Read Online Harlequin Holiday Collection - Four Classic Seasonal Novellas by Leslie Kelly - Free Book Online Page A

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 specialty, y’see.”
    Clint Walker blinked behind his fake glasses. He’d been so absorbed in his prep work that he’d barely noticed the waitress when she’d approached his table.
    But she had his full attention now! With a shaft of sheer male appreciation, he took in her tumble of tawny curls, laughing green eyes and mile-long legs encased in black tights beneath a short cherry-red skirt. The enticing combination almost made Clint forget the dangerous assignment that had brought him to Dublin.
    Almost.
    “You’re a student?” he got out, recovering.
    “A doctoral candidate at Trinity College. What can I bring you?”
    “I’ll have a pint.”
    “Original, draft, extra stout, smooth or red?”
    “Draft.”
    “Righto.”
    While the blonde wove her way back to the bar, the interest she stirred in Clint took a sharp turn from personal to professional.
    He was on the trail of an art thief who specialized in obtaining prehistoric artifacts for a shadowy Miami-based drug lord with discriminating and extremely expensive tastes. Two days ago, the FBI’s Art Crimes Division had received a tip that the thief might be one of the handful of spectators who were allowed into the megalithic Newgrange tomb at sunrise on December 22. On that day—and only that day—the rising sun would align at precisely the right angle to illuminate the tomb’s inner chamber.
    Despite the fact that art theft ranked fourth in major international crimes after drugs, people trafficking and arms, most