Save Me, Santa: 5 Holiday Stories of Romance & Suspense

by Nina Bruhns

  Emily was not a woman who fit into that picture.

  But he understood all about dreams. Who was he to judge hers?

  He pulled out his cell phone. “What’s the name of the agency?”

  She looked alarmed, but he reassured her and got the name, then called the person who was supposed to interview her.

  “This is NYPD Detective Palladin out of the 10th Precinct. I have a Ms. Emily Milan with me. She witnessed an incident earlier and has been delayed, so she missed her appointment with you. She wanted to let you know she’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve finished with her here.”

  He made nice, then hung up. “There. That should fix things.”

  Emily’s mouth had dropped open. “Wow. That was really nice of you. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just kick ass at that interview. You can tell him from me, if he doesn’t give you the job I’ll call in all his outstanding parking tickets.”

  It was a safe bet. Everyone in New York City had outstanding parking tickets. Especially big shot ad agency types. Not that he was profiling, or anything.

  They approached a typical Chelsea midrise building, and she stopped in front of the entry. “This is me,” she said, extracted her arm from his, and held out her hand. “Thanks again, Nick. I really appreciate all your help.”

  He took her hand in both of his, noticing how soft her skin was. High maintenance. “Be sure and call me with that cleaning bill. I mean it.”

  She nodded. “I will.” But he got the distinct feeling she had no intention of calling.

  Ah, well. Just as well. Emily Milan was a complication he didn’t need right now. Besides, in a few days she’d be gone from the city. Why start something that could never go anywhere, anyway?

  #

  Nick spent the afternoon the same way he’d spent the morning—ringing a bell on the street—and when Frank Kraznov’s veterinarian practice closed for the night, Nick folded up his donation stand and whistled for Zenon to follow, heading the few blocks to the precinct. After a quick shower in the locker room, and turning in his Santa suit and donations, he downloaded the photos from his tiny GoPro camera and spent a couple of hours on Photoshop enlarging the images, then running them through the department’s facial recognition software.

  He wasn’t particularly surprised when nothing hit. Honestly, it would be nothing short of a miracle if the person that connected Kraznov to the human trafficking ring just happened to show up on one of the few days Nick was able to do surveillance. Especially since the bastard had noticed him and had no doubt warned all his scuzzbucket compatriots to keep a wide berth. But Nick was disheartened.

  Not that it would stop him from repeating the process tomorrow. He simply didn’t know what else to do. No one believed him about the connection for a very good reason—there wasn’t any tangible evidence to support his theory. Just a dead certainty in his gut based on the dying confession of a junkie prostitute… but mostly on pure instinct.

  With a sigh, he slashed a hand through his hair and leaned back in his squeaky metal chair. Once again, a slim feminine wallet sitting on the edge of his desk drew his attention like a siren song. It had been distracting him for most of the day, first burning a hole in his pocket as he rang his bell for donations, then flirting with him from the side of his desk blotter.

  Emily’s wallet.

  One of the onlookers had found it on the street after the dog incident, and returned it to him since he was a cop and had been part of the ruckus with the dogs.

  He’d been debating with himself ever since. Should he return it in person? Or send it back to her via messenger…

  The problem was, he only knew the building she was staying in, not the exact apartment. Like an idiot he hadn’t asked for her phone number. He’d been hoping she’d call about the dry cleaning bill so he could remedy that. But she hadn’t.

  Should he, or shouldn’t he… His head was telling him one thing, his body definitely the other.

  He checked the wall clock. Eight-thirty pm. Still within the acceptable range for a social call. Just barely.

  Though this wasn’t a social call. It would be strictly business. To return her wallet and reimburse her for the cleaning.

  Sure it was.

  What the hell. You only live once, right?

  He shut down his computer, put on his jacket, and called Zenon out from under his desk where he’d been dozing. “Come on, boy. Let’s go see your girlfriend.”

  Zenon gave an excited whole-body wiggle, as though he understood perfectly. Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re not helping, you know?”

  On the way over, he swung by The Dish on Eighth and ordered takeout—rigatone and linguine, a couple of salads, and a bottle of wine. He was a regular customer, so they threw in a couple of nice steak bones for the dogs.

  Someone was just coming out of her building as he walked up, so he slipped in before the door shut completely. One hurdle down.

  “All right, boy, do your thing,” he told Zenon. “Find Pogo. Find!”

  At first the airehead looked confused. At Nick’s repeated command, he sniffed the air, then the floor, and his ears perked right up. Bingo.

  “Good boy. Find Pogo!”

  The Airedale bounded up three flights, and stopped in front of apartment 4C, pawing the bottom of the door and whining.

  Nick praised him some more, scratched his ears, and gave him a biscuit. “Good job, buddy.”

  Last chance to turn around and bail.

  Hell, no.

  Nick straightened, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

  Chapter 4

  Emily glanced up from her book in surprise, thinking she must be imagining things. Who could be knocking at this hour?

  Pogo bounced up from where she’d been curled by the toasty fire, and was yapping excitedly at the door. No mistake, then. Someone was there. Must be one of Cindy’s friends or neighbors who didn’t know she was out of town for the holidays.

