Carol Ericson - A Silverhill Christmas

Rio sank onto the bed next to her and gripped her shoulders.

She turned to face him, her hair trailing across his wrists. “A lot of things are dangerous, cowboy.”

Dropping her gaze to Rio’s sensuous mouth, she ran her tongue along her bottom lip. Could they just share one kiss that wasn’t a fake or didn’t get interrupted?

Rio curled his hand around her neck. “You like playing with fire, don’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’ll do what it takes to get my son back.”

“How do you know you can trust me?” He dropped his thumb to the hollow of her throat and she swallowed.

“Because I’ve been stark naked under this robe since I got out of the shower, and you’ve hardly made a move.”

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For my Uncle Frank, a nonagenarian inspiration.

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of–the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

Tori Scott—The ex-wife of Mad Prince Alexi of Glazkova, Tori is ready to make a move to reclaim her son. She’s prepared to engage the services of one of the McClintock brothers from her hometown of Silverhill, but when the McClintock in question turns out to be illegitimate brother Rio McClintock, Tori must balance her attraction for Rio with her determination to rescue her son.

Rio McClintock—The black sheep of the McClintock family, Rio has carved out his own place in the world without the McClintocks. When a sexy princess needs his help to rescue her son from a criminal, how can Rio refuse her? Even if it means facing the family who rejected him.

Prince Alexi Zherkov—The pampered prince of the small country of Glazkova turned to drug trafficking to maintain his lifestyle. Now he wants his princess back and he’s willing to use their son to get her.

Vladimir Kolchenko—He’s known as the “White Russian,” and his presence in Maui with Prince Alexi indicates that this trip is more business than pleasure.

Grant Swain—A small-time drug dealer in Maui is about to hit the big time. Is this opportunity his ticket to paradise or a one-way trip to the morgue?

Ivan Batalova—Ordered to keep watch over Tori while she’s with her son, he’s loyal to his prince and is trained to kill anyone who attempts to take the future prince.

Irina Popov—Maksim’s nanny, she’s been Tori’s eyes and ears. If Prince Alexi finds out about her betrayal, she’ll lose more than her job.

Maksim Zherkov—Tori’s son hasn’t seen his mother in two years. Will he leave with her willingly, or will his father groom him for a life of crime?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Rio McClintock dug his elbows into the moist, volcanic dirt, cursed the CIA and adjusted his binoculars. He focused on the terrace, decked out in Christmas lights, hanging over the inky Pacific. A crush of people mingled, sipping expensive booze and congratulating themselves on their good luck. He could almost hear the tinkling glasses and murmur of voices from his perch.

Another party. Didn’t those people have anything better to do than eat, drink and be merry?

And didn’t they realize their generous host, Mad Prince Alexi, supplied arms and ammunition to a motley crew of terrorists and two-bit dictators the world over?

The sea of people parted as a tall man, dressed in dark slacks and a black turtleneck, cut a swath through the patio. Alexi looked like a black hawk descending on a field of brightly colored birds of paradise.

Who the hell wore black in Hawaii? Rio ran a finger along the neckline of his sweat-soaked black T-shirt. Unless you had to.

He rolled onto his side and dug one of two water bottles out of his backpack, avoiding his Colt .45. Leaning on one elbow, he chugged half the bottle and then ground it into the thick carpet of mulch that cushioned his lookout post, a burrow in the side of a gently sloping hill.

He trained his binoculars back on the partygoers. Pretty people. Alexi had no shortage of beautiful women hanging on his arm, cavorting on his beach and soaking in his hot tub. They either didn’t realize the danger surrounding the man like a miasma, or they courted it. Pretty, stupid people.

Scanning the upper-level windows again, he drew in a quick breath as a man with slicked-back white hair came into focus. He muttered, “Bingo.”

Rio figured Alexi hadn’t come to Maui for the sun and surf, and his CIA contact had figured the same thing. Now the proof stood at a window in Alexi’s palatial rental. Alexi always used Vladimir Kolchenko, the White Russian, as the go-between for his arms deals. Kolchenko’s presence in Maui guaranteed that Alexi planned to mix business with pleasure.

A bug skittered onto Rio’s arm, and he flicked it off into the darkness. Now if he could just figure out a way to get into that house instead of rotting away on this spongy precipice hanging over the ocean.

A twig snapped, and he jerked to a sitting position, dropping the binoculars where they banged against his chest. He crouched by the tree growing out of the hillside to his right, his muscles tense and coiled.

Tourists, even extreme hikers, never ventured this far from the trails crisscrossing Maui’s backcountry. Had Alexi’s goons ferreted out his hiding place carved into the side of the hill?

His gaze tracked back and forth along the ridge of the hill, the half moon shedding a fuzzy glow on the jumble of plants that hugged the edge. A bush rustled and an object sailed over his head, dropping at his feet. He glanced down at the crumpled flower petals littering the toes of his hiking boots.

As the foliage parted above him, a denim-clad leg appeared over the side of the ridge. The sound of a click pumped up his adrenaline, and he braced his back against the tree trunk ready to charge at the intruder.

Another leg appeared and Rio lunged forward, wrapping his arms around both appendages now dangling over the edge of the drop-off. He yanked at the legs, which kicked wildly, clamping them to his chest as he hurtled himself and his squirming package to the soft ground.

They rolled a few feet down the hillside, and although the struggling stopped, Rio received a nip on his chest through his T-shirt for his efforts. What kind of pansy-ass thugs did Prince Alexi have working for him these days? What next, hair pulling?