Ring in the Holidays

Book 2: Hunk for the Holidays

by Katie Lane

Genres: Holiday books; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

THE BEST NEW YEAR'S EVE . . . EVER Psychologist Ellie Simpson is about to get a healthy dose of sex therapy. Leaving her cheating boyfriend behind, she has everything she needs for a quick rebound: Vegas, plenty of champagne, and a proposition from the sexiest man she's ever seen. As her handsome stranger helps her ring in the New Year-over and over again-Ellie finds herself blissfully losing all of her inhibitions. Attorney Matthew McPherson is good at making women lose things, like their minds and underwear. With his athletic build and soulful eyes, he doesn't need to use his powers of persuasion or famous last name to get a woman into bed. But when morning comes, Matthew finds Ellie is the only woman he can't bear to leave-ever. It's enough to make him wonder if what happens in Vegas really has to stay there.

Release date: September 30, 2014

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 353

Sample

I guess you know that what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

Ellie turned to find a man wearing a glittery “Happy New Year” tiara and an ugly plaid jacket that looked like it belonged at a salesmen’s convention in the ’70s. And if his pickup line and ridiculous clothes weren’t bad enough, his gaze was pinned on her breasts.

“Really?” She held out a hand. “Ellie Simpson, reporter for the National Enquirer.” That brought his gaze up. She smiled sweetly and nodded at his hand resting on the bar. A hand with a distinct white tan line on the ring finger. “Recently divorced?”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he realized that she was screwing with him. Then he mumbled the word jerks always used when women put them in their place—bitch—and walked off to Ellie’s best friend’s shout of laughter.

“Now that was cruel,” Sidney said. “Cruel, but funny as hell.”

“I prefer men who look me in the eyes.”

Sidney shot her an exasperated look as she accepted her lemon-drop martini from the bartender. “With boobs like yours, that’s not going to happen. So get over it.” She took a sip of the martini. “And speaking of getting over things, it’s time to get over Riley. While I don’t blame you for turning down the guy in the ugly jacket, you need to get back in the dating ring. It’s been months since Riley broke it off with you. Months of sob-fests, ice cream bingeing, and one very lame suicide attempt—”

“It was not—”

Sidney held up her hand. “I told you before, I’m not falling for that dumb excuse about slipping and slicing your wrist open while shaving your legs. You’re smart enough to know that’s an impossibility.”

Sidney had a point. A woman who had completed her doctorate of clinical psychology should be smart enough to know not to slick up her body with baby oil before she bent over to shave her legs. Ellie had slipped and nicked her wrist with the razor on the way down. Thank God it wasn’t a straight-edge razor or she might’ve died. But instead of her life slowly trickling down the drain of the tiny bathtub, the dull twin blade only caused Ellie to bleed enough on the torn-down shower curtain for Sidney to assume the worse.

Before Ellie could get over the sight of her own blood, she was being raced to the emergency room where Sidney harassed the cute physician’s assistant into giving Ellie stitches. Or not stitches as much as one. One tiny little stitch that hurt more than the actual cut. And while Ellie was getting her stitch, Controlling Sidney decided on the perfect Christmas gift for her best friend: two airline tickets to Las Vegas, Nevada.

Sidney was convinced that what Ellie needed was a vacation. And between her broken engagement, trying to build a medical practice, and getting her dissertation published, Ellie did need a vacation. She just didn’t need it in Vegas on New Year’s Eve. She needed peace, quiet, and relaxation, not a crowded nightclub filled with drunk, happy people who were looking to get lucky at more than just the slot machines.

“Come on, Elle,” Sidney said as she handed her the Cape Cod Ellie had ordered. “You need to make the effort. I thought for sure that if any place could snap you out of it, Vegas could. Look at all the energy around you. People live here—really live.”

Ellie coughed as a cloud of smoke drifted over from the group of gorgeous Amazonian women next to them. “Yeah, they know how to live, alright. They really live and then they probably really die from lung cancer.” She took a sip of her drink, and her eyes watered. “And cirrhosis of the liver.” Her gaze drifted to the couples gyrating on the dance floor. “Not to mention sexually transmitted diseases.”

