Let it Snow

by Suzan Butler, Emily Ryan-Davis, Cari Quinn, Vivienne Westlake, Sadie Haller, Holley Trent

  Telly dropped the phone and wrenched the front door open. “Keith—”

  “Yeah, I’m talking to you.” Trevor stalked across the front yard, his boots leaving tracks in the crust of snow. “She tell you that’s your kid?”

  “You’re trespassing.” Keith stepped off the porch.

  “That makes us fucking even, doesn’t it?” Trevor wasn’t a small man. He had a few inches on Keith, but he was wiry instead of broad. He stopped toe-to-toe with Keith and threw a punch. His fist didn’t make contact. Keith blocked with his forearm and dropped Trevor to the ground, his knee planted on the other man’s chest before Telly opened the screen door.

  Without looking at her, Keith said, “If you step one foot outside, I’ll put you over my knee.”

  “You’ll let him hit you, but I’m a rapist?” Trevor sneered. “Fucking whore.”

  Keith’s shoulders bunched beneath his coat, deadly stillness settling into his frame. Oh no. Covering her mouth to smother a sob, Telly backed into the house. She closed herself in the master bath, the only room in the house without windows, and sank onto the closed toilet lid.

  Kittens. Eyes closed, she concentrated on deep, slow breathing and fuzzy kittens, not on whatever Keith was doing to Trevor. She’d kept the circumstances of their last encounter a secret for a reason. For two reasons named Keith and Jamie. She didn’t want Trevor beaten half to death. She just wanted him to leave her alone.

  Sometime later, Keith entered the bedroom. The sounds of him moving around, opening drawers and running water in the other bathroom, told her she wouldn’t be able to hide much longer. Soon, he tapped on the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

  She blew out a breath. “It’s unlocked.”

  He opened the door and stood there, shoulder against the jamb, giving her space. Silent, she studied his face. No budding bruises marked his features. Of course they didn’t. Trevor would have been the one nursing injuries after crossing Keith.

  Telly swallowed. “Trevor—”

  Keith’s jaw clenched. “Unless you’re going to tell me you’ll get a restraining order against him, or better yet, file charges, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  She stood and met his eyes. “I said no, but he wasn’t violent. He didn’t brutalize me. He was just stronger. If he’d really hurt me, I would have gone to the police.”

  “Bruises aren’t a condition of assault. You let him get away with it.”

  “But you didn’t,” she said softly.

  “Of course I fucking did. What else could I do in daylight on my front lawn?” He turned away, leaving her in the bathroom.

  She followed. “Keith, don’t do this. I’m not some kind of abuse victim and I’m not making excuses for him. He didn’t ruin my life or emotionally traumatize me. I don’t want to try to ruin his life. I just want him gone. No involvement. If Jamie would leave it alone instead of insisting he has to make Trevor man up and take responsibility, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

  “If you’d told Jamie the truth, he wouldn’t have gotten this close to you. Christ, he was parked across the street watching the house. How long would he have stayed in his car before he came in to get you? What if he’d shown up yesterday instead of today?” In the living room, Keith dug his cell phone out of the pocket of his coat. “That guy isn’t going to walk away, Telly. He thinks you belong to him.”

  “Who are you calling?” She caught up to him as he lifted the phone to his ear. He angled the phone out of her reach, holding her back with a hand on her shoulder. “Keith, stop! You can’t tell Jamie. He’ll tell my parents. I am not going to listen to everyone I know whisper that my little girl is a product of rape.”

  Keith stared at her. “You’re having a girl?”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Please hang up the phone.”

  “Tel. Jamie answered on the first ring.” He cursed. “I’ll call you back. Don’t say a word to anybody. Jamie— Christ. Tel, can he tell your parents it’s a girl?”

  “He’s going to anyway.” Telly covered her face and sat hard on the sofa.

  “He won’t say anything if you tell him not to. I’ll kick his ass if he does. Tell her.” Keith pressed the phone to her ear.

  “I’m going to fucking kill Trevor,” Jamie said. “But I can keep my mouth shut. I can’t believe you didn’t trust me to deal with this, Telly. I—”

  Keith took the phone away and crouched in front of her. To her brother, he said, “I told you to tell her you wouldn’t talk, not lecture her. So, no, you can’t tell anyone it’s a girl. And if I find out you said anything about either issue, I’ll— Yeah. I’ll do exactly that. You bringing the beer tomorrow?”

  Lowering her hands, she stared at Keith askance. Only he and her brother could go from threatening violence to planning refreshments in the same sentence. Keith met her eyes. He twirled a long lock of her hair around his fingers, winding up the strands until his palm cupped the side of her neck and his thumb rested over the pulse at the base of her throat.

  “I’m going to take care of it.” Keith ended the call and tossed the phone on the cushion beside her.

  “You have to file for a restraining order. I don’t give a shit about his life or job prospects or whatever the fuck you think you’re going to mess up for him. Promise me you’ll do it.”

  “The police will need a reason. I don’t want to get into a rape investigation.”

