Red Hot Holiday Bundle(3)

Especially a man she didn’t even know.



RANDY HAD NEVER intended to stay at the office so long. Yes, he’d been working late every night for several weeks. But he’d determined tonight would be the night of change. The night to take back his life.

The night to get home, pour a drink and head out onto the balcony to wait. To see if she’d show as she had yesterday, if they’d make that same connection. The one that had nearly forced him to his knees.

She didn’t make an appearance every night, but lately, the heat and the Christmas tree in the courtyard below drove her outside more often.

The fan hanging over her balcony stirred the heavy air. He knew that because his fan did the same.

The lights on the tree he only noticed because of the way she watched them, the way they sparkled like colored gems in her white-blond hair, the way they brought a smile to her mouth—one he didn’t think he’d ever seen reach her eyes.

It didn’t seem to be sadness that kept it away, but focus. As if she didn’t have time in her schedule for distractions of any sort. And that intrigued him because it reminded him so much of himself.

He’d heard gossip about her air conditioner being on the fritz. It sucked for her sake, but he definitely liked the way she looked all hot and messed up. She was the type of woman who made him think about sex that went a lot farther than sharing a nice dinner and then getting off.

Looking the way she’d looked last night had him weighing the pros and cons of having her at her place or his. His with cool sheets and pebbled gooseflesh. Hers with nothing but hot skin on skin. The answer required no obvious thought. All he needed was a way in.

His own town house had been gutted by the previous owner and now consisted of a downstairs great room and an upstairs loft. He made his way to the kitchen area’s island counter, dropping off the mail he’d picked up from the floor by the front door’s drop slot before grabbing a cold beer from the fridge.

He then reached for the room’s main remote control panel, hit the button for the corner lamp and the one for the big-screen TV, flipping to ESPN before glancing at the stack of mail.

Longneck bottle halfway to his mouth, he stopped, his attention snagged by a red envelope, no stamp, no address. The size of a small card or invitation. He picked it up, turned it over. The flap was unglued.

Curiosity got the better of him. He set his beer on the black marble countertop, pulled the card from the sleeve and read.

It may look a lot like Christmas, but it feels like the Fourth of July. I have fans. I have ice. Wanna share? I’ll leave the door open. Say 10:00 p.m.? And, by the way, I prefer no strings. And no questions.



Blood running hot beneath the surface of his skin, he read it for a second time, then a third, then had the presence of mind to glance at his watch.

Eight-thirty. He had time to shower, shave, change clothes and decide on a bottle of wine. No strings and no questions. Wondering what her reasons were for the conditions, he decided he’d give her that for now.

But only for now.



CLAIRE STOOD on her balcony watching the lights twinkle on the Christmas tree in the courtyard below.

The last time she’d looked at the clock in her bedroom, it had been nine-thirty-five.

She’d thought about slowly counting to sixty over and over for twenty-five minutes, but changed her mind when she tripped herself up first time out.

Will he or won’t he?

He wants me; he wants me not.

She’d written the card while still parked in the lot of the gift shop, having shopped on her way home from work. The plan was to slip the invitation into his mail slot before she second-guessed herself.

What she should have done was write out the cards for her girlfriends first and imagine their responses to her scheme that was so wildly out of character. Claire the safe one, the practical one, the boring, predictable one.

Instead, she’d let herself be swayed by a gorgeous man in gorgeous trappings, knowing full well she was buying into the myth of beauty being more than skin deep. Sure, it could happen. But really, what were the odds?

In her experience, very slim. The men she’d known who were yummy enough to eat knew it—and weren’t the least bit shy about strutting their studly stuff. Totally unattractive. Horribly gauche. Hardly traits about which to write home.

Traits that reminded her exactly why she needed to close her eyes and open her mind, to find a man who made her think and laugh and wonder how she’d lived without him in her life.

And she was still pondering all that strutting and how it always ended up going nowhere and was so unappealing and made the whole dating process such a huge waste of time, when she heard the opening and closing of her front door.