Bad Boy Christmas: Box Set

by Cheyenne McCray

  Any woman in the world would be ecstatic to have Ramón, to submit to his tender seduction, but he had shown no interest in finding love since the woman he’d cared for had died several years ago. He’d been content to grieve, to run the hotel he owned, and fill in as head chef. One of his passions was to work with the charity, Angels of Mercy.

  If it was the last thing Eduardo did, he would help his brother heal from that long-ago loss. It was time to move on.

  “I’m serious about meeting your next girlfriend,” Eduardo persisted as he dug into the best roast he had eaten in some time. “She’s perfect for you. Strong, independent, well proportioned—the right energy. Her name is Dayanara.”

  Ramón’s chiseled countenance darkened. “Then why not take her for yourself?”

  Eduardo winked. “Not my type. You know I like ’em tall and blonde. I’ve submitted an application on Daya’s behalf to Angels. When it’s approved, I want you to take her gifts in person. Only I think we need to work on loosening you up a little. This woman will want a raw, real man.”

  “Not interested,” Ramón said flatly.

  “But you have to be—” Eduardo began, cut short by a swelling of music from their living room.

  Ramón cut his eyes to the kitchen door, his jaw dropping as the telltale frosty white light spilled through their apartment. “You didn’t call her,” he murmured, sounding more desperate than angry. “I know you didn’t do that to me.”

  “Oh, but I did, brother.” Eduardo couldn’t help a wolfish grin of delight. “And even better, I made a Christmas wish.”

  * * *

  December, Christmas Eve

  Daya stood with her hands on her hips surveying her new kitchen and wondering if she should break out the bottle of tequila now. Thanks to good renter’s insurance, the kitchen had been remodeled, but she missed the coziness of her old one, before she’d burned the damn thing down.

  But what she missed most of all was her collection of cookbooks from all around the world, some worth a small fortune. Most of them had been from David, a piece of him she could never retrieve.

  All of her family was back in Puerto Rico. She had a couple of close friends, like Patty and Helen, here in New York City, who had invited her to spend Christmas Eve or day with them. Daya had told each friend thank you, but she already had plans. With David gone these past two years, she hadn’t been able to bear being with friends who still had loved ones around them, so she had her own date.

  A date with a bottle of the best tequila money could buy. Okay, the best she could afford. And that wasn’t saying much. Of course she couldn’t handle more than a couple of shots, but that was more than fine with her.

  Two days ago she’d gotten a letter from Angels of Mercy, a mysterious charity known for helping people replace the irreplaceable, saying they grieved her losses from the fire. The letter, written in a flourishing hand on heavy paper stated that the Angels would be sending a representative to speak to her, and the date for the visit was tonight. In about an hour. She still had a little time to straighten up.

  God knew why they would send a representative on Christmas Eve. But there had been no phone number listed on the paper for her to call, so she’d decided she could handle someone stopping by for a few moments.

  Daya sighed and pushed her dark hair over her shoulder so that it spilled down her back. She wasn’t much in the mood for company. The fire had taken so much energy, and dampened her Christmas spirit. At least the firefighters had been fantastic. They’d saved the rest of her apartment and the building. She’d never seen such a fast response time.

  Her mind wandered back to a time when she hadn’t been alone. Before David had died. That had been years ago, but the wounds hadn’t yet fully healed. Would they ever?

  She trailed her fingers over the new countertop as her thoughts returned to the present. Here it was, Christmas Eve, and she was alone for the evening. Again. She had even gotten dressy for the holiday, all in red, as if she might have unexpected company rather than simply an Angel representative stopping by to see her.

  God, she was losing it.

  A bottle of tequila sounded better and better.

  What would that Angels’ representative think if he showed up and found her soused? Would he be handsome, old fashioned, and cultured, but driven to take wanton advantage of a drunken fire victim?

  “Dream on, chica. Like I could get that lucky.” Daya tilted her head. She could imagine writing a letter asking for her dream man. “Dear Santa—oh, the hell with him. He’s a man, too.”

