in love, as they couldn’t stop catching each other’s eyes and laughing, or smiling, or looking just to look. They did love each other but it wasn’t romance that had brought them to Paris together. No, Nora had brought Zach to Paris for a different reason.
But first, they had to talk.
They found the café, a quiet one with a menu only in French, which guaranteed fewer tourists. They took off their coats—Nora had on a gray cashmere turtleneck with dark jeans and boots; Zach, a black pullover that made his blue eyes look even bluer. He spoke easy French to the waitress—he’d lived in Paris a few years in his twenties and visited France often—and after they were served hot and fragrant coffee in tiny white cups, he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Are you ready to talk about it?”
Nora said, “Depends on what ‘it’ is. Is ‘it’ Fionn? Then no, because I’ll start crying again and won’t be able to stop for a week. If ‘it’ is why we’re here, sure.”
“I meant Fionn,” Zach said. “But if you can’t talk about him yet, I understand. We’ll table it for now. Just tell me one thing first—are you all right?”
“I am…” She paused to find the right word or words, couldn’t find them, did the best she could instead. “…better than all right. You?”
“I can safely say without exaggerating, since Fionn’s birth…it’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Fatherhood looks very good on you.”
He grinned that sexy halfway smile she knew and lusted. The Zach Easton sitting across from her was a far cry from the Zach Easton she’d met three years ago in her office. He’d been depressed, angry, bitter, lost, God, so lost. Now he was hopeful, happy, at peace, found. His wife had found him. His son had found him. And he hadn’t even known they’d been looking for him.
“Thank you. Shall I ask how he is?”
Nora raised her hands, shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, obviously he was happy when he heard, but the next morning, I woke up and he was gone. He’d left me a note saying he was off to some monastery, who knows where. Probably pouring his heart out to Father Ballard.”
“Who?”
“His confessor.”
Zach’s eyes widened. “Søren has a confessor? That poor man. The confessor, I mean.”
“Considering the things Catholic priests are getting in trouble for now, it’ll probably be a relief to Father Ballard that all Søren did was father a child with a consenting adult woman. That’s practically a mark in a priest’s favor, these days.”
“True,” Zach said. “But I thought we weren’t talking about that.”
“We aren’t. Not yet.” She took another sip of her coffee. It gave her a few seconds to recover herself. Christmas night—she was alone w
ith Søren at the Sacred Heart rectory. The phone rang and it was Zach. Calling for Søren. It seemed her Jewish editor had a Christmas gift for her Catholic priest lover. Nora hadn’t anticipated anything good coming out of that conversation, especially since she’d known more than just a little flogging and spanking had happened during that wild night between Søren and Zach’s wife. Had Grace confessed to it? Was Zach calling Søren out? Was there going to be a duel? She would watch that show with hot-buttered popcorn.
But no. None of the above. Zach had said to Søren, I realize it’s Christmas, but I’m calling to wish you a Happy Father’s Day. It’s a boy.
And when Søren heard that, it stunned him into a moment’s silence.
Then he’d laughed.
Nora would remember the sound of that laugh all her life. She’d remember it on her deathbed, in those last seconds when her life flashed before her eyes, showing her all the best memories. That would be one of them, that laugh. That sound of purest joy.
“Nora?” Zach said.
“Sorry.” She came back to him, back to the present. “Just…needed a moment there.”
“Trust me, I understand. I’ve needed more than a few moments myself.” He laughed a little, laughing at himself, at his own private joy that Nora was honored to be able to witness. She was finally starting to understand why Christmas outshone Easter as the most important day on the Christian calendar. The birth of a baby was certainly a worthy cause for a worldwide celebration. Now that Fionn was here, she doubted Christmas would ever feel the same to her again.
For unto us a child is born. For unto us a son is given.
“We’d better talk about something else before we both start crying,” she said. “Again.” Last night in London, she’d seen Fionn in person for the first time. She’d held him for about ten seconds before bursting into tears. She’d handed Fionn back to Grace and collapsed weeping into Zach’s arms. Fionn was the only one in the room not weeping by that point.
“How about we discuss the subject of tomorrow?” Zach tilted his head, then pointedly cleared his throat. “We are here in France for une raison, oui?” he reminded her.
Nora sat up straight and felt steadier already.
“Oui,” she said. “Tomorrow. We meet Nicolas Delacroix and tell him, ‘Welcome to the family.’ ”
Yes. That was why they were in France. Because Kingsley had a son, somewhere in this country, and Nora was going to find him.
Behind his coffee cup, Zach smiled. Or was it a grimace?
“What?” Nora asked.
“Nothing. What’s the plan?
“I don’t have a ‘plan,’ really. We pick up our rental car tomorrow morning, drive all day, check into our little inn—”
“It’s an inn?”
“It’s a tiny inn in a tiny village. That’s the only reason the detective I hired managed to find the kid.”
“How did he find him? How did he even know where to start looking?” Zach asked. This was a good line of conversation, Nora decided. No risk of her bursting into tears so long as they stuck to talking about detective work.
