It's going to take a lot of mistletoe…
Guthrie MacNeill, financial advisor for his clan and werewolf pack, is at his wit's end when the pack leader's mate hires a gorgeous party planner to bring holiday cheer to the castle. Guthrie's wildly attracted to Calla, except he can't reconcile the fact that his job is to save the clan's money, and hers seems to be to spend it.
To warm this Highlander's heart
Calla Stewart has never had a more difficult client. The laird and lady of the castle are delightful, but the handsome Highlander holding the purse strings is quite impossible. Since she specializes in holiday magic, Calla hopes she can make the scrooge-like wolf lighten up. Then Guthrie takes on the role of Highland warrior to protect her from an unexpected threat, and the holidays take a turn for the passionate.
Women shrieked and shouted, but Calla was on the other side of the tree where she couldn’t see the commotion. But then she saw the twelve-foot tree toppling over—right toward her.
Before Calla could get out of the way, something hit her hard from the side and slammed her against the floor. Just before the tree landed on top of them. He was on top of her, smelling like the great outdoors, fir tree, and musky, sexy male wolf. Guthrie.
“Sorry,” he mumbled against her ear, branches framing his head and touching the floor on either side of her. “I meant to rescue you.”
She smiled. “From … the tree?”
He smiled back. “That was the idea.”
Guthrie lifted his head, smiling at her with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. Despite all the commotion, and to Calla’s surprise, Guthrie kissed her. His lips were warm and masculine and tasted like wassail. Cinnamon, apple cider, and oranges. She licked his mouth to enjoy more of the taste and he licked her back, smiling. Then he deepened the kiss.
Oh my God! She hadn’t felt this naughty in forever! The men were going to move the tree soon, and here she and Guthrie would be. Kissing. In front of several members of his pack.
After two tours in Afghanistan, retired Army sniper Finn O'Donnell believes his new ranch outside the sleepy little town of Burnt Boot, Texas, is the perfect place for an undisturbed holiday season. But before he can settle in, an old friend shows up looking for protection and a place where nobody knows her name.
But that's going to take a miracle...
Callie Brewster must relocate to protect her young nephew, Martin, and the only person she trusts is her old Army friend, Finn. Burnt Boot seems like the perfect place to be anonymous, but it turns out a small town with big drama is no place to hide...
Callie was standing in front of the window, staring out like a bird in a cage. He crossed the room in long strides, scooped her up, and sat down in the rocking chair with her.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“I know. So am I.”
“This is too perfect, Finn. There’s a grenade somewhere and the pin is pulled. It’s just a matter of time until it all goes boom. I figured if I left now, it would be with good memories and not horrible ones. But I don’t want to leave. Just thinking of walking away from you breaks my heart.”
He tangled his fingers in her hair and held her head against his chest. “I’ll help you work through the fear if you’ll do the same for me.”
She drew her head back, her aqua-colored eyes swimming in tears. “Don’t bullshit me, O’Donnell. You’d face off with the devil.”
He let go of her hair and bent just enough that their lips touched in a salty kiss. Her arms sent desire shooting through his body when they laced around his neck. The kiss deepened into more as she opened her mouth and let his tongue inside to make love to her mouth.
“Darlin’, never doubt that my fears are every bit as big as yours, with commitment topping the list in big bold letters. Don’t run away, Callie. I need you to stay,” he whispered softly.
Lady Joan Flynn needs a husband—any husband—if she’s not to find scandal and mischief under her Christmas tree; Scottish wool magnate Dante “Hard-hearted” Hartwell needs an aristocratic wife to gain access to the financing that will keep his wool mills secure. Can holiday magic spin an expedient match into true love, and wary differences into trust?
Dante and Joan’s wedding night has begun with a discussion of holiday gift-giving, though neither bride nor groom can stay focused on that topic for very long…
Joan stretched out her chilly foot, and encountered Dante’s calf. His bare, warm, hairy calf, because her husband slept without the benefit—or hindrance—of clothing.
He moved onto his side, facing Joan. “What shall I get you for Christmas, Mrs. Hartwell?”
“You’ve given me your very name. That’s gift enough.” Also his trust, his respect, his kisses…so many treasures.
He rolled to his back, suggesting Joan had provided the wrong answer.
“I don’t want your gratitude, madam. Loyalty, fidelity, and a good-faith effort to make something of this marriage will be a fine bargain on both of our parts. The marriage is as much opportunity for me as it is convenient for you.”
Joan did not want a fine bargain, but she did want the warmth her husband’s body gave off. She yielded to the craving and snuggled right up to his side. His arms came around her, as if they’d spent many nights visiting their way to shared sleep.
“I kept my nightgown on.”
“I know, lass. I’ll forgive you that modesty if you kiss me.”
She kissed him, and the contour of his lips told her he was smiling. “You should kiss me too, sir. My feet are cold.”
“You need your new husband to warm them up?”
Joan needed her new husband in so many ways. “Shall I take off my nightgown?” She didn’t want to, but Dante was naked, and the intimacies she’d tried hard not to dwell on were commencing.
“You feel safer with it on,” he said, shifting to blanket her with his body. “I’ll try not to tear it.”
Gracious. “I can stitch it back together if you do.”
He nuzzled her ear, sending a shivery feeling down Joan’s spine. “Kiss me some more, Mrs. Hartwell.”