Blitzing Emily (44 page)
Authors: Julie Brannagh
Matt Stephens was tall. The body sculpted by years of workouts was showcased in a perfectly tailored navy suit, but that didn’t tell the story. The wavy, slightly mussed blue-black hair, the square jaw, the olive skin that seemed to glow, and the flawless, white smile were exactly what Amy saw on her television screen each week during football season. Television didn’t do him justice. After all, on her TV screen he didn’t prowl. He locked eyes with her as he crossed the ballroom.
She glanced around to note she was still alone in the ballroom, and he was making a beeline toward her. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted, but she would be finding out in a few short moments.
She knew a lot about him. Matt was a former NFL star, and a good friend of her new brother-in-law’s. When Matt got tired of playing with the Dallas Cowboys (three Super Bowl rings and six visits to the Pro Bowl later) he’d played in Seattle for the last two years of his career, afterward embarking on the wide world of game analysis and product endorsements. Guys wanted to be him, and women just plain wanted him.
Well, women who were still on the playing field wanted him. She was putting herself on injured reserve. After all, once burned, twice shy, and every other cliché she’d ever heard that reminded her of salt being poured on the open wound that was her heart.
Mostly, guys that looked like Matt weren’t looking for someone like her; she was a woman more interested in being independent than being some guy’s arm candy.
Matt stopped a few feet away from Amy. The deep dimples on either side of his lips flashed as his mouth moved into an irresistible grin.
“Hello, there.”
“You’re late.” The words flew out of her mouth before she realized she’d said it aloud.
His smile cajoled. The man was completely aware there wasn’t a woman on the planet that could hope to resist him. She could, though. She would. She wasn’t going to fall for someone like him. He slipped one hand into his pants pocket.
“Oh, I’m definitely not late,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’m right on schedule.”
She let out a gasp of outrage.
His eyes slid over her from head to toe. Slowly. They made a few stops along the way, too. Amy dragged a shallow breath into her lungs. She resisted the impulse to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress, shove the hairpins back into what was most likely the wreck of her updo, and press her lips together in any attempt to salvage lipstick eaten off hours ago. Until she reminded herself that she was dealing with yet another male. Even worse, this one evidently believed the rules in life applied to everyone else but him.
“Were you actually invited to this event?” she asked.
He looked a bit wary. Even if Matt was the most gorgeous man she’d ever met, he was not getting away with this. She was busting his chops. After all, someone had to do it.
“Yes, I was invited.” He tried to look sheepish, but she wasn’t buying it. “McKenna’s going to kick my ass.”
“Why do I think it won’t be the first time that’s happened?”
Matt lifted one eyebrow, seemingly unused to any woman who didn’t collapse into a quivering mass of flesh whenever he chose to make any effort at all. She saw his mouth twitch into a smile.
“It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Maybe we should try this again.” He took a couple of steps toward her and extended one hand. “Hi. I’m Matt Stephens.”
Amy tried to surreptitiously wipe what she was sure was a sweaty palm on her dress before her hand vanished into his much larger one.
She nodded a bit and tilted her chin up, as if she were introduced to guys who made
People
’s “Sexiest Man Alive” issue every day. “Matt, huh?”
“And your name is?”
Her mouth evidently had a mind of its own. For some perverse reason, she blurted out, “I’m Fifi.”
“Fifi.” He looked a bit skeptical.
“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “My parents were . . . imaginative.”
“Is that so?” He glanced around for a brief moment, and his eyes moved back to her. “I’m a little thirsty. Are you thirsty, Fifi? Let’s have a drink.”
Amy deliberated for about half a second. Despite the fact she was fairly sure she’d just met the most arrogant man in the world, she was dying to see what he was going to do next. Broken heart or not, she was in.
And don’t miss
CATCHING CAMERON
coming Spring 2014
from Avon Impulse.
JULIE BRANNAGH has been writing since she was old enough to hold a pencil. She lives in a small town near Seattle, where she once served as a city council member and owned a yarn shop. She shares her home with a wonderful husband, two uncivilized Maine Coons, and a rambunctious chocolate Lab.