Sidney sipped on her martini. “Yeah, but at least they will die with a smile on their faces. At the rate you’re going, you’ll live to be a hundred. A hundred-year-old, unhappy, nonsmoking, teetotaling virgin.”

“You don’t have to broadcast it.” Ellie glanced around before she realized no one could hear anything over the loud conversation and music.

Sidney shrugged. “Why not? I thought you were proud of the fact that you’re a thirty-year-old virgin. If you wait much longer to get laid, they’ll canonize you. Or make a movie about you.”

“Very funny. There is nothing wrong with abstinence.”

“True. I think all teenagers should practice it. But once you get past your mid-twenties, it’s just plain weird. Especially for a woman who specializes in relationship counseling and sex therapy. How do you expect to help people with their sex lives if you don’t have one of your own?”

“I know plenty of good psychiatrists who don’t have any personal experience in their field of expertise,” Ellie said. “Dr. Fletcher isn’t bipolar. Dr. Holmes isn’t schizophrenic. And Cindy Maitland doesn’t have any children, yet she’s getting her doctorate in child psychology.”

“That’s because she is a child. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen her Disney backpack?” Sidney pulled the lemon rind spiral out of her drink and nibbled on it. “And as for Dr. Holmes, the jury is still out. During sex, he wanted me to call him Gertrude.”

“You had sex with Dr. Holmes? When?”

“Halloween night,” Sidney said. “I have a thing about pirates. The earring and bandanna did me in. You’ve got to admit he looked just like Johnny Depp.”

“Johnny Depp?” She moved closer to Sidney to make room for the two guys who were trying to hit on the gorgeous Amazonian women. “Holmes is over six foot and pencil thin with stringy blond hair. He looked more like Ichabod Crane on crack than a pirate.”

Sidney laughed. “Yeah, Bud Goggles screw with your mind. But don’t try to get away from the subject. Which is… why you’re still a virgin.” Ellie opened her mouth to explain, but Sidney held up a hand. “I know. Some lunatic motivational speaker convinced you to take a pledge of abstinence in high school, and you took it seriously. Then after college you met Riley the Self-Righteous, and you both wanted to wait until you were married. Or, at least, you did. But what I don’t get is why—”

Ellie grabbed her arm. “What do you mean, at least I did?”

Sidney sent her a resigned look that made Ellie extremely uneasy. “I wasn’t going to tell you—especially after what happened in the shower. But maybe it’s best if you realize what a jerk Riley is.” She downed the rest of her martini and then released her breath. “Riley didn’t break off your engagement because he wasn’t ready to commit to marriage. He broke it off because he’s been screwing around with Valerie Sawyer.”

The glass slipped from Ellie’s fingers and thumped to the bar as her knees gave out. Fortunately, one of the Amazons had vacated her barstool for the dance floor, so Sidney guided Ellie down to the plush velvet seat.

“How did you find out?” Ellie said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.

Sidney grabbed a cocktail napkin and wet it with a glass of water. “There were rumors going around even before you broke up, but I didn’t pay much attention to them. If all the rumors about me were true, I’d have screwed half the men, and women, in Lawrence, Kansas.” She handed Ellie the wet napkin. “But then I overheard Valerie when I was standing in line at the Starbucks bragging to her friends about how great Riley was in bed. And I figure if he screwed her, then he probably screwed the other women.”

Other women? A wave of nausea swept over Ellie, and she bent at the waist and tried not to puke all over the new shoes she’d bought herself for Christmas.

Sidney awkwardly patted her back. “I’m sorry, Elle, but you need to realize that not everything fits into your perfect little black-and-white world. Some things are gray—and dirty brown. I mean, shit happens.” She stopped patting. “Look, if you want to leave we can. We can even pack up and head home. But I don’t think we should. I don’t think we should give the bastard the satisfaction of ruining your vacation. Or your life. I mean, where does he get off—”

Sidney continued to rant, but Ellie was no longer listening. With the wet napkin clutched in her hand and her crumpled body perched on the barstool, it took all her focus to continue to breathe. While her emotions were racing around inside like Olympic speed skaters, her body had completely shut down, frozen with shock and disbelief. She wanted to scream. Oh, how she wanted to scream, so loudly that it would break all the bottles behind the bar. And after that, she wanted to call Riley every bad word she’d ever heard but never said. Then she wanted to hit something. Really hard. Like Ugly Jacket who had stared at her breasts without giving one thought to how it made her feel. After she hit him, she wanted to kick him. Repeatedly. Over and over again until he was nothing but a bloody—

She released the breath she’d been holding, along with the tight grip on the napkin.