  Emily set aside the book and padded to the door. She wasn’t too worried, there were three separate deadbolt locks and one of those slidey hotel latches, and all four were securely fastened.

  She shushed Pogo, and called, “Who’s there?”

  A deep bark answered, followed by some masculine muttering, and then, “Hi Emily. It’s me, Nick.”

  She froze, her eyes going big. “Oh!” Oh, damn.

  Her gaze shot down to her clothing—or rather, her lack thereof—and instantly she felt her face flame.

  After her suit was ruined, she’d swallowed her guilty feelings and looked through Cindy’s closet for something she might borrow for her rescheduled interview, despite the fact that her friend was a size smaller than Emily was. She hadn’t found a suit, but she had found a killer Christmas babydoll nightie and matching panties hanging in the closet with the tags still on. Cindy must have forgotten to pack them for her trip.

  After her disastrous day, Emily had decided they were just the thing to lift her Christmas spirits. She’d reimburse Cindy later, once she’d gotten a job. So after her shower, she’d slipped on the luxurious lingerie, lit a roaring fire so she wouldn’t freeze, and poured herself a glass of wine… which had turned into two glasses as the evening progressed.

  It had worked. She was definitely feeling much more cheerful.

  And now, just a little mortified.

  “Emily?”

  “Oh! Yes. Hi, Nick. I just—If you’ll—”

  She glanced down at herself again.

  Ho-boy.

  Then she remembered how unbelievably sexy the detective was, and how attracted she’d been to him this morning. Lord, she’d fought with herself all afternoon about phoning him. She’d wanted to—Oh! How she’d wanted to!—but had forced herself not to dial his number. He was a cop, a detective, a steady kind of guy who’d want a stable, unadventurous kind of relationship to balance his dangerous, unpredictable job. Which was exactly the opposite of what Emily was looking for. She’d
had enough of humdrum and boring in her small town upstate. She wanted some excitement in her uneventful life. Moving to Manhattan was the gateway to that change.

  Well, a little voice in her head tempted, wasn’t the man on the other side of the door about as exciting as a mortal man could get?

  Nick Palladin was handsome, heroic, funny, thoughtful… and, being a cop, safe. Not to mention sexy enough to curl any woman’s toes.

  So, here was her chance. A perfect opportunity to do something totally crazy and exciting. With a ridiculously attractive man.

  All she had to do was open that door. Her outfit would surely do the rest.

  Okay, then.

  Before she could change her mind, she twisted the three deadbolts, unhooked the hotel latch, and threw the door wide open.

  She cocked her head and gave him a seductive smile. “Hullo, Detective.”

  * * *

  Nick didn’t even notice when Zenon pulled his leash free and bounded into Emily’s apartment, chasing Pogo down the hall.

  He was frozen to the spot, unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to draw breath.

  “I, uh…”

  His eyes were glued to the sight of Emily’s lush body, dressed—and he used the term loosely—in the most teasingly adorable nightie he’d ever seen in his life. Bright scarlet in color and trimmed with white silky fluff, it was mouthwateringly short, dangerously low cut, and not quite transparent but filmy thin. Embroidered across the front of her barely-there panties were the words “Santa’s Baby.”

  “I’m…” Speechless.

  His jeans were suddenly way too tight.

  “Jeezus, Emily. You look—” He swallowed, trying desperately to get hold of himself. “I, uh, trust I’m not, uh, interrupting. Are you alone?”

  Her smile broadened. “Not any more. Please, come in.”

  He stepped into the apartment and lifted the bags and bottle he was carrying. “Hope you haven’t eaten. I, um, brought dinner.”

  Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned her back against the door and said in husky tones, “Excellent. I brought dessert.”

  Surprise shimmered through him. It was like a Christmas fantasy come true. Could he possibly get so lucky?

  Anticipation curled through his veins. But he wasn’t about to take any chances on misinterpretation. He took a step toward her. “You promised to call me.” But she hadn’t. Making her actions now all the more puzzling.

  One bare shoulder lifted impishly. “I decided you were all wrong for me.”

  He smiled at that. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Her cheeks dimpled. “And yet, here you are. Must be Fate.”

  He nodded. “Must be. Because there you are. In that amazing outfit.” Her plump breasts were barely covered, the hard beads of her nipples clearly visible below the filmy fabric. He was already salivating. “Or maybe you were expecting company?”

  She shook her head, letting her gaze drift appreciatively over his T-shirt, lingering on his jeans. “No. Hoping, maybe…”

  He was still clutching the takeout bags and the bottle of wine. He didn’t dare put them down. Not yet. Or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

  He took another step toward her, bringing him within touching distance. But he didn’t allow himself to reach out, or lean forward. He just parted his lips and breathed in, filling his senses with the womanly scent of her, feeling the sensual warmth radiating from her body. He could hear the short, staccato intake of her breaths, and saw the pulse stutter at the base of her throat. A few strands of her hair fluttered in his slow exhale.

  “I think we should eat,” he murmured, though there was nothing he’d ever wanted more than to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, then bury himself deep inside her. “Before it gets cold.”

