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      Contents

      NAUGHTY BUT NICE

      by Donna Kauffman

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Epilogue

      ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

      by Cynthia Eden

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      TATTOOS AND MISTLETOE

      by Susan Fox

      Author’s Note

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Naughty but Nice

      DONNA KAUFFMAN

      1

      “Good Lord, more of the bloody damn things.”

      A cluster of the silver nuisances jingled and chimed cheerfully as Thomas Griffin Gallagher entered Cups & Cakes, the small bakery and coffee shop on the edge of the town square. He winced at the increased throb in his temples. The American celebration of Thanksgiving was still weeks away, but the town was already riddled with the festive touches of the pending Christmas season. In fact, everywhere he went in the rural little burg of Hamilton, he heard bells ringing. Each and every doorway or archway had one hanging somewhere; men in red suits standing over black kettles clutched at least one or two. Moments ago, when a trundling service truck with the damn things tied to the grille had come within an inch of running him down, they’d almost been the last thing he’d seen on this earth. Ringing and clanging, clanging and ringing.

      It was enough to drive a bloke bloody, raving starkers.

      The rich scent of coffee beans filled his senses, and the jangling bells went mercifully ignored as he shut the door behind him. He’d arrived in Virginia from Dublin two weeks ago, but the nagging headache wasn’t due to prolonged jet lag. His arrival in the village proper that morning was the next critical step in his mission…and not likely to do anything to help the throbbing in his temples.

      It was why he was in a cupcake shop—to gird himself with a bit of freshly ground armor. He took a moment to breathe in the most heavenly of scents and thought about that morning, almost one year ago, when he’d been informed by his Gallagher cousin, Sean, that the only Irish in him came from his mum, who’d been a Houlihan before marrying his father. Otherwise, he was a red-blooded American. It had explained many things, possibly among them the reason why he’d always preferred the rich, dark taste of coffee over tea. In fact, he could feel the pinch of the headache he’d woken up with already receding, just from the scent alone.

      He walked up to the short tidy counter. Given the typical Yank’s apparent addiction to the stuff, he was surprised that he’d yet to find anything comparable there. After mentioning as much to the owner of the rustic inn where he was staying, just on the outskirts of town, he’d been guided to this quaint little shop. Posh hotels were more typically his style those days, but the closest one to Hamilton was several hours away in Charlottesville. He supposed there were some who found the cozy, rural setting something of a respite from their usual hectic pace of life. Griffin, on the other hand, would have given anything for room service and a decent concierge.

      However, if the coffee tasted half as good as it smelled, he’d have to thank Mrs. Crossley, the innkeeper, the next time they crossed paths. It hadn’t been often of late, given the hours he’d been keeping since his arrival. One cup, then he’d brace himself for a day of trying to explain to the fine citizens of Hamilton how his ideas on globalizing the town’s potential would revolutionize their little world. His plans were going to improve the quality of living for every man, woman, and horse presently living in Hamilton Township proper, as well as the surrounding county of Randolph. They would see improvement on every measureable scale. Who wouldn’t want that?

      At least, that’s how he saw it. But he knew from personal experience with his family back home that not everyone understood or appreciated possibilities and potential. Especially those who had never had their fair share of it. He smiled again at the irony that this little village, thousands of miles away from his childhood home, was, in many ways, just as strangled by tradition and conservative thinking as West Cork.

      He could only pray that, unlike those who had raised him, the fine folks of Hamilton—his blood family, as it were—would embrace his ideas, rather than turn a deaf ear before hearing him out. In order for them to fully realize the depth and breadth of his plans, he would need their cooperation.

      But change was coming, regardless. Fearing his death was imminent, aged and frail Lionel Hamilton had signed off on Griff’s every idea, knowing it would ensure the future for the empire that Lionel, along with his ancestors, had built.

      Griff’s train of thought was abruptly broken by a loud yelp coming from somewhere in the rear of the small shop, followed by a ringing crash of what sounded like metal on metal.

      He gritted his teeth against the renewed ringing inside his own head, even as he called out in the ensuing silence. “Hullo? Are you in need of some assistance?”

      What followed was a stream of very…colorful language that surprised a quick smile from him. He’d found Americans, at least the ones of his immediate acquaintance, to be a bit obsessed with political correctness,