Naughty is Nice Anthology

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Heat Rating: Just a Spark

Content Warnings: None

Can a cop and an elf save Christmas for two lonely women?

Dream Elf by Sultry Summers

Dreaming of a tantalizing man sized Elf dressed only in satin boxers the wicked gleam in his eyes dares Carolyn to be naughty and not nice. She dismisses it as job stress, until he pulls her from her car after a crash.

"Carolyn, why don't you come home for Christmas?î her mother asked trying to convince her.

"Wish I could Mom, but I can't get a plane ticket this late.î

"You could drive down, the weatherman on TV said the weather is supposed to be good,î her mother persuaded.

"Mom it is just too far to drive and I could only stay two days," Carolyn explained.

"Guess so, I'd be worried about you drive'n by yourself, but I don't like you being alone at Christmas either."

"It had to happen sooner or later Mom. I'll be fine. I've sent presents to you all and you should get them tomorrow or maybe the next day," Carolyn explained.

"Ok honey, I love you, and I'll call when the gifts get here so you'll know they arrived," her mother promised with love in her voice.

"Thanks Mom, love you too. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," Carolyn said positively.

Tonight Carolyn was free, she called a couple of her old friends, and they were all out at parties, ones she hadn't been invited too. Why should I have been invited? I haven't talked to any of the girls in awhile and I missed the parties they did invite me too. She poured a glass of wine, took a long drink and plopped down on the couch to watch television. Nothing but Christmas stories, nothing but depressing. Carolyn fell asleep on the couch.

"You better watch out, you better not cry...." sung by a male voice with an Irish accent. When the falling snow cleared she could see him sanding in a snow driven landscape, leaning on a candy striped, red and white pole. An impish smirk on the face of possibly the best looking man she had ever seen, dressed in red silk shorts with a green embroidered holly leaf and red berries on the fly. His arms were folded over his broad, muscular chest which melted into a flat, rippling set of abs and disappeared into those flashy holiday boxer shorts. Carolyn's eyes were drawn back to his and a familiar twinkle flashed a sly, mysterious gleam in their arctic blue depths. Silken blond hair flowed from beneath a knit green and white, striped hat. Resting on his pointed ears, their tips slightly rosy from the cold, the stocking hat was ridiculously long with a round, white yarn ball on the end that draped over one tanned naked shoulder.

A Romance for Christmas by Kayelle Allen

It's Christmas Eve, and the end of a year in which everything Dara loves has been lost. Everything but her determination to survive and her little girl. Will it be a night of sadness, or of love and miracles?

Jack had been her high school sweetheart. Tonight marked three hundred and seventy-five days since the accident that claimed his life. Neither she nor Jack had family other than each other. His coworkers knew, and they'd helped that first year, bless them. Christmas had been only ten days after his senseless death. The end of the year had been filled with tears and anger. Tears of loneliness, of fear for the future, of raising her daughter without Jack at her side. Anger at everything and everyone. At his company for making him go on the trip that caused his death. At Jack for insisting on going away right before Christmas and not coming back until Christmas Eve. They'd argued and he'd slammed the door when he left.

But then he'd stopped the car halfway down the drive and had come back inside to kiss her and tell her he regretted having to go, but he had to, and that he'd be back soon. They'd shared a long, cherishing kiss and she'd waved until he was out of sight. Six hours later, his plane went down over the Gulf of Mexico in a freak storm. All on board were lost.

Guilt and doubt set in with the New Year. Things she should have said, should have done. Why had she let him go? Why had God allowed her child to grow up without a father?

Her friend Sherilyn had walked through it all at her side, helping her get a job, watching Christine, being there when all Dara needed was to cry. This year, the company had forgotten Jack and the family he left behind. So much for: "The Company with Families at Heart." Jack's insurance had paid off the house, and there was enough money to survive for a few months. While she was looking for a job, she'd sold furniture, her good silver, and pawned all her jewelry, except her wedding ring.

Dara rubbed her face with both hands, willing herself to hold on for her daughter's sake. To be strong. To be both mother and father. Women had done it for centuries. They'd survived. So would she.

"Mommy?" Christine rubbed Dara's arm. "Read me the story about the mouse who's quiet."

"That's a great story. My mother used to read it to me when I was little." Dara snuggled beside her, and opened her daughter's favorite Christmas book. At least she'd been able to give her the gift of reading. When Jack had been alive, he'd always made sure there was money for books. She would miss her own collection, but at least Christine would have something from Santa. "'T'was the night before Christmas ..."

Christine drifted off to sleep at last. Dara pushed off the bed. She was gaining strength daily, and would finish therapy the first week of January and return to work. Disability paid for the basics - lights, phone, water, trash collection, and she'd never bought anything on credit, refusing to dig herself into a hole she'd never escape once it got started. How great would it be to have a full income again! If only it could have come in time for Christmas.

She went to the closet and pulled down a box with a ball, crayons, two coloring books and three books to read. Sherilyn had brought over a few things as well. This wasn't the grand Christmas that Dara had wanted Christine to experience, but even selling all her books hadn't brought enough money for more. She'd already sold off all her other valuables, but that wedding ring was staying. She'd removed it as part of saying good-bye to Jack.

Sherilyn had said it would help, and it had. Sort of. But not that much.

Dara sank into one of the kitchen chairs and put her face in her hands.

When the doorbell rang, she choked off tears, grabbed a paper towel and dried her eyes. The clock over the stove said nine o'clock. Who would be calling at this hour on Christmas Eve? She stuffed the wet towel in her robe pocket on the way to the door.

The peephole showed a policeman in crisp black uniform, with one of those Smokey Bear hats on his head. It took her back to the night Jack had died. She unlatched the door and opened it an inch, dread tightening her chest. "Oh, my God. Is something wrong, Officer?"

"No, ma'am." He removed his hat. His smile showed sparkling white teeth and a shock of bright blond hair that fell over his brow. "I'm Scott Gregori. My daughter Susan and your Christine are in the same preschool class. I don't suppose you remember me. I was at your husband's funeral last year."

Coming November 21st from Shadowfire Press