Don’t Open Till Christmas

Meet The Santoris of Chicago: A big Italian family looking for love! After Chicago detective Mark Santori shares a hot kiss with a sexy stranger in a dressing room, he can't get the brunette out of his mind. So when he gets a call about some stolen toys and comes face-to-face with his mystery woman, his interest in the case definitely grows.Holiday-hating Noelle Bradenton is furious that a ring of costumed Santas hit the shelter where she works. But when a super-hot detective shows up to investigate, she can't help wondering if it's a Christmas blessing in disguise.Soon the two of them are heading toward the tiny town of Christmas in pursuit of the thieves. And in a town filled with holiday magic, the handsome cop soon melts the female-scrooge's heart. But can they make it after the holidays are over?"A present in itself, where the humor and the sizzling sex never stop!" 4 1/2 stars Top Pick Romantic Times Magazine***“I wish I could tell you he had his real name tattooed just above the fluffy white trim of his red velvet suit, but he didn’t. He was Santa. Top to bottom, just, Santa Claus.”Mark stepped closer and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “I hate to tell you this, ma’am, but to my knowledge, Santa Claus doesn’t really exist.”Her jaw dropped and she sputtered a bit. Then she began to chuckle, shaking her head in rueful amusement. “Aww, gee, you mean my folks have been lying to me all these years?”Soaking up the warmth of her good humor, Mark leaned against the desk, watching her, trying to come up with more questions to ask. More reasons to stay. Frankly, he had all the information he needed and could have left ten minutes ago. But something wouldn’t let him go…her smile, most likely. Not to mention the memory of those sexy black panties.Forcing himself to shake off the image, he re-directed his heated thoughts. “I shouldn’t have told you that. My mama’s never gonna forgive me,” Mark murmured.“Why?”“Well, when I was nine, she threatened me that if I ever told any little girls there wasn’t any Santa Claus, I’d never get another G.I. Joe or Transformer in my life.”Noelle quirked a brow. “Wow, I’ve cost you a G.I. Joe?”He shrugged. “Nah, my baby sister cost me a G.I. Joe.”“You told your baby sister there was no Santa?” She tsked and shook her head. “Very naughty, indeed.”“No, I didn’t tell her, she told me the day she got suspended from kindergarten for beating up a third-grader on the playground. He was the one who spilled the beans about Santa and she came to me and my brothers to ask if it was true.”Noelle was grinning, looking amused and interested, even while Mark wondered why the hell he was talking about his family and his childhood. Maybe to keep his brain distracted and his mouth occupied so he wouldn’t ask her what she was wearing under that boxy green sweater. Black lace? Green silk? Nothing?He swallowed the thought—and the accompanying hunger—away.“I’m still not clear on how G.I. Joe entered the picture.”“We all figured that if Mama found out none of us believed anymore, our piles of presents would get smaller and Christmas wouldn’t be as special, so we covered for Lottie about why she’d gotten into the fight at school.”“I think I’d like her,” Noelle said. “But I still don’t get why you lost your G.I. Joes if you didn’t tell your mother that the Santa secret was out of the big fat sack upon his back.”“We drew straws, and I got the short one. I told our parents Lottie was fighting because she’d seen me fighting the same boy in my class. My mother decided I was being exposed to too much violence.”“Ahh, so long G.I. Joe. Did you get a Ken doll instead?”“Worse,” he muttered, remembering the disgust only a nine-year-old boy who’d been cheated of G.I. Joes could feel on Christmas morning. “I got stuffed Wembley and Boober Fraggles.”