When she’s not writing, she’s reading, or armchair-quarterbacking her favorite NFL team from the comfort of the family room couch. Julie is a Golden Heart finalist and the author of four contemporary sports romances.
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ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS A COWBOY
By Emma Cane, Jennifer Ryan, and Katie Lane
By Cheryl Harper
THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE CHRONICLES: GRACE
By Lori Wilde
A
B
ACHELOR
F
IREMEN
N
OVELLA
By Jennifer Bernard
by Emma Cane, Jennifer Ryan, and Katie Lane
What’s better than Christmas?
Christmas and Cowboys.
From Emma Cane, Jennifer Ryan, and Katie Lane come three wildly romantic holiday stories featuring snowstorms, proposals, a sleigh ride . . . and, yes, cowboys.
The Christmas Cabin
by Emma Cane
Sandy and her five-year-old son, Nate, are Christmas tree–hunting when a snowstorm strikes and an old ranch hand points them to an abandoned cabin. Little does Sandy know, the hand sent cowboy Doug Thalberg to the same place. It’s a Christmas all of Valentine Valley will remember.
Can’t Wait
by Jennifer Ryan
Before The Hunted Series began . . .
Though she is the woman of his dreams, Caleb Bowden knows his best friend’s sister, Summer Turner, is off limits. He won’t cross that line, which means Summer will just have to take matters into her own hands if she wants her cowboy for Christmas.
Baby It’s Cold Outside
by Katie Lane
Alana Hale hits the internet dating jackpot when she finds Clint McCormick. He’s sensitive and responsible—not to mention wealthy. When he invites her to spend the holidays on his family’s ranch, she readily accepts. But on the way there, a blizzard strands her with a womanizing rodeo cowboy who could change everything . . .
An Excerpt from
by Cheryl Harper
A bride abandoned at the altar . . . just in time for Christmas? ’Tis the season for second chances at Cheryl Harper’s Elvis-themed Rock’n’Rolla Hotel.
T
here was something about Grace Andersen that made him want to help, even after decades of trying to guard his mother and her money against personalities and stories like hers.
He wouldn’t mind being Grace Andersen’s hero.
To avoid doing something stupid, Charlie turned to go but stopped when she added, “Oh, Charlie, could you do me a favor?”
She shuffled toward him, the rustle of the wedding dress sweeping the floor loud in the silence. “Could you unzip me? I thought I was going to dislocate a shoulder getting it zipped in the first place.” She turned and bent her head so that all Charlie could see was the smooth, pale skin of her shoulders and the loose dark hairs that tickled her neck.
When he didn’t move quickly enough, she turned her head to look at him over one perfect shoulder.
Remembering to breathe became a struggle again.
He forced himself to step closer. He grasped the zipper with one hand and slid the other under the fabric. The zipper made a quiet hiss as it slid down the curve of her back, every centimeter showing more beautiful skin.
And out of the blue he wondered if unzipping Grace Andersen would ever get old. Finished, he took two steps away to keep from smoothing his hands over her shoulders like he wanted, or tracing a finger down her spine just to see goose bumps.
She turned her head. “Thanks.”
As he pulled the door closed behind him, Charlie tried to remember the last time he’d seen anyone as pretty as she was in real life. Never. But she wasn’t his type. He preferred career women who wore glasses and looked like they could reel off stock prices or legal precedents. He liked women with sharp minds and sturdy savings. He’d had enough excitement growing up with Willodean McMinn Holloway Luttrell Jackson. Now all he wanted was a comfortable home, an easy, companionable, stable relationship, and maybe a baby to keep things interesting. Maybe.
Grace Andersen looked like . . . magic.
He propped his hands on his hips and shook his head as he looked out at the guitar-shaped pool that was covered for the season.
Magic?
He hadn’t been in the hotel for a full twenty-four hours and already his mind was going. Something about being that close to her had melted it. But Grace Andersen was just a woman. She’d been left at the altar but didn’t seem too broken up about it. He hoped her new plan, whatever it was, included checking out of the hotel immediately. Beautiful Grace Andersen might have the ability to wreck his goals along with his logic if she stayed.