  With a snicker and a shake of her head, Daya started over, dictating her imaginary letter. “Dear Mama Claus...yeah, much better. Dear Mama Claus, Please bring me a hunk for Christmas. Preferably a hunk who can give me...I don’t know...something...more.”

  For a split-second, she let herself grow wistful and closed her eyes. She thought she heard distant music, the sound of voices—two men, arguing in a good-natured way—and then the rustle of wings in falling snow.

  Her eyes snapped open and she reflexively rubbed her temples. “I’m losing it. One little house fire, and the brain goes.”

  Daya started toward the living room when the doorbell broke the silence. She paused, double-checking her watch. No way the charity was an hour early. She headed to the front door and opened it—then froze in place, completely unable to breathe.

  The most gorgeous man stood on her doorstep. He was broad-shouldered and muscular with a trim waist and tapered hips. Despite the cold, he was wearing only a white silk shirt and perfectly pressed and creased black Italian slacks.

  The corner of the man’s mouth curved in a sexy smile and his dark brown eyes slid over her in a slow sensual perusal. She barely noticed the basket he held and the lovely gold bow tied around the sparkling wrap enclosing the basket.

  “Yes?” she said when she could find her voice. The man was so devastatingly hot that she had a hard time speaking, much less forming a sane thought.

  “I am Ramón Salvador,” he murmured in a distinctly Puerto Rican accent as he handed her the basket. “A gift for you, coqui. From Mama Claus and the Angels of Mercy.”

  Coqui. A tiny frog that sang beautifully. A symbol of Puerto Rico—when a Puerto Rican wanted to express his or her nationality, they often said “I'm as Puerto Rican as a coquí.”

  Maybe it was the sensual way Ramón called her coqui, but for some reason Daya felt compelled to take what he offered.

  Whatever that might be.

  The basket felt heavy in her arms. She was suddenly grateful she had chosen to wear a silky red dress with sheer gauzy sleeves, along with a pair of her highest, sexiest heels. She hadn’t known what had gotten into her—normally she would be wearing a sweater and jeans—but now she was glad she had dressed up.

  “You’re...um, early...” she finally managed. Cool December air curled around her and she shivered.

  “Forgive me. At first, I was hesitant, but after they showed me—well, I simply couldn’t wait any longer.” Ramón’s dark hair stirred in the chill breeze. “You need to get out of this cold. May I come in?”

  His voice was strangely compelling. Daya frowned and clutched the basket tighter to her. Let a man she didn’t even know into her home? Even if he was supposedly an Angel of Mercy, that was risky. Hell, she hadn’t even looked out her peephole—what was the matter with her?

  She stared at him, heart beating faster each second.

  Mama Claus? A gift from Mama Claus? Must be a microphone in this house.

  Well, he was the hottest thing she’d seen since her kitchen had burnt to a crisp.

  She took a step back. “I don’t know you.”

  “It is up to you, coqui.” He inclined his head. “I will only enter if you wish it.”

  Oh, what the hell. She had a new kitchen knife, and she knew how to use it.

  “All right, then, whatever. Sure.”

  Basket still held close, Daya turned away, then faced him when they reached the kitc
hen.

  “Ah, lovely,” he said, glancing around the remodeled space. “A shame you lost your original kitchen. I imagine you made it warm and traditional with things that can’t be replaced.”

  Daya shrugged as she set the gift basket down on the table. Since when did a man give a damn about a kitchen? There was definitely something different about this guy, for sure. And what he said about the kitchen and how she’d decorated it...how had he known?

  Her mouth felt dry as she stared at him, then realized he was waiting for something. Oh, yeah. The gift from the Angels. She’d almost forgotten it.

  Hands shaking, she tugged at the bow around the basket, and the wrapping fell away. Nestled in glittering gold tissue was a bag of Puerto Rican coffee beans, a bottle of the finest Puerto Rican wine, a small goldish green statue of a coqui, and a leather bound book with “Daya’s Recipes” stamped in gold.

