Harlequin Holiday Collection - Four Classic Seasonal Novellas

didn’t look away. “Why, just imagine, one of them could have been lounging right there on the sunporch, sleeping as peacefully as…the dead.”
    Holly didn’t move an inch, not until the show ended and her grandfather clicked the TV off. Then she realized Zach was shaking with laughter, as were her grandparents.
    “That Candy,” Nana said, “she’s a good egg.”

    Zach had been so terrified of Holly’s close call on Friday that he hadn’t wanted to leave her side. But he’d managed to slip away for a few hours on Tuesday, long enough to visit a jewelry store to buy her something special. When she opened the tiny package late that night and slipped the solitaire onto her left ring finger, he knew her answer.
    They were still celebrating their surprise engagement on Christmas morning when Holly’s grandparents came downstairs. Zach found himself included in the family celebration, watching as Holly found a dozen reasons to wave her new ring around.
    “It’s awfully pretty—and almost as big as those pretty ones on the tree,” her grandmother said.
    Holly raised a quizzical brow as Zach glanced toward the Christmas tree. The lights were on, twinkling merrily, and for the first time, he noticed the way they reflected off a number of tiny, crystal ornaments that sent out shards of color in all directions.
    “Where did those come from?” Holly asked.
    “I’m sorry, dear, the strand must have broken in the rush to take down the old tree. I found all the beads on the floor, but these eyes are old. I couldn’t see the holes in them to string them back together,” her Nana said. “So I just glued ‘em all onto holders and put them up. Aren’t they pretty? So sparkly.”
    Holly rose. Seeing the color fall out of her face, Zach got up, too and followed her to the evergreen. When she reached for one of the tiny ornaments hanging like jewels from a bough, he suddenly began to suspect the truth. “Jewels…”
    “Oh my God,” she murmured.
    Their eyes met, both of them giggling softly as they realized exactly where the stolen diamonds had ended up.
    “Do you think we should tell her?” Holly whispered.
    “Not yet. It’s Christmas. Besides, I don’t want to interrupt Mark’s holiday. We’ll call him tomorrow.”
    Nodding in agreement, Holly leaned close and wrapped her arms around Zach’s neck. Rising on tiptoe, she pointed to the ceiling. “Mistletoe.”
    Looking up and seeing the tiny green spray, he smiled and lowered his mouth toward hers.
    “I love you, Zach,” she whispered right before their lips touched.
    “Merry Christmas, Holly.”

Seduced by the Season
    By Merline Lovelace

Chapter One
    Dublin, Ireland
    Balancing a tray of empty beer glasses, Sophie Hawthorne wove her way to a small booth wedged into a corner of the Bull and Crown.
    Located in the heart of Dublin, just a short walk from the campus of Trinity College, the pub featured a centuries-old oak bar that ran the length of the establishment and a selection of libations that made it popular with students, locals and tourists alike.
    Although it was just midafternoon, the pub was jammed with students celebrating the completion of exam week and their imminent departure for Christmas break. Their noisy chatter and laughter swirled around Sophie as she paused beside the corner booth.
    Its occupant was bent over a guidebook, affording Sophie a view of neatly trimmed black hair and wide shoulders encased in tweed. He was busy scribbling notes on a sheet of yellow, lined paper. One of those notes caught Sophie’s eye.
    “That should be thirty-two hundred B.C.,” she commented, switching the heavy tray to her other hip.
    The customer glanced up, and a jolt went through Sophie.
    Sweet Molly Malone! Despite the guidebook and the nerdy black-framed glasses, this fella sure didn’t look like a typical tourist. With those broad shoulders, strong, square chin and bedroom-blue eyes, he had all the makings of a world-class hunk.
    “I’m sorry.” He cocked his head to hear her over the din. “What did you say?”
    His accent immediately identified him as a fellow American. Sophie herself was solidly Midwestern, but she’d acquired a definite lilt during her years in Dublin.
    “The passage tomb at Newgrange was constructed circa three thousand B.C.,” she said cheerfully, “not two thousand.”
    The customer consulted his book and hooked a brow. “You’re right.”
    She had to grin at his surprise. “Irish prehistory is my