Her Secret Santa Read online

  He put his SLR digital camera in the box with the toys, stacked the coffees and donut bag on top and ambled into headquarters. It was early but he knew Ally would be in her office. She worked hard, straddling her two worlds—part-cop, part-firefighter. She was good at what she did, and gave the job her all. As far as he knew, she gave everything her all—she didn’t appear to know any other way.

  It was sexy as hell. She was sexy as hell.

  Memories of last night came back to him, seeing her fearlessly racing across the crime scene in that hot little black dress and high heels, gun in hand like a Bond girl as she’d gone after that punk kid. The way she’d looked holding her perp to the ground, her knee in his back, cuffing him, had given him more than a few X-rated dreams.

  In fact, he had an entire file in his brain labeled: Hot Fantasies Starring Ally Dauer. He accessed that mental file now, taking out one of his favorites, which involved her and those handcuffs and—

  “Hiya, sweet cheeks,” said Cherry, the floor’s receptionist. She was pert and pretty, and waving at him. Obliging, he moved closer to her desk. She leaned over it, giving him a nice view down her top to her breasts, which were as pert and pretty as the rest of her. “Going to be at the poker party this weekend?” she asked.

  This weekend he’d be painting the master bathroom in his house. “Sorry.”

  “Aw, it’s like the changing of an era. Sam got married, and you bought that house and got all domesticated,” she said sadly.

  Yeah, he had. And he liked it. No more waking up hung-over, sometimes alone, sometimes not, but always…restless.

  “Maybe next time?” Cherry asked hopefully.

  “Maybe. Is Ally Dauer in?”

  “Just got here.”

  “Thanks.” He lugged the box and his bribe down the hall, stopping in her doorway. As always, the sight of her gave him a one-two punch. Partly because she was hot, and partly because…hell. He had no clue. She wasn’t even his type. She tended to be anal and driven.

  But apparently there was no reasoning with chemistry.

  She was behind her desk, her strawberry-blond hair pulled back in its usual neat ponytail, a little pair of reading glasses perched on her nose and a pencil between her teeth as she tapped away on a laptop and simultaneously spoke on the phone.

  And just like that, another fantasy raised its dirty head—the naughty secretary.

  She was talking about the teenager she’d caught on scene yesterday, telling someone that just because he was a stupid kid in the wrong place at the wrong time didn’t excuse the fact that he’d had a gun he’d stolen from his friend’s father. Or that he’d used it. Her point made, she hung up and noticed Eddie standing there.

  “Hey,” he said with a smile.

  Her haze eyes narrowed and she didn’t say a word.

  Clearly, she was crazy about him.

  But he knew the way to her heart. Setting down the box of toys on a spare chair, he handed her his camera.

  Sure enough, she gasped and hugged it to her chest.

  “Funny, I’ve never been jealous of a camera before,” he chuckled.

  She ignored that. “Eddie, I can’t borrow this.” Even as she said it, she gripped it tight like she wasn’t going to let it go. “I have a bad track record with—”

  “I trust you.” Next, he handed her one of the coffees. Taking the other, he sat across from her.

  She let out a sigh, along with some of her tension, took a sip of her coffee, then eyed the donut bag.

  He handed it over.

  Peeking in, she finally let loose a smile and a hum of pleasure that sounded so sexual, his dick twitched.

  She pulled out the chocolate old-fashioned glazed donut and stared at it all soft-eyed. “Well, hello, lover,” she cooed. At her first bite, she moaned load and throaty. “Oh my God.”

  Eddie watched her suck some chocolate off her thumb and had to remind himself to breathe. He liked the way she looked all devoid of tension. He liked it a lot. He took a cherry-filled donut and they ate in companionable silence, him still hard as a rock, her still looking like she was a fraction of an inch from orgasm.

  He polished off his within minutes and eyed hers.

  She still had half left.

  She noticed him looking at it, then held it out to him—only to pull it back when he reached for it. “Sweet Cheeks?” she murmured.

  “Huh?”

  She arched a brow. “Cherry. She called you sweet cheeks.”

  He let out a breath and shrugged. He wasn’t going there. It was embarrassing.

  She just looked at him, then swiveled her finger in an unmistakable demand for him to stand up and turn around.

  “Seriously?”

  She just gave a pointed glare at the half donut in her fingers and baiting him, took another slooooow bite.

  With a shake of his head, he stood, turned, and gave her a view of his ass. When he faced her again, she handed him the rest of her donut. “Nice, but I don’t know about sweet.”

  “I didn’t make up the nickname.”

  She licked the pad of her thumb to get the last little bit of chocolate, then sucked it into her mouth with an enthusiasm that went straight through him. “But I noticed you didn’t ask her to stop calling you sweet cheeks.”

  He wasn’t vain, but neither was he stupid. Yes, he knew women found him attractive. Hell, he’d spent nearly all of his twenties exploiting that very fact. “Would you feel better if I filed a sexual harassment case?”

  “You?” She rolled her eyes. “I was worried about Cherry. I like her. And I’d hate to see you play her.”

  “Play her,” he repeated.

  She went back to her computer. “It’s just that if you’re going to date her twice and then drop her like a bad habit, maybe you could just spare her and back off now.”

  He stared at her. “Okay, call me slow, but are we still talking about Cherry?”

  “Forget it.”

  “No. You’re mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “I grew up with three sisters,” he said. “I know women. You’re mad.”

  She snorted and went back to typing, which was irritating, even if she was hot. Leaning in, he closed her laptop, leaving his hand on top of it. They were close now, close enough that he could press his face into her sweet smelling hair if he wanted, or to her neck, which would be even nicer.

  She lifted her gaze to his and he caught a glimpse of the same almost bewildered attraction he felt. Damn, her glasses even magnified her eyes, which were fathomless and completely unreadable. “Talk to me, Ally.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Why are you limping?”

  “I fell through a roof. Why are you mad at me?” he repeated quietly.

  Standing, nearly bumping into his body with hers, she declined to answer and walked to the box he’d brought, and began looking through the unwrapped toys. “Wow. Great start,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased. “The kids are going to love—” Breaking off, she frowned and pulled out a box, wrapped in shiny red paper covered with naked Santas. “What the—”

  He looked at it, and with a laugh, shook his head. “I don’t know. Someone’s idea of funny?”

  “It’s inappropriate, is what it is.” Then her eyes narrowed. “There’s a tag.”

  Shifting closer, he read over her shoulder: To: Fire Investigator Ally Dauer.

  Their gazes met.

  Held.

  “You must have an admirer,” he said.

  “Is his name Eddie Weston?”

  Trick question alert. “I’m an admirer,” he said carefully. “But no, I didn’t do this.”

  She just looked at him for a long moment, as if searching for honesty. When he shrugged, she ripped off the paper. Then she went utterly still.

  “What?”

  She held up a small specialty bottle. “Flavored massage oil.”

  Huh. He wasn’t crazy about the thought of someone sending her a gift like that, especially in this man