“I knew the name of the village where King’s family went on vacation when he was a kid—Mozet. Friends of his father lived there. When King was twenty-two, twenty-three, he was shot. He went there to recuperate. Fond memories, I guess.” Nora shrugged, one eyebrow firmly arched. “I gave the detective a photo of King from his twenties. He went to Mozet and showed it around, saying he was looking for a ‘Nicolas.’ All I knew was his name and that he looked like King.”
“And he managed to track him down with only that information? Amazing.”
“A miracle,” Nora said. “Apparently, it was a seasonal farm worker who talked. No one else would.”
“Small villages can be very insular, suspicious of outsiders.”
“This farm worker wasn’t. He spilled it all. He thought the photo looked a lot like his boss’s son. The detective found out the kid’s name, date of birth, counted forty weeks backwards and checked the inn sign-in books around that date. Found a K. Boissonneault had stayed there at just the right time to make a baby.”
“What else do you know about young Monsieur Delacroix?”
“Not much else.” Nora shrugged. “His family owns a small vineyard. They make Syrah. Mother was very young when she married the father. From Iran. Father’s family has owned the vineyard for generations.”
“How’s it doing?”
“Not a lot of money but lots of awards. It’s very prestigious. King will be very proud.”
“Nora, not to be a wet blanket here, but he might not be Kingsley’s. Have you considered that?”
Nora slipped her purse off the back of her chair, opened it, and took out two photographs—one of Kingsley at twenty-nine, the other of Nicolas Delacroix at twenty-three.
“What do you think?” she asked, her voice carrying a challenge.
Zach perused the photos carefully. “Handsome lad. And there is a resemblance. If I didn’t know who they were, or that the photos were taken years apart, I’d say they were brothers. That being said…people do have doppelgängers. It’s not unheard of.”
Zach passed the photos back to her. Nora looked at the photo of Nicolas one more time before putting it away. The detective had found it in a French magazine profile of the vineyard. In the photo, young Nicolas posed in front of the stone gates of the vineyard. His white t-shirt was dirty, his jeans dusty, his work boots mud-covered, his smile genuine, his pose awkward. He clearly didn’t like being photographed. Thank God he had been, though. He looked like Kingsley Junior in the photo. Identical noses and, according to the detective, it was a nose which looked nothing like his mother’s nor his father’s. Identical jaw line, too. Strong but graceful. Same forehead. Same ears. The eyes were different, though. King’s were dark brown, almost black, like a strong cup of coffee. Nicolas Delacroix had eyes like glazed celadon, like an ancient jade bowl.
“He’s King’s,” she said to the photograph. “I know he is. He has to be.”
Zach didn’t argue with her, although she could tell he was skeptical. She knew he didn’t want her getting her hopes up.
“Does anyone else know?” Zach asked.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that to Søren or Juliette—make them keep the secret from King until I’d figured it out, one way or the other. And if I told King, and then it wasn’t his son? God, he might never recover. Nobody knows but you and me.”
“You and I.”
“You’re off-duty, Zach. Shove it.”
“Consider it shoved.” He lifted his cup in a salute and drank it down before setting it on the tabletop again. “Any idea what you’ll say to the man?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. How do you tell someone that the father who raised him his entire life may not be his biological father?”
“No clue,” Zach said. “But when you find out, tell me. I may be having that conversation myself in ten years.”
Nora reached across the table and took Zach’s hand. She squeezed his fingers and he squeezed back. She didn’t let go and neither did he.
“Am I doing the wrong thing?”
“Nora. I…I’m biased here. Certainly not the best man to ask.”
“You are exactly the best man to ask. You’re in the same position Nicolas’s father is in, raising a son that isn’t…”
“Mine? I told the biological father. Clearly, I’m on the side of full disclosure. Some things shouldn’t be secret. And even if they should be, or you want them to be, sometimes they simply can’t be.”
“Why did you tell us?” Us, meaning her and Søren. She let go of his hand, sat back in her chair.
“I asked myself what I would want if it were me, if I had fathered a child I didn’t know about. Would I want to know, even if it threw a wrench into the works of my entire life? The answer was ‘yes.’ Without a doubt.”
He picked up his coffee cup, put it down again without drinking. “Hard as it is, and it is har
d, I won’t lie…for Fionn’s sake, we had to tell Søren. And you, of course.”
“I suppose it’s good to have medical knowledge for both sides of the family tree.”
He shrugged. “That, yes, but more than that…I wouldn’t want things to get any more complicated than they already are. Better we all get on the same page from the start.” This time he did drink his coffee. When he put his cup down, he smiled at her. “And how could I ever look you in the eyes again, knowing the secret I was keeping?”
Get on the same page. A euphemism Nora didn’t need translated for her. Zach was afraid of Søren. Of course he was. Who wasn’t afraid of Søren? If Zach and Grace had kept Fionn a secret from him, and Søren discovered it anyway…things could have gotten very ugly. Accusations, recriminations, custody fights. Better they all play nice from the beginning, for Fionn’s sake.
“You’re a good dad,” she said. “I had a shitty dad. I would have loved it if someone had come along and said, ‘Hey, guess what? You have another dad and he’s not shitty.’ But if Nicolas has a good father, he might not appreciate having that relationship…I don’t know, changed? Challenged?”
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