  Now Daya’s heart really started to pound. The Angels—were they really angels, after all? For a moment, nothing existed for Daya except that book. She reached for it. It felt cool in her fingers as she brought it to her and started flipping through it. Every page was filled with her favorite recipes. Every single one that she’d lost in the fire was in beautiful script on the pages of the cookbook.

  She raised her head and looked into Ramón’s deep brown eyes. “Where did you get all these recipes?” She closed the book and held it tight against her chest like a shield.

  Ramón stepped forward so quickly she didn’t even see him move. He raised his hand and brushed his knuckles down her cheek in a way that made her shiver. His caress was as comfortable as a well-known lover’s and she didn’t feel inclined to draw away. Rather she found herself leaning into the touch.

  “Angels never reveal their sources,” he murmured. “Let us say that someone wanted to rescue more than your kitchen. He wanted to rescue your heart.”

  Rescue my heart? Daya furrowed her brow. Where had she heard that before?

  Ramón looked so very familiar now… Awareness dawned deep in Daya’s stunned brain. The firefighter—hadn’t he been Puerto Rican? This man looked uncannily like a younger version of the firefighter. What, were they brothers or something?

  “How can you rescue my heart?” she asked, slipping further into what felt like a dream.

  Ramón gave her a sensual kiss on the ear, then whispered, “I am yours for this evening, coqui. Do with me what you will, and perhaps that question will find its own answer.”

  “Do with you what I will?” Daya drew away from his touch, desperate to regain some control. She raised an eyebrow and coughed. “Damn. Well, the floors need mopping and the oven needs a good scrubbing. How does that grab you?”

  Ramón laughed. “I can do those things, yes. But, I am also a chef. What if I prepare you a gourmet meal for this wonderful Christmas Eve? Let me show you what it feels like to be spoiled.”

  Despite herself, Daya smiled. “I could have done with a clean floor but I guess that will be just fine.”

  While Ramón prepared dinner, he and Daya chatted. She found it oddly comfortable talking with this man, this Angel of Mercy she didn’t even know. He was indeed the firefighter’s brother, and he owned one of the downtown hotels and often stood in as the head chef. Two grown children, plenty of money, a head for philanthropy and business, smart, skilled in the kitchen—and he wielded a mean dishtowel, too.

  Did they make men more perfect than this?

  When he completed the incredible meal, they sat in the cozy kitchen nook, the lights dimmed and a single candle flickering upon the table. They toasted one another with the wine he had brought, and when she sipped it, she found it had a most unique and intoxicating flavor. Dinner passed by in a blur. The food was incredible and Ramón made her smile and laugh…and made her hungry for more of him.

  She knew she was playing with danger. With...fire...again. Last time, her house had nearly burned down. What would this fire do to her life?

  Still she found herself falling under a spell that he wove around her. It wasn’t something she wanted to resist. She wanted to know more and more about this man. She wanted to know everything about him.

  Every question she asked, he answered, and she could see honesty and truth in his gaze. When he asked her anything personal, she replied in kind. It was like they had no secrets from each other.

  His smile and the way his fingers would brush hers on the tabletop sent thrills through her body. She wanted him. His mind, his heart, his soul. And his body. Right now, definitely his body.

  She was a practical woman and she’d never believed in love at first sight…but with Ramón she found herself believing that anything was possible. Even falling hard for a visitor who had appeared out of the darkness of a chilly Christmas Eve.

  After they finished eating, Ramón took Daya’s hand and led her to the living room where he settled on the end of the couch and brought her close to him. His arms were strong and she felt that same compelling sensation to do as he bid. The Christmas tree lights twinkled, casting a rainbow hue across the carpet and over Ramón’s features.

  He tilted her head back and studied her eyes. “You are a most beautiful woman, coqui,” he murmured. “My brother told no lies. He said you were just right for me. And he said you would be the love of my life. He made you his Christmas wish...for me.”

  “A Christmas wish?” She thought about the wish she’d made to Mama Claus. Could there really be someone who could grant Christmas wishes?

  Daya had no more time to think of wishes and anything remotely close to magical. The only thing magical in this room right now was Ramón and the way his mouth captured hers in a slow and sensual kiss.

