Christmas Hostage (Christmas Romantic Suspense Book 1)

by Jane Blythe

  It wasn't true, of course.

  But it was what he had needed to tell himself so he could survive.

  This was what was important.

  What was happening between them right now.

  Tom picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him as he carried her up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom.

  Inside, he laid her down on the bed, and knelt above her. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice husky, as he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheeks.

  “You’re pretty beautiful yourself,” she said as her fingertips traced over every inch of his face as though seeing it for the first time.

  His hands dropped to the buttons of her purple sweater, undoing them slowly. As her top opened, his face changed—growing fierce as he looked at the white gauze bandages covering the knife wounds on her chest. One of his big hands covered it, as though attempting to block it out.

  “I'm sorry, Hannah. I hate that you got hurt.” His eyes sparked with anger.

  “I’m okay, Tom,” she reminded him.

  “You might not have been.” The anger turned to raw fear. “If anything happened to you . . .” He trailed off and she felt his entire body shudder.

  “I feel the same about you.” Her fingers curled into his sweater and held on tightly.

  She could feel tears welling in her eyes, and Tom must have noticed, too, because he leaned down and kissed her. “You are breathtaking,” he murmured against her lips.

  Hannah tensed at his words. She didn't feel beautiful right now, not with a ten-inch gash running from her cheek down her neck and onto her chest. She knew Tom didn't care about it, and she knew that over time the gash would heal and the scar would fade, but it would always be there, and people would know that someone had hurt her just by looking at her. That made her feel so exposed and vulnerable.

  “I don’t care about the cut.” Tom read what she was feeling in her face. “I hate that Charles got you hurt, but it doesn’t make you any less beautiful.”

  “It will leave a scar.”

  “It will.”

  “Everyone will know when they look at me that I'm a victim.”

  “Hannah,” Tom said sternly, “when people look at you, they don’t see a victim, they see a survivor. There’s a difference. When I look at this cut, I see your strength—you fought back, and you amaze me.” His lips touched her cheek beside the cut, then trailed a line of kisses along it. His hands undid her jeans and he slid them down her legs, leaving her mostly undressed and him still fully clothed.

  “How come you still have all your clothes on? That seems unfair.” She gave a nervous laugh. As much as she wanted to do this, she was a little anxious about how she would react. She wanted it to be like making love to Tom had always been, but what if the rape had changed things? What if she freaked out right in the middle of things? What if it triggered flashbacks? What if she couldn’t do it? What if she could never do it again?

  “I think we can rectify that,” he smiled, pulling his sweater off.

  She stared at the six-pack she remembered so well, and of their own volition, her hands lifted to touch him.

  Tom took her hands one by one and slid her arms out of her sweater, and since she wasn't wearing a bra, that left her in only her panties. Then he kissed her again, while one of his hands tugged on the waistband of her underwear.

  Hannah tensed. She didn't mean to; she just couldn’t help it.

  “Do you want to stop, sweetheart?” Tom asked, as he noticed the sudden change in her body language.

  “No,” she answered, and she really didn't. “It’s just . . .”

  “Your first time and you're a little nervous. We’ll go slowly, and if you want to stop, then all you have to do is say so,” he promised.

  “I love you, Tom.” Her whole body swelled with emotion. Love, gratitude, trust, faith; she loved Tom so much, and she wished she hadn’t let what had happened rip them apart.

  “I love you, too.” His fingers stroked her hair, then trailed down her body with a feather soft touch that made her skin goose pimple, and she shivered with delight.

  Then he was kissing her again, and his hand found its way inside her underwear, and all her fears and anxieties melted away.

  She wasn't afraid anymore.

  She was safe with Tom.

  Because he loved her and she loved him and together they were stronger than they were on their own.

  This day really was the most perfect day ever.

  DECEMBER 24th

  4:20 A.M.

  She hadn’t come to him.

  It was starting to make him angry.

  What else did he have to do to get her to notice him?

  He had tried to scare her into coming running straight into his waiting arms. Twice. And he had left her gifts that laid his heart bare.

  Yet still, nothing.

  He had even allowed himself to be shot for her, and still, she didn't come to him.

  Jeff Shields had had enough.

  Hannah was going to be his.

  Surely, he had proved his love to her already. She had to have seen what she meant to him. He stayed after work every single day to help her clean up so that she could get home a little earlier. He took on extra responsibilities to lighten her load a little. He filled in for her whenever she was sick. She paid him well, and extra for every additional thing he did to help her, but he didn't do it for the money. He did it for her. Because he loved to see her smile, and he loved her laugh even more, and he loved the gratitude that shone from her eyes whenever he did something for her.

  He had thought that would be enough, that he did those things for her because he loved her.

  For a while, he thought it might be working. Hannah didn't have a lot of friends. She mostly kept to herself, and her main focus was her business, which worked out perfectly for him. They spent so much time together, and he seemed to make her happy and relaxed. He thought she enjoyed his company. Jeff had even considered confessing his feelings to her and asking her out.

