The Night Before Christmas

FBI Agents- Completed Series

First Published 2005-10-01 in Trade Paperback

Reissued 2006-10-01 in Mass Market Paperback

Publisher: Kensington

All good girls get the very good Christmas they deserve in this anthology of six sexy holiday stories from Lori Foster, Erin McCathy, Jill Shalvis, Kathy Love, Katherine Garbera, and Kylie Adams. Take for example, Lily Donaldson in Lori Foster’s “White Knight Christmas.” She has been waiting for her neighbor, Detective Parker Ross, to notice her, but all he notices is that she doesn’t keep regular hours, has strange men hanging around at odd hours, and seems to enjoy the holidays. It’s going to take more than a little holiday magic to turn him around. An equally stubborn man is Justin Fairbanks in Erin McCarthy’s “Snowed Under.” To him, young Claire Robbins has always been firmly off limits — she’s his best friend’s sister and nine years younger. But a Zamboni shot of Chicago sleet and slush set in motion an unusual holiday opportunity for Justin and Claire to reconsider. In all six stories, you can count on this: There’s someone tall and good-looking under the Christmas tree.

By the time Claire got herself into her brother’s apartment- after four tries shoving the key in the lock with numb, beet red fingers, she was shaking and thinking only of warm, soft things. Bunnies. Teddy bears. Fleece. Warm, Caribbean sand.

Her hair was crystallized. It was possible her earlobes had dropped onto Michigan Avenue, because she couldn’t feel them. Her scarf was like a bag of frozen vegetables, crunchy and stiff. Her teeth were chattering and her feet had turned a sickly eggplant color.

Frozen body and numb brain cells might account for the fact that she didn’t scream when she stepped into the apartment and saw a man sitting on the couch, watching TV.

“D-d-d-derek?” she stuttered, even as logic slowly told her that wasn’t her brother. This was a light brown head of hair and her brother was darker.

Which meant this was a stranger and she was going to die a human Frosty because somehow she couldn’t seem to make her brain command her frozen feet to turn and run.

The head turned and she decided it was worse than death. It was her brother’s former co-worker, and her youthful crush, Justin Fairbanks. Staring at her with wide eyes.

Jumping up he said, “Claire? Is that you? What the hell happened? You look like you got run over by the Zamboni at the ice rink.”

Oh, God, just take her out back and shoot her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, deciding that she was lying to herself. Justin was her youthful crush and her twenty-five year old crush. He was gorgeous, her every fantasy sprung to life, with a rangy lean frame, well-defined muscles, and a crooked little smile that just screamed sex. Well, that’s what it screamed to her anyway.

Of course, he had always treated her like an annoying little sister. But now that she was no longer eighteen, maybe, just maybe, he might see her as the adult that she was. Or more likely, he would forever see her as the blonde teenage cheerleader she had been.

“Did you fall down in a snowdrift?” Justin asked in disbelief as he walked towards her.

Oh, yeah. He still had her in the not-so-bright-blonde category.

“No!” She had an MBA, a position in marketing at an advertising agency, her own apartment, and expensive shoes. Yet all he saw was a child.

Maybe this was her chance to show Justin once and for all that she was definitely a woman, and then some. This could be a golden opportunity. To see if her fantasies about Justin and his penis size had any merit.

To have some rocking Christmas sex.

Time to take lemons and make some lemonade.

Frozen lemonade. But hopefully lemonade nonetheless.

“S-s-s-snowplow,” she said.

Now if she could just stop her teeth from chattering, the attempted seduction of Justin could begin.

Justin came around the couch, more than a little startled to see Derek’s little sister looking like she’d been dipped in water, then strung upside down in a meat locker. Her hair was a solid three inches straight up in the air.

“The snowplow did this? Jesus.” Reaching out he peeled off her scarf, wincing when it made a sound like duct tape coming off the roll.

Normally he wouldn’t have come within three feet of Claire, and touching her would have been out of the question, given that she inspired thoughts in him that could only be considered perverted. She was ten years younger than him, and just a kid.

Well, not so much a kid anymore, he had to admit, as removing the scarf revealed some killer cleavage. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look up. Into her eyes. Away from her hot, round, beckoning…

Damn. So Claire wasn’t a teenager anymore- big friggin’ deal. She was still off-limits, and he’d rather bump a beehive wearing nothing but honey than have to endure the temptation of her half-dressed, but she was in pretty bad shape at the moment.

She needed to get out of her wet clothes, pronto, and to help her like a decent person should, he needed to suppress his lust. His very large, growing, lust.

“Let me get your bags.” He took them and set them on the floor. Unzipped her coat. Jerked it off of her by the sleeves, careful not to touch anything but the wool. Certainly not any of what was under it. Like her skin. Or her breasts.

He was a sick human being. Just absolutely nasty. It had been bad enough that he’d felt a disturbing attraction to Claire when he’d first met her six years ago, but then, he’d dismissed it as lack of sex. FBI training had cut into his social life and he hadn’t been getting any.

But there was no excuse for this. He’d had sex just the week before.

Claire just stood there, arms still hovering out away from her body. “Why are you here?” she asked again.

“Oh, uh, Derek knows I’m here. I’m in town visiting my parents but I didn’t want to stay at their house, if you know what I mean. Just a little too crowded with all my nieces and nephews, so Derek offered me his apartment for a few days since he’s out of town.”

“How fortuitous,” she said.

Forta-what? He could barely see straight, let alone process words with more than one syllable. Justin took her hands between his and rubbed gently to warm them up. They were so small, so cold. He looked her over and saw pink cheeks, watery eyes, and soaking wet jeans from the mid-thigh down. He was surely going to regret saying this, but…

“You should take a warm shower. Not hot, or your skin will itch from the temperature change, but warm.”

“Okay.” She winced as she stood, her movements awkward. “But I seriously don’t think I can get these wet jeans off.” Heading toward the bathroom, she lifted her hand and wiggled it. “I can’t feel my fingers. Can you help me take my pants off?”

She did not just say that.

“Uh… sure.”

He did not just say that.