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The hot firemen you loved in Opposites Attract are back with their friends, but now they’re wearing a lot less clothing!
Secret Recipe: A famous lifestyle maven who secretly can’t cook? Good thing a sizzling fireman who knows his way around the kitchen is there to rescue her and her holiday charity event from certain disaster. And if they detour to the bedroom on the way to the kitchen, even better!
Mr. December: What’s hotter than a fireman? Twelve of them, nearly naked on the pages of your calendar! But when a rich department store owner steps in for Mr. December and meets the pretty lady photographer, things really start to heat up. He’s no fireman, but that’s all right. He doesn’t want to put out the flames between them anyway.
Can’t Buy Me Love: What do you get when you take one over-worked caterer on the brink of a nervous breakdown and add a hunky fireman for sale at the charity bachelor auction she’s catering? You get a woman who finally finds the one holiday gift to buy herself that she’s never going to want to return! Editorial Reviews:
From Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies
"...the perfect treat to add a little "Merry" to the Christmas season... Beautiful job Cat Johnson!... Join in the naughty fun as these hot men pose nearly nude for a tantalizing calendar."
Excerpt:
SECRET RECIPE
“Getting a call before breakfast sucks. I could smell the bacon as we were driving away.” Troy sat next to Scott in the fire truck complaining.
“Hey, at least it was a false alarm or we’d still be at the call now.” That from Antonio, the eternal optimist.
As the driver pulled the truck up to the open garage bay of the firehouse, Scott had to admit, he was hungry himself. “Don’t worry, boys. Give me ten minutes and it’s omelets and bacon for everyone.”
Or maybe not. Scott looked up at the second story of the firehouse and saw smoke billowing out of the kitchen window.
Troy followed his gaze. “What the hell?”
“Holy shit! Did you leave the stove on?” Antonio asked.
“No, of course not.” But he had left an unsupervised, unauthorized woman who didn’t know how to cook.
Scott leapt out of the truck before it was even parked. He barreled up the stairs to the kitchen, the rest of the crew behind him and skidded to a stop in the doorway.
Alexis stood there, fire extinguisher in her hand and quite a mess of eggs and extinguisher foam on the stove. She turned toward them and her face crumbled. “I’m so sorry.”
She looked like she wanted to flee, but since a mass of hungry firemen blocked the only door she just stood there like a deer in headlights.
“Who does she belong to?” Antonio asked from beside him.
No way around it. Scott had to fess up. “Um, that would be me.”
Antonio raised a brow and looked with interest from Alexis, back to Scott. “Really?”
That was followed by Troy asking the question that must be on everyone’s mind. “Does this mean there’s no breakfast?”
And that’s when Alexis started to cry.
MR. DECEMBER
“Peggy! You look festive.” She did, dressed in a green pantsuit with a red berry pin. He recognized both items as being store stock and smiled. Peggy was a loyal store employee, he’d wager right down to her Bryant’s private label underwear.
The older woman, who had assisted his grandfather for over twenty years and now belonged to him, raised one painted-on eyebrow. “We’ll see how festive you feel after I tell you what’s happening.”
Jason frowned. Whatever it was, he was not going to let it ruin his first Black Friday at Bryant’s helm. He hadn’t worked his way up from stockroom clerk, to floor associate, to manager, to Chief Operating Officer to let anything get in his way now. He gripped Peggy with one hand on each of her bony shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes. “What is it, Peggy?”
She released a loud cackle. “Well, Jesus. It isn’t that bad. No one’s dead. I just got a call from the Santa who’s supposed to be here today.”
Jason nodded. “Mmm, hmm. One of the local firemen promoting the charity calendar.” There was a stack of calendars for sale at every register in the store.
“Yup. Mr. December, Troy O’Donnell, Ladder Company No. 3. Six feet tall and two hundred pounds of solid muscle, from what I can see.”
“Yes, Peggy. I get it. What about Mr. O’Donnell?”
“He ain’t coming. His wife or girlfriend or somebody called and said he’s been throwing up for hours.” Peggy waved a dismissive hand, seeming far less interested in Mr. O’Donnell’s marital status than she was in his physical attributes. “Not sure if it’s the flu or just a stomach bug, but he was up, getting dressed and trying to come here when she called me so I could tell him myself, officially, that he should stay the hell home.”
He agreed, but hoped Peggy hadn’t actually used the phrase ‘stay the hell home’. “Of course he should stay home. It wouldn’t do to have Santa vomiting on the children, or spreading a stomach virus to our customers and staff.”