  But Hannah kept rebuffing his attempts.

  Whenever he hinted at the two of them possibly doing something outside of work, she always had an excuse. When she had been having her house repainted, he had offered to come and help. When she had taken a rare weekend away in the summer, he had offered to stop by her house and pick up her mail. When her car broke down and she had to take a taxi or the bus home and to the homeless shelter for her shift, he had offered to drive her.

  All those times she had said no.

  It was then that he had realized it wasn't because she didn't appreciate him or enjoy spending time with him. It was because she was so strong—so independent—that she just couldn’t bring herself to accept help, from anyone. Even him.

  That was when he had known for sure that she just needed a little push to make her realize that when she needed someone he would be there for her, and that she could accept help from him and still be her strong, independent self. The robbery had seemed like the perfect idea because of the string of robberies in the area. He’d thought if he took advantage of that, then everyone would just assume the one at Hannah’s store was committed by the same people that committed the others. It might have worked, too, if he’d been able to find a third man to participate.

  Allowing himself to get shot had been a scary prospect, but he’d thought it was a nice added touch. He knew Hannah had a phobia of guns, and that if the armed men demanded the code to the safe she wouldn’t be able to give it to them. It had all run smoothly, like clockwork, and he had been able to come running in and be the hero who saved her from being hurt.

  That act of heroism was supposed to send her right to him.

  And it might have if that stupid ex-husband of hers hadn’t come back into her life. How unlucky was he that of all the FBI agents in the country, the one who was working the robbery heists was Hannah’s ex-husband?

  The man was ruining everything.

&nbs
p; He had chosen to toss Hannah away. He couldn’t just waltz back into her life and try to take her back.

  Hannah hadn’t even mentioned the man in the years they had known each other, so he couldn’t mean all that much to her.

  Why did that man have to come back now?

  Because of her ex, Hannah wasn't even thinking about him. She was too busy with the FBI agent to even come and visit him again.

  She should be here.

  With him.

  It wasn't fair.

  Didn't she get his gifts? Didn't she understand how much he loved her? Didn't she see what he was trying to say to her?

  Maybe she didn't.

  He had never just come right out and said that he loved her. And Hannah was scared to let people get too close to her because of what had happened to her. He was going to have to be more understanding. He was also going to have to be more transparent. If he loved Hannah, then he had to tell her. He couldn’t just expect her to figure it out herself.

  Which was exactly why he had come here.

  Carefully, he opened Hannah’s back door and snuck inside. When Jeff stepped into her kitchen, he immediately felt the familiar sense of peace wash over him. This was where he belonged—here with the woman he loved by his side.

  Quietly, he tiptoed through the kitchen and dining room, heading for the stairs, intending to go up to Hannah’s bedroom. But in the hall, he paused. There was a Christmas tree in her living room.

  That could mean only one thing.

  Special Agent Tom Drake had been here.

  Or maybe he still was. He could be upstairs sharing Hannah’s bed.

  Rage flashed through him, like he had been struck by lightning. He balled his hands into fists and screamed a silent scream. He didn't want that man anywhere near his Hannah. Just because he was an FBI agent, he thought he was so much better than everyone else. Jeff hadn’t liked him from the moment the man and his partner had walked into his hospital room to interview him about the robbery.

  He hated him.

  Hated him.

  He wanted to grab the man and rip him to shreds with his bare hands. He didn't care that he was fifty-four and Tom Drake was only thirty. Fury would strengthen him; righteousness was on his side.

  He wanted what was best for Hannah. Tom Drake only cared about himself. He had obviously brought a Christmas tree here to try and trick Hannah. To squirm his way into her good graces. Tom had probably pressured Hannah into going to bed with him.

  It was unacceptable.

  Jeff would not allow Tom to hurt Hannah all over again.

  He had to save her, protect her, declare his undying love for her.

  He was going to make Hannah understand.

  Whatever it took.

  She loved Christmas. Even though she tried to hide it, he knew. So, this seemed like the perfect time to sit her down and explain to her how much she meant to him and how everything that he had done was for her.

  All he had to do was get rid of Tom Drake first. Killing him might not be smart, although it would certainly be satisfying. The man was a Special Agent in the FBI, and they were bound to want to hunt down whoever had killed one of their own.

  In the end, Jeff really didn't care about the man. He just wanted him away from Hannah. Far away.

  Maybe the safer option would be to wait here for Hannah to be alone, then to take her someplace where it was just the two of them. Where he could tell her everything without fear of being interrupted or of anyone trying to get between them.

  Yes.

  That was what he would do.

  Soon.

  Soon he would have her.

  She would understand.

  She would.

  She had to.

  He would rather die than not have Hannah for his very own.

  * * * * *

  6:41 A.M.

  Hannah woke slowly.

  The first thing to cross her consciousness was the arms that she was wrapped up in.

  Although Tom was still fast asleep, his grip on her wasn’t loose. It was like even in sleep he took protecting her seriously.