  She moved a little, lifting her face, brushing her lips lightly over his. He felt them open a fraction, and the very tip of her tongue slid between the seam of his. He touched it with the blunt end of his tongue, gathering a swift taste of her before she withdrew. Wine and woman.

  It was one of the most erotic gestures he’d ever experienced.

  “What did you bring?” she asked, looking up at him with eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. Not green, not blue, but somewhere in-between.

  He nearly answered “A wallet full of condoms,” but caught himself just in time. Which reminded him. “I have your wallet. Someone found it on the street while we were chasing the dogs.” Which in turn reminded him of what they’d been doing. Like he needed another visual. “Don’t let me forget to give it to you.”

  “Maybe I will,” she said softly, “so you’ll have an excuse to come back again.”

  “I’m hoping I won’t need an excuse,” he said, wanting to kiss her so badly his throat ached.

  She smiled and ducked past him, relieving him of the two takeout bags as she went. “This smells wonderful. There’s already a bottle of wine open. I’ll get you a glass and some plates. Make yourself comfortable.”

  He doubted that was possible, considering the tightness of his chest… and his jeans.

  Just then Zenon and Pogo galloped up, and he managed to halt the pair long enough to take off Zenon’s leash and give them the steak bones before they bounded away again.

  “Will they be okay?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Emily slanted him a sexy look. “She’s probably just showing him the bedroom.”

  He returned a lazy smile and accepted the glass of wine she offered. “Keep this up, little girl, and you’ll end up on Santa’s Extra-Naughty list.”

  She touched her glass to his. “That a promise, Santa?”

  It was no use. He couldn’t wait another second. He threaded his fingers through her hair and tugged her toward him. “Oh, yeah,” he murmured. “You can take that to the North Pole.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Chapter 5

  Emily woke the next morning with Nick’s warm, solid body curved against her back. She felt incredible—her mind was content, her flesh blissfully sated, and any doubts about her out-of-character choices last night gone forever. Nick was a wonderful lover and an even better man. She’d never felt so cherished in all her life.

  And he was anything but boring. Big and strong, and all male. Just the presence of his badge and pistol on the nightstand gave her an unbidden thrill. If this was a taste of what it would be like with Nick in her life, well, maybe she’d been wrong about not wanting him in it.

  Of course, who knew if he wanted her in his…

  “Morning, sweetheart.”

  Just the sound of his deep, sleep-roughened greeting sent streaks of arousal singing though her body. His arms tightened around her and she nestled back against him.

  “Hi yourself. Sleep well?”

  “Like a Yule log. You?”

  She gave a happy sigh. “Never better.” She turned in his arms, and put hers around his neck. “Last night was—”

  “Never better,” he completed with a kiss.

  “Mmmm,” she agreed.

  Several minutes later they were interrupted by a high-pitched canine yip and a loud bark.

  Nick groaned, breaking their leisurely kiss. “Sounds like someone wants to go out.”

  She puffed out a resigned breath. “Have I mentioned how much I hate dogs?”

  “Really?” His brows went up and she realized he thought she was serious.

  “No! I love dogs. Usually. But they can be a royal pain sometimes,” she said dryly.

  He seemed relieved and gave her another kiss. Which was interrupted by a big, wet nose that poked between them, accompanied by a low growf. “Hey!”

  They looked at each other and started to laugh.

  Zenon put his paws on the bed and gave an annoyed bark.

  “Oh, all right,” Nick grumbled, released her, and sat up, stabbing his fingers through his attractively disheveled hair. “Go get Pogo while I put on my pants and find the leashes.”

  Emily was too busy admiring the view
to notice that Zenon continued to whine and growf, until Nick frowned and said, “Jeez, what’s the matter, boy? Where’s Pogo?”

  The big terrier barked.

  Emily frowned, too, and scanned the room for the smaller white dog. “Pogo?” It wasn’t like her not to be right in the middle of things. “Pogo, come!”

  No Pogo.

  “What on earth…”

  She lifted her robe off the bed post, but Nick had already hopped into his pants, grabbed his gun and badge, and exited the bedroom before she could even slide it on. She could hear him calling Pogo amidst Zenon’s excited barking.

  Then she heard him swear roundly.

  She ran out into the living room. “What is it?”

  He was examining locks on the open door, his expression stormy. “I should be shot, that’s what.”

  “Nick?”

  He looked up, his face a portrait of self-recrimination. “We forgot to lock the door last night. I’m so sorry, baby. Pogo’s gone.”

  * * *

  Emily stared at Nick in disbelief. “What do you mean she’s gone? I don’t understand.”

  She glanced around, thinking it had to be a joke. Some kind of weird cop humor that wasn’t remotely funny.

  But sure enough, her little charge was nowhere to be seen. Zenon was visibly agitated, as though just as upset by his friend’s disappearance as Emily was.

  Nick rose from his inspection of the door and stood with his hands fisted on his hips, scowling at the locks. “Was she valuable?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Emily tried to recall what Cindy had told her about Pogo. “Cindy got her from a friend whose mom got sick and couldn’t take care of her any more. Nothing special, as far as I know. I’m not even sure she’s a purebred.”