by Vonnie Davis
During the night she’d felt Slash’s hands on her throat and woken up screaming. Einstein had barreled up the steps, barking. He’d needed comforting almost as much as she had once she realized she was safe at home. Although she’d never allowed her dog to sleep with her, last night she did. Bless his heart, he’d kept the nightmares away.
After work, when she approached her car, she’d had another bad episode. If one of her male coworkers hadn’t walked up behind her, startling her, she would have been okay. But he had—and she’d freaked. The man merely wanted to compliment her on her article about the child predator operating a toy store, but the poor guy barely knew how to handle her hysterics.
She’d scrambled into her car, locked the doors and trembled for ten minutes before she found her center and regained composure.
Now she stood in front of a let’s-make-up present from Wolf. No, she couldn’t read his card. Maybe in a few days. Not today. Einstein barked and whined. “Shush, now. Mommy will be in soon. Go get in your chair and lay down.”
So, what would she do with the tree? Take it inside or leave it out on her porch? Her cell rang and she fished it out of her purse. Wolf. She wouldn’t answer. No, that would be childish.
“Hello.”
“You got a new phone.” She could almost hear the smile in his voice.
“Yes.” She wouldn’t give in to him.
“Are you home, sweetheart?” His voice all but purred over the phone.
The jerk. “Yes, and I’m staring at a Christmas tree. Why did you send it? I told you things were over between us.” There, she’d said it. His smiles and his sexy voice hadn’t gotten to her.
“Did you read the card?”
“No. I can’t…” she rubbed a hand over her eyes, surprised to find them damp with tears, “it’s been a rough day.” Her voice cracked and she winced.
“Will you tell me about it tomorrow on the toy ride?”
Her stomach twisted with nerves. “No. I’m riding alone.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve had a physically rough week. Baby, I have to go. Promise me you’ll read the note.” He ended the call.
She sat on her steps, tapping the card on her knee. A neighbor across the street waved, and she raised her hand in greeting. Two boys rode their skateboards down the pavement. A lady jogged by with her dog. Becca rubbed her thumb over the edge of the card. If I read this, I’ll break. I’ll crack in half and then fracture into pain-filled pieces. She slid the card into her back pocket and checked for messages on her phone. She played a video game on her screen.
Oh, what the hell. She opened the card and ignored the printed message, going straight for Wolf’s words. My God, he’d written a poem.
If I came to you on a starlit night,
Would you allow me to make things right?
Would my love grant me the wishes
Of your eternal love and sweet kisses,
And your promise to be mine—forever?
She folded her arms on her knees, laid her forehead down on them and sobbed. How could he keep doing this to her?
“Don’t cry, baby.” Wolf scooped her into his arms and sat in her place. His warmth was a sweet balm to her battered soul.
Becca swiped tears from her face, surprised to see him. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I took some personal time.” His hand cupped her cheek. “I had to see you. Needed to see you. I’m sorry for the way I reacted when I saw you talking to Cassie at the fire.”
“I was talking to her, not interviewing her.”
His arms tightened and his brown eyes studied her face. “Even if you had been interviewing her, you have a right to do your job.”
She pressed her hand over his mouth. “Wait a minute. Repeat that.” Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“You’re a reporter. I have to trust you’ll show some humanity in your job. I think I’m familiar enough with your principles to know you will. That’s why I was so wrong to get furious with you.” He sighed and tipped his forehead against hers. “I broke a promise and emotionally walked away.”
“Am I hearing this right? You’re okay with my being a reporter?”
His fingers trailed down her cheek. “I don’t care what you are as long as you’re mine. My obsessive dislike of reporters was wrong.”
This was the last thing she had expected, yet the one thing she needed. “Our problems boil down to trust, don’t they? Your trust of me as a reporter and my trusting you to stay with me for the long haul.”
He played with her fingers and then lifted his gaze to hers. “When I turned my back on you at the fire, all I did was reinforce your fears.”
She shook her head and swiped away tears. “I should have trusted you.”