My God, she had to get a hold of herself. If she didn’t, she’d be carried away in a straitjacket. And if they put her in a straitjacket, she really would go crazy. She wasn’t claustrophobic; she just freaked out when she was confined to small, tight places. She had gone to the bad place and needed to get back. And if anyone should know how to get through an emotional crisis, she should.

Taking a deep breath, Ellie tried to remember that anger was just a by-product of much deeper emotions. Usually pain. She was hurt. Not only at the thought of Riley having sex with Valerie, but also because he’d been doing it the entire time he was calling her his sweet little virgin and spending hours discussing her theories on abstinence and its importance to a strong, healthy relationship. She had truly believed that Riley was nothing like all the high school boys who went straight for her breasts after a cheap dinner at Mickey D’s. He had convinced her that he was a man who valued monogamy in a relationship and understood the true meaning of love and trust.

A man the complete opposite of her father.

Opening her eyes, Ellie stared down at the pointed toes of her shoes as the anger drained out of her body, to be replaced with a flood of depressing resignation. After countless hours spent researching case studies that supported her theory that strong relationships were built on friendship and compatibility, not sex, the truth finally came out.

Pushing sex from her life hadn’t strengthened her relationship. It had only weakened it. Riley hadn’t broken off their engagement because he wasn’t ready to make a commitment. He’d broken up with her because he wasn’t willing to make a commitment to a woman who wouldn’t give him sex.

“Elle?” Sidney interrupted her thoughts. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said? So do you want to leave? Or what?”

Ellie looked around the Vegas nightclub at all the patrons with their party hats and drunken smiles. Yes, she wanted to leave. She wanted to go home to the cozy, little apartment she shared with Sidney and strip off the tight, strapless bra and uncomfortable shoes and bundle up in her comfy sweats and the afghan her grandmother had crocheted her. Then she wanted to fall apart. Except she’d already done that after Riley broke up with her. And Sidney was right: He didn’t deserve a second more of her time.

Not one second.

She looked at her best friend’s concerned face and made a feeble attempt at a smile. “No. I want to stay. In fact, I want a drink.” She motioned to the bartender. “A double.”

Sidney looked skeptical. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

All she could do was nod as she pulled the credit card from her bra and paid for her drink. She had just taken a sip when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, expecting to see another guy with another lame pickup line, but instead it was one of the tall, gorgeous Amazons who had all the men drooling.

The pretty brunette pointed at Ellie’s breasts. “Hey, are those real?”

Since nothing else in her life seemed real at the moment, Ellie found deep satisfaction in answering. “One hundred percent.”

“No shit? Mind if I touch?” Before Ellie could utter a syllable, the woman in the skintight dress with the perfect body reached out and cupped Ellie’s breast. “Hey, Dee, you gotta feel these,” she called back to her friend. “Now I’m really pissed at my plastic surgeon.”

Life is strange, Ellie thought. If someone had asked her a month ago what she’d be doing on New Year’s Eve, she would’ve answered without hesitation, “I’m having a quiet dinner with Riley at our favorite Italian restaurant.” She knew this because the dinner had been written in her planner since the beginning of this year. Along with the appointments for cake tastings, flowers, and wedding dress fittings. Almost every white block of the planner had been filled with flourished handwriting using sherbet pink and spring green pens—pens she had bought to match her bridal colors.

Vegas hadn’t even been in her planner.

Yet, here she stood, the woman who usually freaked out when anyone entered her twelve-inch perimeter of personal space, letting a gorgeous Amazon feel her up. Yes, it was strange. Almost like it was happening to someone else. Someone who hadn’t wasted five years of her life, or countless squares in her planner, on a lie.

Maybe that was exactly who Ellie wanted to be tonight… someone else. Someone who drank doubles, let strange women fondle them, and didn’t care if men stared at her boobs. Someone who, for one night, could throw caution to the wind and completely immerse themselves in the decadence of Sin City.

