Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
One night. One Christmas wish. One killer on the loose.
Unlucky in love, Lilly Hart regrets volunteering to cover the New York CIA intelligence desk on Christmas Eve. That is until field operative Dylan Fox—the swoonworthy spy she’s spent far too many hours daydreaming about—dials in requesting her assistance. But before Lilly can explain his life is in imminent danger, their call is cut short, and it’s up to Lilly to dash through Manhattan and find him before it’s too late.
Dylan Fox can’t believe his luck when a gorgeous brunette crashes into him on the sidewalk and drags him into a crowded, dark bar. But when he realizes it’s none other than Lilly Hart, the intelligence analyst with the sweet voice he’s fantasized about for three long years, he thinks all his Christmases have come at once. Although, with an assassin on their heels, it could be a rendezvous to remember for all the wrong reasons.
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Damn, his long legs and bulky shoulders filled out that suit in the best possible way. I’d spent far too many lonely nights fantasizing about what lay beneath it. Asking myself life’s most meaningful questions like, did he sport a six-pack or an eight? And what would it feel like to run my fingertips over the expanse of his muscular chest and lower? Much lower.
Wow. Could the timing of my inappropriate thoughts be any worse?
But… Dylan was staring right at me.
The skin around his eyes tightened, and a small smile appeared on his lips.
Did he recognize me? That didn’t make sense. And yet his grin grew wider and his eyes never left mine as he came closer.
A horn blasted nearby, dragging me from my hot guy stupor. I needed to get a grip on myself. We weren’t out of danger yet.
Remembering my training, I searched the crowded sidewalk for the German assassin.
No—wait. Half a block away on the other side of the busy street. The man wore a knit cap and gray coat, but I recognized the black turtleneck. It was Schmidt, and he was coming this way.
Okay. Plan B.
I just wished I knew what that was.
Schmidt had almost reached the corner when a troop of roaming carolers blocked his path. Man, I’d never been so glad to hear Silent Night in all my life.
My gaze came back to Dylan’s—yep, still staring at me. As we were about to cross paths, I lunged for him, latched on to the lapels of his jacket and shoved him toward the entrance of the Irish bar on the corner. His eyes widened in playful surprise, and I had to believe he allowed me to push him into the bar because he was twice my size and more than capable of shirking my grip.
Inside the low-lit bar, a U2 cover band played to a packed crowd. Body heat warmed the venue, and the malty aroma of spilled beer hung thick in the air. Dodging drunken revelers and their unsteady Guinness glasses, I dragged Dylan to a dark corner at the back of the bar and pressed him against the wall. Holding him pinned in place, I peered through gaps in the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Schmidt in the window as he continued past.
Warm hands slid under my jacket and curled around my waist. My gaze shot to Dylan’s, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
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