Harlequin Holiday Collection - Four Classic Seasonal Novellas

an envious glance as she and Clint circled the base of the tomb.
    Each giant curbstone was decorated with prehistoric art—spirals, zigzags, concentric circles, triangles—images that represented the sun, moon and stars. Sophie knew there was no way a thief could steal one of these five-ton slabs unless he drove up with a bloody crane. Nor could she imagine that anyone would try to chip out one of the designs with so many uniformed police among the crowd. Still, her anxiety ratcheted up with each passing minute.
    Gradually, the predawn darkness gave way to thin, gray light. Snow glistened on the surrounding hills and mist swirled up from the River Boyne. Excitement grew by the moment.
    At seven-thirty, the floodlights switched off. At eight o’clock, the lucky fifty who’d won a place inside the passageway were asked to assemble at the tomb’s entrance—fifty-two including Clint and Inspector Fitzgerald.
    “I’m sorry I couldn’t wrangle an extra ticket for you,” Clint said.
    “Auch, weel.” She slipped into a smile and heavy Irish accent. “’Tis enough t’watch the sun come oop from here. Go on now. Do what you must. I’ll wait for y’here.”
    “You can sit on the bus if you get too cold.”
    “And miss the sunrise? Are y’daft, man?”
    He turned away, took two steps, turned back.
    “We’re an hour early yet but…” Sweeping her into his arms, he cradled her against his chest. “Happy solstice, Sophie.”
    Her heart thumping, she beamed up at him. “Happy solstice.”
    He kissed her with a passion that left her melting inside even while her breath steamed on the icy air. She must be the daft one, she thought as he strode toward the entrance. She’d met the man just yesterday, for God’s sake! Yet the view of his broad back and long, sure stride stirred a hot, sweet lust she had no business feeling. Not to mention the sparks he ignited with every touch, every kiss.
    Shoulders hunched against the cold, she watched him duck under the stone lintel at the entrance and disappear inside the tomb. Slowly, her internal heat yielded to the frost outside.
    Minute by frigid minute ticked by. With agonizing slowness, the sky lightened across the river. Sophie waited with the rest of the crowd for the sun to inch above the tree line, hugging her waist and stamping booted feet.
    Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, it was cold!
    At a quarter to nine, eager anticipation began to ripple through the crowd. At ten to nine, every person on the site faced east. Two minutes later, a thin red rim appeared above the trees lining the river.
    Thrilled by the sight, Sophie edged away from the crowd. The historian in her wanted to absorb this timeless moment in solitude. She found a spot all to herself in the shadow of a giant curbstone.
    A sense of awe as old as time swirled in her as the thin slice of sun gathered size and intensity. The darkness was retreating for another season. The earth was being reborn. The—
    A low, almost inaudible rattle penetrated her rapt reverie. Another rattle followed. Abandoning the protection of the curbstone, she followed the sounds.
    She didn’t see the figure hunched in the shadows at first. Bundled from head to foot in a bulky overcoat, scarf and floppy-brimmed wool hat in a distinctive herringbone pattern, he was using the tip of a cane to pry a glistening quartz rock from the upper ring. One with an ancient spiral carved on its surface!
    She must have gasped or made some other noise, because the figure whipped around. His arm shot out, and the cane slammed into Sophie’s temple. Pain burst like skyrockets, and the rising sun went black.

Chapter Five
    “Sophie. Sweetheart.”
    A voice penetrated the pain. Deep. Reassuring. Calming the flutter of panic when she opened her eyes and saw only dancing red spots.
    “Don’t move, Sophie. A medical response team is on its way.”
    The red spots converged into a large, glowing ball. A black shadow appeared in its center. Slowly, so slowly, the shadow resolved into Clint. He was crouched beside her, his face taut with worry.
    She blinked up at him, dazed. “Wh… What happened?”
    “You must have tripped and hit the curbstone going down. You’ve got a nasty contusion on your temple. We need to have you checked for a possible concussion.”
    The pain was a steady throb now. It pierced through the fog and Sophie gasped with a sudden recollection.
    “I didn’t trip! He whacked me! With his cane.”
    Clint’s brows snapped together.