  Daya felt a moan escape her lips. Vaguely she was aware that she was kissing a man she really didn’t even know, but right now she didn’t care. He was hot and sexy, and damn but the man could kiss.

  His hand moved to her neck and rested on her pulse point. She could feel it throb beneath his touch. “I want to taste you, coqui,” he said softly as his lips moved to her ear. “I want to know your deepest desires, the secret wishes you hide in that part of your heart you never share.”

  Daya trembled as he cradled her in his muscular arms. Something about this man bent reality, turned it in circles until all the rules of living didn’t seem to matter. Rules. What the hell were rules good for, anyway?

  “My deepest desires.” She actually laughed as she tilted her head back while Ramón’s mouth moved slowly from her ear along her neck to the throbbing pulse beneath his finger. “You might be surprised if I told you.”

  “I may surprise you.” His voice rasped with passion.

  Her body began to burn, like it was on fire. Every place their bodies touched seemed to come alive, shivering, and sizzling. She wanted this man, needed him. She clung to his powerful biceps. She grew slightly dizzy as the man licked her neck, his tongue like molten heat against her flesh.

  He brought his mouth to hers again, his lips moving over hers in a slow and sensual kiss. Ramón raised his head and looked down at her. “You taste of the sweetest wines.”

  She moved her mouth close to Ramón’s. “Right now, I want you. Soooo many ways.” Her entire being was singing for him, her body aching with need.

  “Merry Christmas, coqui.” Ramón’s smile was possessive and feral as he stood and lifted her effortlessly.

  Daya felt like she was flying to a different world as he carried her slowly, oh, so slowly, to the Christmas tree and laid her beneath it.

  “You are my present,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. He slowly moved his lips to her cheeks, then taking his time as he made his way down her throat, one kiss after another. “The most beautiful gift a man could receive.” The sound of his voice sent shivers across her entire body as he brushed his lips along her collarbone.

  Thank you, Mama Claus, whoever you are, wherever you are...

  Daya’s world expanded as Ramón unwrapped her beneath the Christmas tree. He slid his fingers b
ehind her, raising her up just enough to slowly unzip the red dress. His knuckles grazed her spine as he drew the zipper down and goose bumps prickled her skin.

  She tried to help take the dress off, but he shook his head. “No, my sweet.” He forced her to relax against the carpet again. “You are mine to open.”

  Desire curled inside her, tighter and tighter. Her nipples hardened beneath her bra and her panties dampened. Pulse throbbing, she watched him, his dark eyes intent as he slid the material over her shoulders and removed the sleeves from each arm.

  When he revealed the red silk and lace bra, he paused to cup her breasts in his hands. Her breath caught as he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, which ached for his mouth and his tongue.

  Now that her arms were free of the sleeves, she reached for him, placing her palms on his shoulders and feeling restrained power rippling through his body, beneath his silk shirt. She ran her palms up and down his biceps that flexed under her palms.

  He dipped his head and sucked her nipple through the lace and she gasped and arched her back. He made low, hungry growls in the back of his throat as he moved his mouth to her other nipple. The sounds caused a shiver to run through her, as if he was an untamed beast and she was his prey.

  She slid her fingers into his hair, clenching the fine strands in her fingers. It all felt as if it was a dream. A wonderful, miraculous dream.

  His gaze met hers as he rose, and he kissed her again. God, his kisses were soul-searing and incredible, making her feel as if she had been transported to another world.

  He eased back down her body and began once again to peel down the bodice of her dress that was now gathered at her waist. He pressed his lips to her belly button and darted his tongue inside. Erotic sensations shot between her thighs, electrifying her even more.

  She shifted enough for him to slide her dress over her hips. He drew the material down her thighs and legs before sweeping the dress away and laying it over the arm of a nearby chair.

  He moved between her thighs, pressing them apart with his hips, and she caught her breath. His eyes were so dark, so filled with desire that it should have scared her a little. But it didn’t. Not at all. He raked his gaze over her lacy bra and panties as he trailed his fingers down her legs to the sexy high heels he hadn’t taken off.