Red Hot Santa

by Cherry Adair

  Her eyebrows furrowed in irritation. “That’s really arrogant of you to think you know what I’m feeling better than I do.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been through this a few more times than you have.”

  Recognition slowly dawned. “So women are always throwing themselves at you at the end of a job?”

  “It’s happened more than once. I made the mistake once of getting involved and I’m not doing that again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it didn’t work out well.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed in frustration. “Because she was a rich daddy’s girl who decided she wanted someone who fit her lifestyle better than I did.”

  “And you think I’m no different?” she asked, clearly insulted.

  “Not much,” he lied, and mercifully the limo slowed. “We’re almost at the hospital. Do you want to go in?”

  “Yes,” she said, her head whipping around to look out the window.

  He breathed a sigh of relief at switching her attention away from him. It must be Christmas, he thought. All this schmaltzy music and dealing with a firecracker of a woman like Hilary was getting on his nerves. He needed to get back on his yacht and forget about the way Hilary affected him. He needed to head out to sea so he didn’t get confused by a kiss.

  Jensen stopped the car and Hilary turned to look at Rick. “I can’t tell you how surprised I am that a man as strong as you are is so frightened of little me.”

  Blinking, he watched her unlock the door and get out of the car. Her accusation stung. It wasn’t true. He wasn’t afraid of her. He just knew better and she didn’t like it that he knew better. He swore under his breath. He was not afraid.

  Rick proved he wasn’t afraid of Hilary by sitting with her in the waiting room for hours. He gave her coffee and goaded her into eating a sandwich. Despite her best efforts, Hilary fell asleep on his shoulder. And he was still not afraid.

  He might want to hold her in his arms and inhale her into his system, but he wasn’t afraid of her. After all, he told himself, he wouldn’t see her after tomorrow. He ignored the twist that thought caused him while his arm fell asleep.

  A weary-looking doctor approached them. “Mr. Santana? Miss Win—” He broke off and gave a slight smile when he saw that Hilary was asleep.

  Rick jiggled her gently. “Hilary,” he said. “Wake up. Doctor’s here.”

  “What?” She bobbed her head and blinked. “Oh. Doctor,” she said, rising to her feet. “How is Christine?”

  “She’s suffered several bruises, fractures, dehydration, and a concussion, but I think she’s going to be okay. It will be a couple of days before she’s released from the hospital and she’ll need a place to go. The staff told me the phone number for her emergency contact isn’t in service.”

  “Her father,” Hilary said. “And he hasn’t been of much service to his daughter. She’ll come to my house.”

  Rick lifted his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Hilary sounded extremely confident given the way her parents had brushed off her initial request for help.

  “Good,” the doctor said. “You can see her for a few minutes, but she’s resting, so don’t expect her to talk.”

  “Thank you,” Hilary said. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

  The doctor just smiled. “It’s what I do. She’s in room three-two-two. Just a few minutes, okay?”

  Hilary and Rick took the elevator to the third floor and entered Christine’s room. Rick saw a tumble of red curls and a patch over one of her eyes. Christine’s young face was black, blue, and green with bruises and one of her arms was wrapped in a cast. She probably had a few broken ribs, too, he thought. “Poor kid,” he said.

  Hilary turned away from Christine and lifted a hand to cover her eyes. “Oh, God,” she whispered, clearly unprepared for Christine’s injuries.

  His heart twisted at the sight of the tear that streamed down her cheek and he stuck his fists in his pockets to keep from taking her into his arms. For three seconds.

  He pulled out his hands and tugged her against him. “She’s gonna be okay,” he told her. “She just looks like hell right now.”

  “But if I could have just talked to her before she left—”

  “You gotta stop with that. She’s alive because you hounded the daylights out of me and put yourself at risk. She’s alive. That’s what’s important. Besides, she doesn’t need your guilt now. She needs your friendship.”

  She took a shaky breath. “You’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right. Do you want to leave now or—”

  She shook her head. “No. Just give me a minute.”

  He watched her walk to Christine’s side and smooth her hair the same way a mother would comfort a child. “You’re gonna be just fine, sweetie. Just fine,” she said.

  Rick dragged Hilary to a nearby hotel to crash for a few hours before their six A.M. flight to Malibu. This time, for his own sanity, he put her in her own room and avoided conversation the next morning by sitting several aisles away from her on the jet.

  After waiting for her luggage, he hailed a cab. During the ride to her parents’ home the silence between them felt more oppressive than the humidity on an August day in Miami.

  “You can talk to me. I won’t force myself on you,” she said, her lips twitching.

  He shot her a dark glance.

  “You were a lot more fun when you had a sense of humor,” she told him. “How’s your head?”

  “Fine.”

  “Let me see.”

  “No,” he retorted.

  She shrugged. “Okay, if you think it would be good public relations for your agency for you to have to drag me into my parents’ house screaming at the top of my lungs—”

  He swore and dipped his head for her to look at it.

  She made a tsking sound and the touch of her fingers was so gentle it reminded him of a cool breeze. “You have some nasty bruises.”

