Her Secret Santa Read online

  A Very Naughty Holiday!

  Playing Sexy Games…at Christmas!

  At Christmastime, arson investigator Ally Dauer runs the toy drive. A job made all the more interesting now that sexy firefighter Eddie Weston has volunteered to bring over presents from the firehouse. Except each box he brings includes a special gift, addressed to Ally, on top of the pile. Eddie swears the gifts aren’t from him. Too bad, because these are very special toys—for adults only!

  Ally and Eddie start their own investigation to find Ally’s secret Santa. And what better way to begin than trying out the toys—on each other! It could be they’ll never find out who the merry holiday prankster is. But does it matter, when they’re having the hottest Christmas ever?

  Originally published in 2009.

  Look what people are saying about these talented authors

  Jill Shalvis

  “Shalvis thoroughly engages readers.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Witty, fun and sexy—the perfect romance!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  USA TODAY bestselling author Jill Shalvis is happily writing her next book from her neck of the Sierras. You can find her romances wherever books are sold, or visit her humorous daily blog at www.jillshalvis.com, where she chronicles her I-Love-Lucy life.

  HER SECRET SANTA

  Jill Shalvis

  For Rhonda Nelson, who dreamed up

  Damon Claus in the first place.

  I cherish your warm heart…

  and your twisted sense of humor.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  CHAPTER 1

  Thanksgiving Day

  IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN the scent of pumpkin pie assaulting her senses, but instead, she was surrounded by the smell of scorched wood and melted steel. Arson investigator Ally Dauer carefully scanned the burned-out shell of what had only yesterday been a home improvement warehouse.

  And then she found it. “Gotcha,” she murmured, crouching down for a better view of the dark triangle burn spot on the concrete floor.

  A spot she’d be willing to bet was the origin of the fire.

  She’d pulled on disposable gloves so as not to destroy evidence, but there was nothing to do about her clothes at the moment. Having been called away from Thanksgiving dinner with her parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins, she still wore her little black dress and favorite black heels.

  The Dauers dressed for Thanksgiving.

  They also fought, a lot. Except this year, she’d actually made it through the pre-dinner social hour and then meal itself without being tempted to use the gun she was licensed to carry. Then she’d been paged just before dessert, the best part of the evening.

  That had sucked.

  Promising herself a run for ice cream when she was done, she lifted the digital camera from around her neck and began snapping away while attempting to keep her dress down far enough on her thighs so as not to flash any of the other fire personnel around her.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Dauer?”

  “Yes?” She glanced over at a tall, well-built man. Ageless. Dark hair, dark eyes. Wearing black trousers and a blue button up, looking like he’d been trying for office casual, but not even the respectable clothes could hide the edgy, slippery air around him.

  That was odd.

  She was on a fire scene, and possibly a crime scene, as well. No one was allowed but personnel, but she didn’t recognize this guy. Her job was half-firefighter, half-cop, and the cop part of her kicked in now. “Who are you?”

  “Damon Claus,” he said, quickly flashing a department badge. “I just wanted to let you know that your toy drive has been shifted from your jurisdiction to mine.”

  It took her a minute to shift gears, going from an arson investigation to…toys. The annual toy drive was an unofficial part of her job. And since the official part of her job revolved around bad guys doing bad shit, she’d really been looking forward to the toy drive. “Why?”

  Damon lifted a shoulder, noncommittal.

  She narrowed her eyes, unwilling to concede. She loved Christmas, or at least the idea of it. Making sure every kid in Santa Rey had a gift was a mission she’d wanted. “I don’t recognize you. What do you do again?”

  “Toy director.”

  At that she laughed, relieved. Brushing off her hands, she stood up and looked around. “You at it again?” she yelled out to an invisible prankster. “I’ve been here six months already!” Determined to ignore the on-going hazing that came with being the lone woman in a sea of men, she went back to work, ignoring “Damon Claus.” When he’d walked off, she once again lost herself in the work, shifting through the melted metal and blistered paint for more clues, alternating between taking notes and pictures.

  It was definitely arson, she eventually decided, looking at this like she always did, like a puzzle that needed solving. Fires like this, hell most fires, did not start on their own. She already knew, from her initial research, that the company that owned this warehouse had been struggling financially for nine months. This was their third warehouse to have an unexplained fire.

  She had no doubt that the insurance company would cry foul and launch their own investigation, as well.

  Ally walked through the rest of the warehouse and out the back, where there were rows and rows of building material, most of it destroyed. The economic down turn had pretty much crashed and burned the building industry here in Santa Rey.

  Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she caught a flash of movement. A small man, she thought, or maybe a teenager. “Hey,” she called out. “This is a crime scene—”

  The crack of a gun being fired answered her, and then the resounding ping of the bullet finding a home over her head in the steel frame of the warehouse behind her as she dove for cover.

  At this rate, she was never going to get dessert!

  When she heard running footsteps, she tossed aside her camera, pulled her gun from her thigh holster, and took off after the man, yelling behind her for back up in the form of Tommy, her boss, the head of Arson Unit.

  She caught sight of her perp at the far back corner of the yard. He was limping, and swearing and sweating as he tripped over something and hit the ground hard.

  Definitely a teenager.

  She’d just about reached him when he leapt up and attempted to climb the chain link fence. He got about three feet up when she yanked him to the ground and put a knee to the small of his back.

  By then, Tommy had come jogging up, tossing her a pair of handcuffs. “Nice,” he said, yanking the perp to his feet. “But it was my turn to have the fun.” He looked at the kid. “You start this fire?”

  “No, I swear!”

  Tommy turned to Ally, who shrugged. They both knew that most arsonists returned to the scene of the crime. But if this warehouse had burned for the money factor, the kid didn’t exactly fit the profile.

  Frowning, Ally let Tommy handle the situation and made her way back to where she’d left her camera and squatted down. Pulling her gun on the kid—even if he’d been the one to fire a shot—was going to mean extra paperwork and explanations, which didn’t improve her mood. “Damn,” she murmured, eyeing the cracked lens. Another one bit the dust. Then she went still as a prickle of awareness slid down her spine.

  Two steel-toed black boots stepped into her field of vision.

  Her gaze slid up, way up, past long, long legs, and then a torso covered in protective fire fighting gear, all six feet two inches of the body covered in soot and grime.