“I need you in my life. Once we both accept that, everything else is minor.” He covered her lips with his and a jolt of electric flash burned through her system. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and inhaled his woodsy cologne. Everything about him drew her like a magnet. Lips rubbed and teased. Tongues met and dueled. Sighs and moans mingled.
The tapping of a cane grew closer, and Wolf’s shoulders shook with laughter.
“What in H-E-double toothpicks are you two doing now? If you’re going to have make-up sex, take it inside. By golly, I thought my George was frisky, but, Wolf, I think you’ve got him beat.” Mrs. Minelli shook her cane at him. A wide, denture-filled smile spread. “I’m glad you two made up. Carry on.” She turned and teetered off before glancing back over her shoulder. “Just take it inside.”
Becca stood and smiled. Make-up sex with Wolf ought to be phenomenal. “Einstein needs a walk first.”
As if he got her meaning, he stood and smiled too. “You take him. I’ll carry in the tree.”
“Deal.” She unlocked the door and gasped.
“What?” Wolf glanced over her shoulder and started laughing.
Einstein sat in the middle of a pile of thongs and bras, a red lace bra hanging from his mouth.
The twentieth annual Fireman’s Toy Run was slated to start at nine at Station Thirty-two—ten minutes from now. The sky was blue and temperatures warm. It promised to be a beautiful day for a ride. Every make and modification of motorcycle was lined up. Quinn was busy handing out numbers to participants. Elvis’ “Blue Christmas” blared from the speakers. Spirits were high.
“What the hell am I going to do?” Wolf threw up his hands, his backside hanging out of the moth-eaten suit.
Becca couldn’t stop laughing. The look on Wolf’s face when he had bent over and the suit ripped was priceless. She glanced at the clock. “We don’t have much time. You have to do something.”
He pulled her close and kissed her for the zillionth time that day. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “What do you suggest?”
“Put on your leather pants. You wore them here. Wear the Santa shirt and beard. You’ll look great.” They didn’t have much choice in the matter if the ride was to start on time.
“That’ll work.” Wolf unbuttoned the fly of the old red-wool pants. His head rose and he shot her an embarrassed expression. “Ah…this isn’t going into your article, is it? The part about me ripping the ass out of the Santa suit?”
She folded her arms over her elf suit. “No. Why would you ask?”
“Becca…”
She buffed her nails on her pink and purple-striped top and stared at them for a beat. “Okay, so there might be a mention in the paper tomorrow that Santa wore leathers.” On impulse, she made a fist and held it lengthwise in front of his mouth as if it were a microphone. “So tell me, Santa, how did it feel to buck tradition by changing wool for leathers?”
Wolf grabbed her upper arms and hauled her to him. “Not nearly as good as it’s going to feel to make love to one of my elves over the handlebars of my Harley.”
She batted her eyes. “Ohhhh, Santa.”
Spend the holidays with Becca & Wolf
and don’t miss the chance to read
exclusive bonus material from Vonnie Davis.
Only at www.harperimpulseromance.com
on Christmas Day!
Vonnie Davis
For years I’ve been a romance junkie, devouring each one like warm, chocolate chip cookies. Perhaps that’s why I adore writing about love and passion. Passion—such a powerful word, don’t you think? I’d classify myself as a late bloomer. I started college in my late forties, met the love of my life in my mid-fifties and published my first book in my early sixties. My husband and I live in Southern Virginia. We enjoy spoiling the grandchildren and traveling. My deepest desire is to write saucy, often humorous romances you’ll cherish long after you’ve turned off the e-reader.
About HarperImpulse
HarperImpulse is an exciting new range of romance fiction brought to you from the women’s fiction team at HarperCollins. Our aim is to break new talent from debut authors and import the hottest trends from the US, bringing you the very best in romance. Whether that is through short reads for your mobile phone or epic sagas that span the generations we want to proudly publish romance fiction that gets everybody talking.
Romance readers, come and meet the team at our website www.harperimpulseromance.com, our Facebook page www.facebook.com/HarperImpulse or follow us @HarperImpulse!
Writers, we are simply looking for good stories! So, what are you waiting for? To submit, e-mail us at [email protected].
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