  Something had changed yesterday. She no longer resented his protective streak. She no longer took it as an indication that he thought she was weak and helpless and fragile. Now she knew he didn't see her as a victim, but as a survivor. Knowing that made accepting his need to protect her and keep her safe so much easier.

  Last night had been so amazing. Tom knew her body so well. He knew just where to touch her and how to drive her wild. She needn’t have worried about freaking out, or being unable to perform, or having flashbacks. Once she and Tom started, it became all about the two of them. The home invasion and the rape had been the farthest things from her mind.

  As amazing as last night was, this was better.

  Waking up in her bed, having spent the entire night in it without a single nightmare, with Tom’s warm body at her side was the best way to wake up. She had draped herself over him while they'd been asleep. When they’d finished their lovemaking and laid down, she had been spooned against Tom with her back to his front and his arm locked around her waist. But now, he was on his back and her head was on his chest, her leg hooked around his. His breath tickled her forehead as it whooshed in and out, and the thump of his heart beneath her ear had apparently been the reassurance her brain needed to let go of the nightmares.

  She could get used to this.

  Her stomach rumbled. She and Tom had been so busy last night decorating the tree that she hadn’t eaten any dinner. She should go and make Tom breakfast. He loved her Belgium waffles as much as she loved his French toast.

  As carefully as she could, so as not to disturb him, Hannah slid out from underneath Tom’s arm and climbed out of her huge, king-size sleigh bed. Their clothes were strewn on the floor around the bed, lying right where they had tossed them last night. Although they were in her bedroom and her closet was right here, Hannah picked up Tom’s discarded shirt and shrugged into it. She loved wearing Tom’s clothes around the house. It had always made her feel closer to him.

  The hardwood floors were cold beneath her bare feet as she crept out of the bedroom and down the hall. Usually she wore socks around the house in the wintertime because her feet always got cold, but she had forgotten to grab a pair. Oh well, once she got busy she wouldn’t notice the cold so much.

  In the hall, she stopped.

  The Christmas tree was breathtaking.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

  She had been so surprised when Tom brought it over, she hadn’t even been thinking about decorating for Christmas, but she was so glad he had thought of it. He could be so thoughtful sometimes. Well, most of the time, really.

  It had felt just like old times. Her obsessing over the placement of each decoration, Tom watching her and then patiently moving them from place to place on the tree until she was happy with the result.

  She wanted that again.

  She and Tom had been so happy together, and now they had a chance to have that back. To let go of the pain of the last three years and rebuild their lives. Maybe one day they’d even have a family of their own, and their kids would be right there beside them, excitedly decorating the house and waiting for Santa Claus to come. Hannah couldn’t help but smile at the thought. She couldn’t wait to have Tom’s baby growing inside of her. Once things had settled between them, then they could start trying, but not until then. Hannah didn't want to bring a baby into the picture until things between Tom and her were stable.

  Maybe they should decorate the rest of the house today. There was the wreath for the front door and garlands for the banisters and more fairy lights than any home needed. There was the Christmas village with shops and houses and Santa’s village. Plus, there was an assortment of various figurines and other decorations. She had so many things that every available spare inch of space was covered with them.

  And her snow globe collection.

  She’d been obsessed with them ever sin
ce she could remember, and every single year, her parents had given her one as a Christmas gift. At her and Tom’s old house, she had set them all out along the fireplace mantles in the living room, dining room, and master bedroom. She could do that here, too. Her house had four fireplaces. In her mind, fireplaces went with Christmas, so she always lived in a house that had at least one of them.

  With a big grin on her face, she rolled up her sleeves and was about to turn around to head to the kitchen and get started on breakfast when someone suddenly grabbed her from behind.

  For a moment, her mind tried to convince her that it was just Tom.

  But he would have announced himself. Or, if he was trying to surprise her, he would have lifted her off her feet and swung her up into the air.

  This wasn't Tom.

  He felt different.

  He smelled different.

  “Hannah.”

  The voice.

  She knew who it was.

  It was Jeff Shields.

  It wasn't Vincent who had been stalking her, who had set up the robbery, and broken in here to leave her gifts. It was Jeff.

  And he’d come back.

  “Don’t make a sound. You call him and I’ll shoot him on the spot,” his voice spoke in her ear.

  She believed him.

  Completely.

  Because his voice wasn't angry, it wasn't agitated, it wasn't anxious. It was absolutely, perfectly calm.

  She had to stay composed. Tom was right upstairs. He was bound to come down here sooner or later; she just had to hold it together until then.

  Something cold touched her temple, right over the bruise she’d received the night of the robbery.

  Jeff had a gun.

  A gun.

  She almost fainted on the spot.

  Deciding to work on her phobia was one thing. Knowing that her ex-husband who would never lay a hand on her had his weapon holstered at his side was one thing. But knowing that someone who meant her harm, who had gotten her hurt twice already, was holding a gun to her head was more than she could bear.