Holly Reddy sat in front of the cracking fireplace of her parents’ New Hampshire living room and sipped the decadently delicious, dark chocolate concoction in her Santa Mug. How her mother made it taste so rich and perfect, she did not know and she didn’t care. It was the closest she’d come to sin, or satisfaction, in about six months, so she planned to enjoy every last drop. With one more sip she finished it off, set the cup aside, and began unpacking Christmas ornaments from a box, the perfect ending to a quaint Thanksgiving dinner with just her and her parents.

Murphy, the family Labrador retriever appeared by Holly’s feet and nuzzled her hand. Well trained by her long time pet, Holly absently stroked his head, thinking of the days to come. The rest of the Reddy clan would be showing up over the course of the next few weeks for the traditional holiday celebration; her two younger sisters, their younger brother, and a number of other friends and family members. It would be insanely wonderful, and no doubt filled with a typical family rumble here or there.

Holly laughed as she thought of last year’s Christmas. Prior to Christmas morning, Mason and Rachel had discovered that they’d gotten Mom the same, perfect present, and the fight over who had to trade theirs in for something else had ensued. Holly had been more than happy to volunteer to take credit for the gift and to let them pick another one, but as she’d suspected, they had suddenly somehow managed to compromise and had then shared credit for the “perfect” gift.

Smiling to herself, Holly remembered how easily they had fallen for that little nudge and wondered if any family the size of theirs could really call a gathering anything but “eventful.” It kept things interesting, to say the least. Still, the calm before the storm was enjoyable. Everything about the big sprawling farm house and its many memories said cozy family holiday. And as tempting as it was to tuck her feet beneath herself and snuggle into her parents’ overstuffed, brown couch, to simply soak in the warmth, there was a tree to be trimmed that could not wait. Tomorrow there would be no holiday play for her. The whole point in coming home a month before her siblings was to take advantage of the quiet, and break through a wicked case of writer’s block.

After dreaming of the chance to leave her day job as a criminal attorney and focus on her next legal thriller full time, she learned that her fourth book had snagged a run on the USA Today list, and turned that dream into reality. That was sixty days ago, and she hadn’t written a page worth reading since. It was as if she had simply lost every creative bone she once owned. A fact she secretly attributed to a burning desire to move home. Hard to admit considering she had once said she wanted to escape small-town living, to never look back. Exactly why her mother suggested she spend a month in her late Grandma Reddy’s cottage to write, and why she’d agreed. This was a chance to evaluate her urge to move home without any confessions required or any decision-making pressure. And since the cottage was directly behind the main house, she’d be close to family.

Holly dug through the decoration box, searching for the ornament hangers, and finding none. She shoved her long, blond hair from her eyes and pushed to her feet. Where were Mom and Dad anyway? They’d been checking on that pie a long time.

She padded socked feet across the carpet and pushed open the kitchen door. Huh. The kitchen was empty. A muffled laugh drew her gaze to the pantry. Another muffled sound, a moan. Oh my God! Mom and Dad were getting it on in the pantry.

Blood rushed to Holly’s cheeks, and she half ran from the kitchen. She rushed to the sofa and reached for her boots, shoving her feet inside. Good Lord, she was thirty years old, and her parents had a better sex life than she did. Of course, anyone who had a sex life had a better one than she did.

She darted for the door, and pushed her arms into her white, parka-type coat. Reaching for her scarf, she wrapped it around her neck, and snagged her purse and keys. Her suitcase was still by the door, since she’d arrived that evening just in time for dinner.

She hesitated and then yelled out. “Running to the store! Be back in …” How long did they need to, ah, finish? She wasn’t taking any chances. “Be back in an hour!”

Ten minutes later, Holly pulled into “The Tavern,” a familiar stomping ground for her and her siblings during their visits home. Big fluffy snowflakes floated around her blue Toyota Camry as Holly parked in front of the surprisingly busy establishment.

Holly shoved open the rental car door, a smile touching her lips as she stepped into the winter wonder of the snowstorm and stared in awe at the flakes glistening like crystal stars in the glow of the hovering streetlight. This was how the holidays were supposed to be—wintery white. Back in Houston, it was seventy degrees, and people were still in shorts. A glass of sherry and a walk down memory lane sounded perfect right about now. She turned and stared at the white blanket of snow already covering her windows, walking backwards as she did.

“You aren’t in Texas anymore, sweetheart,” she whispered with a laugh, shoving her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat and turned to the tavern and smack into a hard body.

“Wow there, sweetheart,” came the deep, rumbling male voice.

Holly rotated around and blinked at the man standing a mere two steps away, her jaw dropping at the pure heat he oozed despite the chilly winter night. At well over six foot tall, the hunky male transformed faded jeans and a dark jacket into the things fantasies were made of—her fantasies to be exact. The ones she’d been having when she should have been writing the next chapter of her book. She swallowed hard as she noted the snow dusting his dark, wavy hair. It was the kind of hair that a girl would want to run her fingers through while calling his name—or really just calling “Oh God.” Actually any affirmation that indicated immense pleasure would do quite nicely.

Inwardly, she shook herself and cleared her lust-laden throat. “Sorry about that,” she offered. “I just got home and the snow, I …” She stopped herself. She was rambling. She was an attorney. She never rambled. Determined to gain some composure, she straightened her spine, standing taller. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

For an instant, Holly thought she saw amusement dance in the deep brown eyes staring back at her but changed her mind when he said, “Yes,” in a hard tone, his square jaw set firmly, no humor in his ruggedly handsome face. “You should have been. And I see only one way to solve this.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, not sure what he meant. “Solve this? Solve what?”

“The need for a proper apology,” he stated. “There is only one acceptable way for you to properly apologize.”

She narrowed her gaze on him, certain now that despite his stern expression, she detected a sparkle in his eyes. “What would that be?”

“You can buy me a drink.”

Unbidden, a fizzle of excitement zipped through her limbs. “I see,” she said with one long nod, her best courtroom mask in place. “I can buy you a drink.” Fully intending to press onward, she was disrupted when a sudden shiver chased a path down her spine. It seemed her blood had thinned a bit in those barely detectable Texas winters.

Responding instantly, the man pulled open the door and waved her inside. “Why don’t we finish this conversation inside before you freeze to death?”

Holly found the idea of going inside and overheating with this man immensely appealing. But guilt stabbed at her. She wasn’t here for play. She was here for family; she was here to work. Yet . . . she had promised herself a little slack time today. It was, after all, Thanksgiving. And it was just a short little drink before returning back home.

Decision made, Holly stepped forward, but she didn’t immediately go inside. She stopped directly in front of her newly discovered fantasy man and faced him, butterflies uncharacteristically fluttering in her stomach. Their gazes collided, his brow lifting in expectation and challenge. She’d known many a smooth-operating male in her courthouse days, faced them down both personally and professionally, and none of them affected her the way locking gazes with this one did. She felt like warm, melting butter inside.

Thankfully, she’d long ago learned an easy facade of steady, cool composure. “I don’t buy drinks for strangers,” she informed him.

A slow, sensual smile tugged on those full, kissable lips. “Then I guess we should introduce ourselves.”

“Better yet,” she countered, casting him a not-so-innocent look, a look that she would have never dared before this night. She was really enjoying this little exchange. “You can buy me a drink.” She didn’t give him time to respond, darting inside the warmly inviting Tavern, his deep male laughter following her.