An Excerpt from
by Lori Wilde
(Originally appeared in the print anthology
The Christmas Cookie Collection
)
New York Times
bestselling author Lori Wilde returns to Twilight, Texas, for another delightful holiday installment of her
Christmas Cookie Chronicles
. And this time, a young couple are thrilled to expect the greatest gift of all: a new baby!
The perfect Christmas starts with the perfect tree . . .
F
lynn MacGregor Calloway put a palm to her aching back, wrapped her other arm around her pregnant belly, canted her head, and studied the spindly-branched, lopsided Scotch pine. After much wrestling and a few choice words, she’d managed to get it set up in a corner of the living room in the cottage she shared with her husband, Jesse.
She’d wanted to surprise him, so she’d waited until after the morning wedding of Jesse’s father, Sheriff Hondo Crouch, and his bride, Patsy Cross, before she’d slipped down to the Christmas tree lot and, using Jesse’s pickup truck, drove the tree home. Jesse had volunteered to drive the newlyweds to DFW airport to catch a plane bound for a Hawaii honeymoon, so he had taken their sedan because three people and luggage fit in it better, giving Flynn plenty of time to get it done.
The glow from the icicle lights dangling on the eaves outside slanted through the window and shone through some of the more meager limbs.
Okay, so it wasn’t quite a Charlie Brown tree, but it was close and clearly not what Maven Styles, the author of
How to Host the Perfect Christmas
, had in mind when she declared that an impeccable holiday began with the perfect tree.
Then again, Maven Styles probably wasn’t on a newlywed student’s tight budget that required her to wait for Christmas Eve, when they marked down the trees. Flynn had picked this one up for five dollars, and she was proud of her bargain. Maybe not proud, but it was a real tree, not artificial, and seven feet tall. She should get points for that, right? All it needed were a few decorations to spiff it up.
She couldn’t regret cutting corners. The baby had been a surprise, a very welcome surprise to be sure, but their finances had taken an added hit because of it. Between scraping together money for her college tuition, the cost of rebuilding Jesse’s motorcycle shop after the fire, exorbitant health insurance for the self-employed, and getting ready for the baby’s arrival, they hadn’t much money left to spend on holiday celebrations. Their situation was a temporary setback, she knew that, but part of her couldn’t help feeling wistful that their last Christmas with just the two of them was going to be as sparse as that scraggly Scotch pine.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself
, she scolded.
Plenty of people have it much worse
.
By tightly pinching pennies all year and keeping an eagle eye out for sales, she’d managed to save just enough to buy Jesse a new leather jacket to replace the one he’d worn since high school. She couldn’t wait to give it to him on Christmas morning. For now, it was wrapped and stowed in the trunk of their car. He’d had so little growing up that she ached to give him everything his heart desired. Which was why she’d checked
How to Host the Perfect Christmas
out of the library, hoping she could pick up a few pointers.
A cardboard box filled with decorations from her childhood sat on the floor. Flynn peeled back the tape and opened the flaps. Her mother had had the habit of either buying or making one special ornament to commemorate each Christmas.
As she removed them from the box, each decoration stirred a memory—the candy canes made out of bread dough and shellacked (crumbling a bit now with age) that she and her younger sister, Carrie, had helped their mother bake in 1992. The twin wooden toy soldiers her mother’s best friend, Marva Bullock, had given her after the twins, Noah and Joel, were born; and the last ornament her mother had ever purchased, a delicate red glass ball inset with a tiny nativity scene.
Air stilled in her lungs. Although her family hadn’t known it at the time, the red glass ball represented the last perfect Christmas before her mother had been diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.
Tears misted her eyes.
Oh, Mama. You’ll never know your grandchildren.
With a knuckle, she wiped away the tears. Should she put the ornament on the tree? It would stir painful memories every time she looked at it. And yet the ornament was a shining reminder of that one perfect Christmas when her family was last together and whole.