  “At least look into your options. I need this to happen, Telly. I need a defensible reason to fuck him up if he comes near you again.”

  “He won’t.”

  “He might.”

  She sighed, surrendering. “Fine. Will you come with me to talk to the cops?”

  “I’ll go anywhere you need me to go.” His thumb stroked her collar bone and his gaze dropped to her stomach. “A girl. You don’t play fair.”

  “I’m not playing.” She swallowed, trying not to be distracted by his intent focus on her torso. “She’s mine. I’d rather live in my parents’ spare bedroom and never have another penny to my name than share her with Trevor in exchange for support. Jamie doesn’t get that. He keeps pushing.”

  Releasing her hair, he fanned both hands over her belly. “What about me, Tel? Would you consider sharing her with me?”

  “I don’t need your health care benefits, Keith.” This wasn’t the first time he’d hinted he could help. She’d taken him up on the offer of a rent-free roof over her head. That was a job, and he paid her in room instead of cash. Marriage, however, was out of the question. She wouldn’t take his name just to avoid delivery room bills.

  “You’re being blind on purpose,” he growled. “I’m not trying to give you a safety net and I’m not trying to protect you from the world. I’m trying to give you love. From me to you, not because I want to be your hero but because I want the right to touch you, to lie beside you and feel the baby kick, to take you with me if an assignment sends me away.”

  “I’m not going to be pregnant forever. What happens when I’m not anymore and you have to find—”

  “Do not,” he interrupted, “question my loyalty to you. I’ve been working nearly half my damn life to have something to give you. The way I feel about you isn’t new. The only thing your being pregnant has done is push you into turning to me instead of continuing to stay away. I just can’t figure out why, now that I’m here, you’re backing off and shoving me away.”

  Something in her chest twisted. Telly lowered her eyes and ducked his grasp, shoving up from the sofa. Her lungs felt compressed and the back of her neck ached. She paced the length of the room, looking for escape from Keith’s intensity. A collection of colorful rolls of wrapping paper and metallic ribbon spilled across the floor in front of the cold fireplace, waiting to be put to use on the gifts she’d gathered on Keith’s behalf for his family. She knelt in front of the forgotten bits of festivity and huddled close to the cold hearth.

  Was she being stubborn
, pushing Keith away? Was she wearing blinders, telling herself he was only interested because he’d been overseas for seven months and had developed a thing for her belly while he was gone? She and Keith weren’t new to one another. She’d always communicated with him during deployments, sending notes and cards, new socks and books. She did the same for her brother. The most recent deployment was different though, letters and calls more frequent after she discovered her pregnancy. Keith, unlike her friends and parents, didn’t turn every exchange into baby talk. He asked about her, sent small tokens from tourist shops, told her about the men he worked with and their families. He asked about the baby too, but chastised her for spending too much money on bibs and onesies and not enough money on mani-pedis and sexy nighties.

  He’d described the lingerie he wanted her to buy. Pink and sheer, something that would part over her stomach and leave her bump bare. Something with matching ruffled panties and a feather boa. She grinned at the memory, at her responding accusation that he needed to find a Mongolian hooker before his battalion started questioning his sexuality.

  “You look happy,” he said, his voice anything but.

  She blinked at ribbon tangled around her fingers. “I just remembered something, is all.”

  Turning, she studied his face. Keith didn’t flinch from her examination. His eyes, clear and bright when he’d met her in the lot the night before, were now dark with the same emotion that hardened his jaw and drove his fingers in a rapid tapping rhythm on the arm of the sofa. He didn’t smile. Strain tightened the tendons in his neck. Lower, his flat stomach appeared concave, his powerful frame folding in on itself.

  Hungry. He looked hungry, starving, as his gaze roamed from her face to her belly. She touched the swell and exhaled a long breath. “You want to be more than a friend with benefits.”

  His eyebrows drew together and lifted his eyes back to hers. “Yeah, I do. Is that really all you want from me?”

  “I didn’t think you’d ever give me more than that,” she said honestly. “I still half think the only reason we were so good last night is that you’d just returned home, that anybody would’ve sufficed.”

  His fingertips stopped drumming. “Not anybody. I wanted you.”

  “You don’t want just me, do you? You want to be a father.”

  “It’s not that simple, Telly. I don’t just want you. I love you. I want your baby, to make her mine and love her, and then I want to fill you up again and know some part of me is growing in some part of you. Some of this is new to me. Wanting you though, that’s not new. You know it isn’t.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I know it’s not.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers behind his neck. “Christ, Telly. I don’t want to take care of you. I want to be with you. If you want to hang on to your independence, do it. I’m not asking you to stop working. I’m not going to force you to take advantage of anything I bring from the Marines. Insurance, whatever. If you want to have this baby by yourself so you know you can, fine. Do it. But, Jesus, please don’t hold your independence between us like a wall. Let me love you.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to leave all the loving to you,” she said.