And why not?

After all, Vegas knew how to keep a secret.



Would ya look at that? Shi-i-it, I love Vegas.”

Matthew McPherson glanced up from the label he was methodically peeling off his bottle of beer and followed his friend’s gaze down to the lower level of the club. It only took a second to spot what Tubs was referring to. Standing at the bar were the two women Tubs had pointed out earlier. One of the women was fondling another woman’s breast. Not her friend’s, but a different woman’s. A petite, big-busted woman with really ugly hair.

While his other two friends joined Tubs and leaned over the railing of the VIP section, Matthew went back to peeling. At the moment, the job of pulling the beer label off in one perfect piece was more important than a little lesbian action. Which probably should concern Matthew, but didn’t. He had grown weary of girls going wild. These days, everywhere you looked women were kissing or fondling women. At clubs, strip joints, and spring break beaches around the world, the opposite sex had figured out exactly what two women kissing and rubbing around on each other did to men.

Made men go wild.

And, at one time, he was no different from Tubs or his other buddies who were transfixed by the women’s entertainment for the evening. But not anymore. Now it just bored him. Of course, lately, everything bored him. The condo he lived in, the women he dated, the car he drove, and the job he worked at. All of it was boring. Which made no sense whatsoever. He could understand it if he was an Average Joe who drove a Honda Civic, worked as an accountant, and was married to his high school sweetheart who had put on a few extra pounds after the birth of their third child. If he were that guy, it would make perfect sense. But he wasn’t.

No, he was the youngest son of Big Al McPherson who owned M&M Construction, a multimillion-dollar company. The same company where Matthew worked as a top corporate lawyer and had a huge office with a panoramic view of downtown Denver. An office only miles away from his trendy condo where a Range Rover and brand-spanking-new Porsche Carrera GT sat in his double garage.

What more could he possibly want? He was young, single, and wealthy with the uncanny ability to make women fall at his feet and money collect in his bank account. How could a man be bored with that?

Yet, he was.

Bored and completely out of his mind.

Matthew stopped peeling when he remembered another McPherson who had gone Looney Tunes. Poor Uncle Rudy had become bored with life and had given away all his money to live on the streets. After he was caught in a Chicago park wearing nothing but his birthday suit while roasting a squirrel for supper, the family slapped his ass straight into a mental ward. Every year at Christmas, his aunt Marsha still received a death threat written on three squares of toilet paper.

Matthew preferred stationery. Nice, clean, expensive stationery with the company letterhead printed across the top. Besides, it wasn’t his friends’ fault that he was bored with life. They had come with him to Vegas on New Year’s Eve expecting to party, not peel labels off beer bottles and ruminate with him about not having any adventure in his life.

“So you think those are real?” Stan asked.

Trying to appear interested, Matthew looked down at the women who stood at the bar. “What ones are we talking about?”

“The petite blonde’s that just got felt up.”

He examined the breasts in question. He had to admit they were impressive. Impressive, but about as genuine as his last girlfriend’s. “Fake.”

Always a sarcastic drunk, Mitch turned to him. “And just how can you tell that from this far away, O Great One?”

“Simple. Very few petite women have real breasts that big.”

“What about Ronda Letterman?” Stan asked.

Matthew shook his head. “The only thing Ronda had in common with this woman is height. The bone structure is completely different.”

Tubs laughed. “Bone structure? Only you, Mattie, would notice some woman’s bone structure.”

It was true. Matthew did notice more about women than their obvious physical traits. To him, women were like works of art. In order to enjoy the piece, you first needed to study every nuance: The butterfly sweep of a hand. The musical pitch of laughter. The gentle slope of a naked shoulder. These were all part of the entire package. A package that, when appreciated, could offer a man hours of enjoyment.

“Who cares about her bone structure”—Stan rested his arms on the railing—“I just want to get my hands on those sweet chest puppies.”

Matthew shook his head at such ignorance. “Which is exactly why you never will. And why most men strike out. They don’t take the time to really study a woman before they approach her.” He nodded at the bar. “Take her for example. You’ve been watching her for a while now. So what can you tell me about her—besides the sweet chest puppies?”