  “I’ll live,” he said, lifting his head away from her.

  “Tell me something,” she said. “Are you afraid of me because my parents have a certain standard of living? Or are you afraid of me because of how you feel about me?”

  “I said I’m not afraid of you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Then you’re wrong,” he said and realized he would need to be brutal. He didn’t like it, but it was necessary.

  As the cab pulled up in front of a large house with a well-tended lawn and a Bentley in the driveway, he met her gaze without wavering. “I don’t want to bust your ego, princess, but you’re no different than ten other women I’ve rescued. You don’t do anything for me.” He gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll forget me by the new year.”

  Epilogue

  “DELIVERY FOR RICK SANTANA,” HILARY CALLED, DROPPING her backpack on the dock and stepping onto Rick’s yacht with her heart beating a mile a minute.

  “Just a minute,” Rick called from belowdecks. “I’ll be—” He broke off just as his gaze landed on her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Delivering a package,” she said, distracted by the sight of his naked chest.

  He gave her a hungry look from head to toe then narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it?”

  “Cookies,” she said, nervous, but trying not to show it. “Your supervisor gave me her recipe.”

  His jaw dropped. “How did you get in touch with my supervisor?”

  “Daddy helped. I told him everything you did and he was impressed.”

  He raked a hand through his hair and looked at her as if she were a pain in the butt. “Okay,” he said, reaching for the package. “Thanks for the cookies.”

  “And here’s your check,” she said, giving him an envelope holding the money she’d raised to pay him.

  He opened the envelope and raised his eyebrows. “Your dad?”

  She shook her head. “Sorority sisters.”

  He tapped the envelope against his palm thoughtfully
. “How’s Christine?”

  “She’s staying at my house and my parents are thrilled to have someone to fuss over.” She smiled as she remembered how both her mother and father had taken Christine under their wings at first sight. “It’s almost like I have a real sister now.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad it turned out well. I’ll enjoy the cookies.”

  Now came the hard part. “The cookies are actually for a specific purpose.”

  “For me to eat,” he said.

  “Well, yes, but you’re supposed to only eat them when you’re with me.”

  “Why?”

  Her heart felt as if it crawled into her throat. She swallowed hard. “Because it’s the new year and I didn’t forget you, and I don’t think you forgot me.” She braced herself for his denial.

  He shrugged. “So?”

  “So I think there was something special that got started between us and I think we owe it to ourselves to get to know each other in a different environment.”

  “We do?” he echoed, full of skepticism.

  He wasn’t budging, and Hilary was starting to feel self-conscious and stupid. What if this had been a huge mistake? What if she’d misread him?

  Her stomach twisted. She felt a rush of anger at herself. At him. “You know, you could notice the fact that I had to beg for your address from your supervisor and I’ve flown across the country and baked these damn cookies because I feel something for you. Something strong with lots of possibilities. Possibilities I’ve never experienced before. But if you don’t feel the same way or if you just want to be a jerk about it, then I’m not going to beg. You can have the check and the cookies, but you just remember that I packed in a backpack everything I need to exist for the next week in the Caribbean with the right guy and that guy could have been you. But you missed out.”

  She spun around to leave the yacht. Feeling like an idiot, she snatched up her backpack.

  “I don’t believe you,” Rick said.

  She was so frustrated she almost didn’t look at him, but she did. “You’re not giving me much of a chance to prove it, so—”

  “I’m talking about the backpack,” he interrupted, his hands on his lean hips. “I can’t believe a woman would be able to pack everything she needs for a week in a backpack.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. Why was he talking about her backpack? Had she misjudged his intelligence? Was he dense?

  “Why don’t you show me what’s in it?” he asked.

  She sighed but bent to unzip it.

  “No, here on the yacht,” he said and stepped forward to extend his hand.

  Feeling a trickle of hope, she accepted his hand and he helped her onboard. She tried desperately to read him.

  “You got quiet,” he said.

  “I did all the talking,” she said. “Your turn.”

  He inhaled and raked his hand through his hair. “I missed you,” he said. “I didn’t like that.”

  “I missed you, too,” she said, seeing the same powerful emotions in his eyes that she felt inside her. “What do you think we should do about it?”

  “Spend some time with each other. See if you get tired of me.” He slid one of his hands through her hair.

  “And what if I don’t get tired of you?” she asked.

  He met her gaze. “Then I’ll be the luckiest guy on the planet.”

  She slid her hands around his neck. “Prepare to get lucky.”

  He finally smiled and took her mouth in a kiss that made the world spin and somehow, she knew that this was just the beginning for her and Rick.

  BIG, BAD SANTA

  Pamela Britton

  Chapter One

  “DR. KAITLYN LOGAN?”

  Kait Logan looked up from the paperwork she’d been studying on her desk and her muttered “Yes” turned into a yelp of surprise when a huge giant of a man stomped forward and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Hey,” she cried, trying to pull away.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  But she couldn’t move. One, the man had hands the size of catcher’s mitts. Two, he blocked her path, and that was saying a lot. Six-foot-two of pure muscle, by the looks of it, all clothed in black. Black eyes. Black hair. And black . . . chaps? What was this? An early Halloween prank arranged by one of her staff?