  He flinched and closed his eyes. Aching, Telly drew the forgotten ribbon between her fingers one more time before wrapping it around her ribs, beneath her breasts and looping the ends into a bow. She rose to stand in front of him and gently stroked his clasped hands. “Keith…I want you to get something out of this besides a wife and a baby.”

  He raised his head to respond, but his eyes didn’t reach hers, instead locking on the Christmas ribbon. He blew out a breath and fingered the tail of the bow, tugged until it loosened. “I’ll get to use my sword to cut the cake too.”

  Author’s Note

  Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed ALL HE WANTS. Keith is one of my personal favorite heroes, and I love both “baby” plots and the holidays as a backdrop to a steamy love story. I don’t have any other “baby” plots to offer, but I can promise that winning combination of Christmas and steam all over again in We Three Kinks a story about a woman who thinks she’s lost the love of her life until he shows up for Christmas and brings two friends with him, and Ménage on 34th St., which brings another hot-hot-hot Marine home for the holidays in more ways than one.

  If you’d like to receive notice of special sales, appearances, or upcoming releases, you can subscribe to my newsletter here. I enjoy connecting with readers and hope you’ll take a moment to find me on Facebook, Twitter, or send a note letting me know what you thought of my book.

  About the Author

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Emily Ryan-Davis has a deep-seated passion for the written word. After years of writing everything from obituaries and press releases to non-profit education grants and advertising copy, she returned to her first love–romance–and hasn’t looked back.

  By day, Emily rides herd on her husband, toddler, cat and fish. After dark, she writes steamy, romantic fiction about flawed individuals who fall in love–and into bed–despite their imperfections.

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  JINGLE BALL

  Cari Quinn

  EBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement

  on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Jingle Ball

  © 2012 Cari Quinn

  Cover by Erin Dameron-Hill

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First electronic edition: November 2012

  Chapter One

  Wendy Stanton picked up a length of multi-colored garland and sighed. Red, blue and green garland wasn’t classy enough for Martin & Warner Real Estate’s annual Jingle Ball. The event was the biggest schmoozer they held all year and lots of rich, important guests would attend. They’d already decided the color scheme would be silver and blue, so the decoration she’d picked up on a whim would just have to go.

  She wrapped the garland around her neck and turned toward the full wall of glass behind her boss Des’s desk. She thrust out a hip and grabbed a long, narrow notepad, using it as a microphone. Then she rocked out, dirty Christmas style. She didn’t remember the lyrics to the song on the radio so she fudged them, making them up as she went along. Her husky voice wouldn’t win any awards, but she vamped it up, pushing a hand behind her head and wiggling her butt.

  Behind her, someone cleared their throat. Wendy spun around and dropped the notebook, her eyes going wide at her boss lounging in the doorway. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his snug, faded jeans, and he wore a gray silk shirt and striped tie that offset his golden skin.

  And he was smirking.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert, Ms. Stanton.” His voice was as warm and rich as the java he walked over to dispense from his personal coffeemaker. He preferred an expensive Costa Rican blend, the best of the best. Just as he preferred top of the line in everything in his life, from clothes, to office space, to girlfriends. She still wondered how she’d slunk into his office almost a year ago when his secretary had quit on short notice.

  Des desperate was a mouth-watering sight to behold.

  Fine, he was mouth-watering regardless. He had the kind of spiky dark hair that always stuck up in all directions and his eyes were a bright blue-green she’d only ever seen in the waters of the Caribbean. And his body?

  Not. Going. There.

  “Song’s over,” she said with a shrug,
picking up the notebook she’d dropped. Feigning calm around him wasn’t anything new, considering she’d had a crush on him pretty much since the first moment she’d stepped into his swanky office. He’d asked her what she considered her strongest skill and she’d been tempted to say sucking cock, just to see if she’d get a chance at his.

  Instead she’d gone with the safe answer of her one hundred words per minute typing speed.

  That she’d inquired about the job advertised in the window wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, with her hair held back by an assortment of bobby pins and paper clips—hey, she’d been out grocery shopping before she’d wandered past the office—hadn’t ruined her chances as she’d feared. He’d called to hire her the next day.

  They’d had a cordial, utterly frustrating relationship since.

  “So it is. But as it’s a radio station,” Des gestured with his coffee cup at the sleek wall unit currently playing another Christmas classic, “they keep playing them. Keep singing.”

  If she was anyone else, she’d probably hurry to obey the command in his tone. Though they were both barely thirty, Des and his best friend Cole Warner had one of the most successful real estate businesses in Eugene, New York, a decent-sized city just outside the one that never slept. They’d climbed far and fast, and that meant they weren’t strangers to making demands and ensuring they were met.

  She suspected that was true in the bedroom too. Not that she knew firsthand. Both men were nothing but professional to their secretaries. Unfortunately.

  It wasn’t as if she could tell Des she wasn’t a lawsuit waiting to happen. Nor was she trying to climb the corporate ladder, unless it led straight up to the eye-popping bulge in his pants. But that was just her fantasies talking. She wasn’t that girl.