Stan seemed befuddled by the question, but Tubs chimed in. “For being so short, she has nice legs. And her face doesn’t look too bad. Although her hair looks like mine after I went to SuperChop. With the way she’s downing that drink, I’d say she’s out for a good time. Of course, letting her friends fondle her breasts is a dead giveaway on that count.”

Matthew took a moment to study the woman. “As far as pickup lines go, you need to throw out the boobs and legs,” he said. “But you’re on the right track with the hair. Her haircut is flat-out ugly. Which leads me to believe that she’s more concerned with what’s inside a person than what’s outside. An intelligent woman who isn’t interested in what people think… or in men who are after only one thing.”

Which made him wonder why she let her friend feel her up. She didn’t dress like a tease. In fact, the simple black dress she wore could just as easily work for a funeral. It said the exact opposite of the tall brunette’s tight, short dress. One shouted, “I’m ready for a night of hot sex,” while the other whispered, “Get ready to work for it.”

Tubs laughed. “You kill me, Mattie.”

Matthew pulled his gaze away from the woman and smiled. “It’s a gift.”

“A gift of bullshit,” Mitch said. “So now tell us how this information will get that woman in bed?”

Matthew shrugged. “Information is a building block. Once you have it, you have to know how to use it. Take law for example. A court attorney can have all the information about a case in the world, but if he doesn’t know how to present it, it becomes nothing but a pile of notes. In this case”—he nodded down at the bar—“I would appeal to her intellect. Ask what she does for a living—where she went to college.”

“What if she doesn’t work or go to college?”

He studied the woman in question. “Doubtful. But, in that case, I would have to rely on my charm.”

“Fuckin’ Prince Charming,” Mitch grumbled.

Matthew grinned. “Most women believe in the fairy tale. Which is exactly what I give them. They want a man who looks at them as more than just a pretty face and a nice body. A man who cares about their feelings and emotions and really listens when they talk. A man who fits into their illusion of a happily-ever-after.”

“A man full of shit?”

“Aren’t we all, Mitch? Especially in the hunt for the prize.” Matthew’s cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the number. “Excuse me.” He got up from the table and moved away before he answered. “Hey, gorgeous.”

His great-aunt Louise snorted. “Don’t pull that flirty playboy stuff with me, Matthew McPherson, especially when you’ve fallen down on the job. You told me that you would introduce that reclusive brother of yours to your harem of women, and here you are in Sin City without Patrick.”

“Hold on, Wheezie,” Matthew said. “I invited Patrick, and he turned me down.”

“So use some of that charm of yours and change his mind. Or does that only work on women?”

“Pretty much.”

Another snort had him smiling. “Well, I guess it’s too late to worry about it now. You’re there getting plenty, and he’s here getting none. But when you get back, I expect you to make more of an effort. Patrick is next in line to find his perfect match, and he won’t find her amid all those construction workers he hangs out with. I’m not getting any younger, and I refuse to leave this world until all of Big Al’s kids are happily married.”

Which explained why Matthew wasn’t making more of an effort to get his brother to the altar. Besides keeping his feisty aunt around, he wasn’t about to become her next target and be manipulated into spending his life with just one woman. It would be like spending his life with just one van Gogh. But he couldn’t deny Wheezie, either. Despite being the worst kind of matchmaker, she was the funniest and most endearing relative he had.

“Okay, I’ll do my best to fix Patrick up when I get back,” he said. “But I can’t make any promises. Paddy seems quite content with his bachelor’s life.”

“No man is content without a woman,” Wheezie said. “They just need to find the right one to prove it to them. Now try not to break too many hearts in Vegas, and I’ll see you when you get back. Happy New Year, handsome.”

“Same to you, gorgeous.”

Matthew was still grinning when he hung up and took his seat back at the table where the guys were placing their orders with the waitress. A waitress who, after bringing their drinks, slipped Matthew a cocktail napkin with her number on it. The gesture gave Mitch a perfect mark for his pent-up anger.

“You are so full of it, McPherson,” he said. “And that napkin is a perfect example. Here you are spouting off all kinds of shit about collecting information and charming women, when it all boils down to one thing: physical attraction. You haven’t said one word to that waitress, besides the name of that damned Scottish ale you drink, and she still gave you her number. Which means that everyt. . .