“That’s what I told him. But now what do we do about getting a Santa last minute?”
“Have you called the firehouse to see if they have a spare?”
Peggy laughed at that. “Have you seen those firemen in that calendar? If they do have a spare, they can send him over to my house!”
Yes, Jason had seen the nearly nude fireman calendar, all twelve months of it. Aside from selling it at his store, Peggy had it hanging in her office for almost a month now even though it didn’t officially start until January of next year. The item seemed to be very popular with the ladies. Apparently from her rundown on Mr. December, Peggy had memorized all of the hunky firemen’s stats already.
He rolled his eyes and had to smile. Peggy was seventy if she was a day.
“Stop rolling your eyes at me. I’m old, I’m not dead. And yeah, I called. They got nobody for us today. All of their fireman Santas are either on duty at the firehouse or spoken for elsewhere. They got them playing Claus all over town, you know, not just here. The children’s hospital, the library. They said they might be able to swing somebody for tomorrow if he’s still not better.”
Jason pursed his lips as an idea struck him. He’d often wanted to be a fly on the wall in the store, see what his employees were up to when he wasn’t around, hear unsolicited comments from customers. But his face was too well known in the store. This little misfortune could turn out to be a perfect opportunity.
“Peggy. We’ve got the Santa suit here, correct?”
“Yup. Up in my office. Just got it out of the dry cleaners.”
“Excellent! I’ll arrange for a Santa. Oh, and I’ll be out of touch for the day, so if anyone calls for me, just take a message.”
Peggy cocked an already sharply arching black brow at him. “What are you up to?”
He winked at her and held one finger up to his lips to indicate she should keep quiet.
She shook her head at him. “You’ve got the devil in you, just like your grandpa.”
Jason smiled and laid an arm around her shoulders, steering them both out of the door of the break room. “And you’ve worked for us both for over twenty years now. So what does that say about you, my dear Peggy?”
She let out a loud crackling laugh. “It says that I know I’ll have a lot more fun working for a devil than a saint, that’s what. Come on. I may have to find more padding for the suit. You’re in better shape than last year’s guy.”
CAN’T BUY ME LOVE
After a few days of trying to take it easy, possible concussion or not, Zoey was back in the swing of things. Ralph had helped her out immensely, but her budget didn’t allow for two chefs for most of her jobs.
So here she was, alone again and staring at the schedule while feeling more than overwhelmed. The way she figured it, if she worked eighteen hours a day, she might be able to get everything done, if she didn’t take the time for the long overdue bookkeeping.
Life in food service—too many things to do and not enough time to do them. This time of year was the worst of all. Happy Holidays. Ha! Whoever coined that phrase didn’t work in retail or food service.
Zoey tried to force back the feeling of panic that rose in her chest when she glanced from the overfilled schedule to the stack of invoices on the desk. The bills were late anyway, what would another week hurt? Once she got through Thanksgiving weekend, she’d squeeze in some time for bill paying before the Christmas and Hanukah crunch. She wasn’t able to sleep lately, anyway. Perhaps, given her insomnia, she should do the bookkeeping at night instead of lying in bed in the dark making lists of things she had left to do in her head.
She reached out a hand to turn off the desk lamp in her office and noticed her hand was trembling. Her body had been running on caffeine and adrenaline the last week, but the manifestation of this bit of physical proof was unnerving.
Blowing out a deep and she hoped calming breath, she tried to ignore the tightness in her chest. Unfortunately, it refused to be ignored. Her breath started to come in shallow gasps as her chest clenched and her heart pounded. Was this what a heart attack felt like?
Zoey grabbed the phone. She couldn’t call 9-1-1, they would take her to the hospital and she’d canceled the company’s health insurance policy months ago to save money. Ralph. He’d know what to do. Not knowing if he’d be at home or at the bar, she dialed his cell phone number. She was shaking so badly and breathing so hard, she misdialed twice.
She was starting to panic enough to reconsider calling an ambulance. No, she’d try to get Ralph one more time. Her clumsy fingers pushed the hopefully correct sequence of buttons when black spots suddenly started to appear in front of her vision.
This is it, she thought. I’m going to die, here, all alone. Then she glanced up and through the front window saw Gordy out on the sidewalk. Phone forgotten, she stood, took once step toward the door, and collapsed to her knees.
Even though she didn’t remember hearing the door open, in spite of the bells hung there, he was suddenly beside her. Strong hands held her face and forced her to look up. She gasped, still trying to catch her breath, and clutched at his forearms.
“Heart attack?” she managed to say.
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