One Winter's Night. Lori Borrill
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“Dance with me,” Kit whispered
Only then did Monica hear from the stage “Blue Christmas”—a slow smoky version meant for snuggling close. She opened her mouth to say no, but her lips wouldn’t form the word. Her body was too busy screaming yes. And in the wake of her indecision, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
He held her gently at her waist, heat resonating from his palms and tingling down to her toes. He kept at a respectable distance, giving the appearance of a polite dance between associates. But there was nothing polite about the hunger in his gaze or the way it made her feel. That was Grade-A carnal, and as they rocked to the music, a giddy dizziness came over her.
“Spend the night with me,” he uttered quietly. “Come with me tonight and let me wake up with you in the morning.”
Immediately, desire waged war with her reason. This was wrong in so many ways. The man was a client, and though there was no corporate policy against dating one, it broke every personal rule she had.
“I’ve got a number of things we didn’t get to Monday night.” Then he bent close and murmured a sampling, making her change her no to a big fat yes.
Dear Reader,
It was nearly three years ago when I read the very first Harlequin Blaze Encounters, Leslie Kelly’s One Wild Wedding Night (a great story and highly recommended by this author!). My first impression was what a fun concept it was—several short stories all intersecting during one special evening. My very next thought was that an office Christmas party would be another ideal setting for such a concept.
Fortunately, my editors agreed.
I’ve worked in an office for almost thirty years now and have been to more corporate functions than I can count. So this was especially fun for me to spend some time imagining what might have been going on under our noses while we were busy grazing the buffet tables.
I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please drop me a note and tell me what you think of it at www.LoriBorrill.com.
Happy reading!
Lori Borrill
One Winter’s Night
Lori Borrill
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An Oregon native, Lori Borrill moved to the Bay Area just out of high school and has been a transplanted Californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where she’s been employed for more than twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the baseball field, playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.LoriBorrill.com.
Contents
Prologue
Here Comes Santa Claus
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Sleigh Ride
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
You’re All I Want for Christmas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Merry Christmas, Baby
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Epilogue
Prologue
“THERE’S EXCITEMENT in the air. Can you feel it?”
Jeannie Carmichael grinned as she surveyed the ballroom she’d spent all day transforming from a sterile beige shell into a festive holiday wonderland.
And she’d done a spectacular job of it, if she didn’t mind saying.
“I mean, I know it’s just an office Christmas party, but—” she shrugged and took a quick sip of her orange soda “—I don’t know. The night feels electric somehow.”
Her coworker Troy Hutchins followed her gaze across the large room as he swallowed down the last of a sweet-and-sour meatball. “Sure. I know what you mean,” he said, though Jeannie suspected he was only humoring her. Troy tended to be agreeable that way.
In truth, she was probably just suffering from a giddy combination of nerves and anticipation. She’d spent weeks arranging this party single-handedly and on a budget slashed in half from the year before. She’d had to get creative with the food and decorations in order to afford the two things everyone insisted were vital: an open bar and entertainment. When Stryker & Associates cut staff in Operations this year, the task of organizing the annual party fell on Jeannie’s plate—as most jobs with no logical home did. Being her first time at it, she’d wanted to make a good impression, and with the purse strings tightened, she’d feared the drop in amenities would end up reflecting poorly on her.
It had been tough to pull off, but so far so good. As she tapped her foot to a perky version of “Here Comes Santa Claus,” she noted that people were laughing and gobbling the food. From the portable stage, Gordy Goodnite, the disc jockey she’d rented, spun plenty of Christmas swing while trying to coax couples onto the dance floor. And Jeannie was certain after another round of drinks, plenty of them would oblige. For the time being, only Hank Ascona shuffled at the edge of the stage while chatting with some of his fellow brokers.
She eyed two people from Accounting pointing to the glittery snowflakes Jeannie had hung from the ceiling. It had been a good idea to dim the lights over the dance floor. It seemed to make them sparkle more, almost as if they were giving off a glimmer all their own.
As she sat at a table and scanned the room, it looked as though everyone was having a good time. Dinner conversations were focused on Leonora’s homemade lumpia and the steamed pork buns from Alan Chan’s family bakery, two treats that took the edge off the fact that the food was potluck this year in lieu of the usual caterer. Jeannie had fretted over it all for weeks, and now felt rather silly for losing so much sleep.
This whole night was going off without a hitch, a fact that tickled her pink. And…well…something really was in the air tonight, adding a special sizzle that mixed with the beat and mingled with the crowd.
“Where’d you get the Santa Claus?” Troy asked.
She glanced back toward the windows where a man in a red tailored suit chatted casually with their CFO, Monica Newell. Though the suit wasn’t the classic fur-trimmed ensemble, and he’d traded in the shiny boots for polished black oxfords, there was no mistaking the man for St. Nick. He had the cherry-red cheeks and snow-white beard, a bag of presents tossed over one shoulder and a candy cane in his hand.
And if that wasn’t enough, he simply looked…jolly.
The man was definitely brought in to spread some cheer, though by whom, she had no