Tori Carrington - Red-Hot Santa

Twelve military heroes Twelve indomitable heroines One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries

Don’t miss a story in Mills & Boon ®Blaze ®’s 12-book continuity series, featuring irresistible soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

Heat up your holidays with A Few Good Marines…

DEVIL IN DRESS BLUES

by Karen Foley

MODEL MARINE

by Candace Havens

RED-HOT SANTA

by Tori Carrington

Uniformly Hot!— The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell!

Available wherever Mills & Boon®

books are sold.

Dear Reader,

What do you want for Christmas? Dangerous question, depending on who you ask. Of course, if a Red-Hot Santa is involved, I’m thinking many of us might make a nice, long list, if only so we could sit on his lap: again … and again … and again …

In our latest UNIFORMLY HOT! book, Jackson Savage (younger brother of Jason from Undeniable Pleasures ) is the epitome of all things steamy … something his longtime best friend Maxine McGuire has always known, but never allowed herself to sample. Until now. But does the mind-blowing chemistry they share between the sheets translate into love? Or is it just GREAT sex?

I hope Jackson and Max’s sexy journey heats up those cold winter nights and that you enjoy this latest Lazarus Security title. We’d love to hear what you think. Contact us at PO Box 12271, Toledo, OH 43612, USA or visit us on the web at www.toricarrington.net or www.facebook.com/toricarrington.

Happy holidays!

Lori & Tony Karayianniaka Tori Carrington

RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award-winning bestselling duo Lori Schlachter Karayianni and Tony Karayianni are the power behind the pen name TORI CARRINGTON.Their more than fifty novels include numerous Mills & Boon ®Blaze ®miniseries, as well as the ongoing Sofie Metropolis comedic mystery series with another publisher. Visit www.toricarrington.net and www.sofiemetro.com for more information on the couple and their titles.

Tori Carrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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We dedicate this book to servicemen and women

in all military branches everywhere for not only

putting their lives on the line on a daily basis,

but for the heartache they must endure when

serving so far away from the ones they love. And

to editor extraordinaire Brenda Chin … just because …

HIS BROTHER WAS a dumbass. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

Jackson Savage tugged on the suspenders holding up the too-big red velvet pants he had on over his jeans. He’d stripped out of the red jacket some time ago, leaving him frustrated at being the one who got stuck wearing the Santa suit for the bar’s Christmas party. The hat and shiny black boots remained intact even though he’d prefer to ditch them, as well. But he was scheduled to play Santa later so he thought he’d better keep them on.

Thank God this was his last night working at the bar. Even if his brother wouldn’t be happy about it.

Oh, he knew there were valid reasons his older sibling felt protective of him. Losing their parents at a young age was the biggest of them. Thinking he needed to be a father figure as a result was another. But as far as Jackson was concerned, he’d grown beyond the nose-blowing stage long ago. It was past time Jason took a good look at him and realized he wasn’t a kid anymore.

If his brother didn’t … well, he was afraid he was going to have to kick his ass just to prove his point. And that would be one fight neither of them would walk away from unscathed, he was sure.

Well, that was adult of him, wasn’t it? Jackson grimaced at the asinine thought and swiped the white puff of the Santa hat back from his brow.

Still, nearly four months had passed since he’d proven himself up for the job, not only as a responsible adult and decorated Marine, but solid Lazarus Security material. If taking a bullet for the cause wasn’t enough, what was?

Jackson shoved the glass of draught beer he’d just filled from a tap a little too forcefully, spilling a good inch of it as he served his countless drink at The Barracks that night. He muttered an apology and then wiped the spot, topping off the glass before presenting it to one of the regulars again.

“Hey, Jax, that’s the third time tonight. What’s the matter?” Winston asked. “Trouble with Mrs. Claus?”

Pete, the guy standing next to him, laughed. “There’d have to be a Mrs. Claus in order for there to be trouble with her. No, Jax here’s trouble is that he needs a little … something from a Mrs. Claus candidate.”

Jackson gave a perfunctory laugh. “What I need is a nice, long vacation. Preferably somewhere warm. Where someone else serves me.”

Genie, one of the three waitresses, stepped up to the bar in her Santa hat, too-tight white tank and red velvet shorts trimmed in white fur, The Barracks’ holiday uniform even if it was December and ten below outside. “I’ll wait on you,” she offered with her trademark purr.

Pete gave a low whistle. “Son, if I were you, I’d be all over that.”

“Against bar policy,” Jackson said absently.

Even if it wasn’t, it was against his personal policy. He made it a point not to sleep with coworkers. He’d seen his fair share of bad episodes when things went south—as they inevitably did. South? On one unforgettable occasion, he’d ended up with a psycho bitch from hell stalking him because he’d given in to temptation and slept with her one night. It was all he’d been in the market for at the time. Apparently, she’d had other ideas. And when sweet persuasion hadn’t worked, she’d resorted to other more disturbing measures to prove her love for him.

No way was he going that route again.

No matter how difficult his hot coworkers sometimes made it for him. He looked over Genie’s generous curves and then up at her suggestive smile. She made his four-month-old wound itch.

But that’s not why he was there. His tending bar was really only a way to keep himself occupied until his brother came around. Yeah, it helped pay the bills, but considering the large, structured settlement and trust fund he and Jason had received upon their parents’ deaths, he didn’t need the money.

Still, he’d barely touched his bank account, gaining a certain satisfaction in supporting himself and his day-to-day expenses with his income. Right now, his life resembled some sort of airplane holding pattern. He only hoped he’d be cleared for landing soon, because he didn’t know how much fuel he had left before he crashed.

He checked his cell phone, knowing as he did who he was hoping he’d find a call or text from. And, strangely enough, it wasn’t his brother. He’d smiled when Max McGuire’s missed call had popped up in this display. She hadn’t left a message, but that was no surprise; she never did.