  “Look, mister,” she found herself saying, shoving the glasses up on her nose before remembering she didn’t wear them anymore. “I don’t know who you are, but if you have an animal injured, you don’t need to order me around. I’ll come with you without the use of force.”

  “Animal?” he asked, black brows pushing together. Then he shook his head, as if trying to dislodge her silly words from his ears. “I don’t have an animal.”

  “Then what—”

  “Come with me,” he ordered again, trying to pull her up.

  “I’m calling nine-one-one.”

  He ducked down, and the hand she’d used to reach for her phone was suddenly batted away. His big fingers closed around her wrist and tugged her up.

  “Ouch!”

  “Down,” he said, shoving her to the floor.

  Boom!

  She tried to scream again, her cheeks so firmly pressed into the polyester carpet her skin stung. Glass fell around her with a wind chime–like tinkle that made her shudder as she tried to cover her head—except that her arms were pinned by the man’s body.

  What the—

  “Don’t breathe,” he said.

  Don’t breathe—

  And then she saw why.

  Smoke began to pour out of a tin-can thing. Her eyes widened, then began to water, sulfur-scented gas causing Kait to choke.

  “I told you not to breathe,” the man growled. And then he shifted off her. Kait thought he had to have cut himself on broken glass. In the next instant he lifted her off the ground; warm air from outside momentarily cleared the smoke so she could see. A man wearing a black ski mask came toward them. Her tear ducts went into overdrive and she had to close her eyes. Her rescuer, or whoever he was, must have noticed because he pressed her face against his chest, big arms wrapping around her.

  He scooped her up.

  This couldn’t be happening, Kait thought, wondering who the heck the man outside was. This couldn’t be happening.

  But it was, because in the next instant she was being carried away, and for a second . . . but, no, he wasn’t giving her a hug, he was running, fast. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but he was too darn big. Besides, the minute he got her out of her office he set her on her feet, put a big hand at the small of her back, and muttered the word “Run.”

  Kait didn’t need to be told twice. The dogs kenneled in her clinic began to howl. Even the cats screamed in protest. She darted past her operating room, past the buff-colored walls with framed pictures of dogs and kitty cats on the wall, heading for the door at the end, the framed posters rattling as she passed.

  The exit door burst open.

  The man behind her jerked her toward the OR just as something popped. Through tear-filled eyes she had a brief glimpse of something that snaked toward her, something attached to long wires, but then the OR doors swung closed, the automatic return causing them to fan back open again.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Move.”

  And by now Kait had reasoned that whatever else might be true, obviously he wasn’t a bad guy. She rolled to her knees and pushed herself up.

  The OR doors burst open. Kait heard herself scream as she wrenched open yet another door, this one leading to a long, narrow lab with microscopes and a centrifuge on the counter. Another pop. She knew enough to duck down. So did the man, both of them falling to the tile floor. He kicked the door closed. She lurched to her feet, blinking to soothe her burning eyes as she turned the lock, then twisted toward an exit door off the lab.

  “Hurry,” he barked.

  She hurried; her heart was beating so hard she couldn’t hear her feet on the hard floor, couldn�
��t hear anything other than her own breathing and the persistent sound of the question that ran through her mind.

  What the hell was going on?

  They burst outside. Sage-scented air erased the acrid stench of sulfur, but it didn’t help her eyes. They still felt as if grains of sand rubbed against them.

  “This way,” the man said, jerking her toward the narrow alley that ran between her business and the one next door. It was early evening, late November, but you wouldn’t know it, the desert air unusually warm. Garbage cans clattered when her foot accidentally brushed one. She almost fell. He-man kept her upright.

  Someone blocked their path.

  One moment bright light marked the end of the alley, the next someone in a ski mask stood there.

  Holy shi—

  “Down,” her rescuer said.

  Kait ducked right as the big man grabbed an aluminum lid.

  Pop!

  Ping-ping-ping.

  She looked up; metal prongs were sticking through the lid. But she caught only a glimpse of them because the next second Terminator man threw the lid aside, then pointed a pistol in their assailant’s direction.

  A pistol?

  Poof.

  That was all the sound it made when he pulled the trigger. Kait had seen enough movies to know that the long, skinny thing at the end was a silencer, but, really, what else would it be? This was, after all, a scene right out of a B movie.

  “Run,” the man said again.

  She ran. Right. Past. The dead man.

  Oh, Lord. He was dead. He really truly was dead. Kait almost stopped, almost started to see what she could do, her instinct to heal causing her to slow.

  “Don’t,” he ordered, jerking her by.

  No. Yes. Of course. That man had just shot something at her.

  The man had shot at her.

  She almost fell to her knees.

  He-man held her up, all but dragging her down the access road behind her office. A motorcycle sat behind the neighboring business, a chrome-and-steel monstrosity that Kait immediately identified as a Harley Davidson.