Free Baby, It's Cold Outside by Heidi Rice, Kate Hardy, Aimee Carson, Amy Andrews

their dads.
    “I should get going.” He swept a hand toward the mess. “Would you tell the staff I’m sorry about that? I’ll pay for any damage tomorrow when I come back.”
    She looked surprised at the offer, and he felt the stab of irritation.
    How about that? She doesn’t know a thing about me, and she’s already pegged me as a deadbeat. Real cute.
    “Okay, Mr. Sinclair.”
    He stared at her. “The name’s Ryder.”
    She nodded, tensing slightly, and he wished he’d kept the surly tone out of his voice. She didn’t mean a thing to him. And neither did her low opinion.
    “See you around, Katherine,” he said, deliberately using her first name to annoy her as he stepped around the fallen debris to head toward the stairwell.
    But as he passed her, there was a crackle of electricity, before the overhead lights flickered ominously and the whole store plunged into darkness.
    “What the…?”
    The swear word was cut in half by a strangled cry of distress next to his ear, and the grip of fingers clamping onto his forearm like a vise.
    …
    Please help me.
    Kate swallowed convulsively, trying to stem the tide of terror as the dark rushed toward her and plowed into her chest, cutting off her air supply. Her fingers dug into the only solid thing she could find, and she held on for dear life.
    “Breathe.” A voice low with tension came out of the black.
    Her heart charged into her throat, strangling her, the fear so huge and all-encompassing she wasn’t sure she’d heard anything.
    “What?” She didn’t recognize the high-pitched squeak as her own voice.
    “Breathe, Katherine.” This time the disembodied voice snapped with command, and she sucked in a breath, pushed it out again. “That’s it, keep breathing,” came the next command. She struggled to repeat the process despite the burning pain in her lungs.
    Then the still-solid thing shifted, and her fingers fisted in panicked reflex.
    “Don’t go. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me here,” she begged, recognizing the thin, small, desperate voice of her childhood self, and shame engulfed her.
    “Don’t panic.” Hot breath stirred her hair as a hand settled on her hip and gave her a reassuring rub. “I’m not going anywhere. But you have to let go of my arm before you crack the bone.”
    Her fingers flexed, feeling the muscle, the sinew, the soft hairs against her palms for the first time, and she heard a grunt of pain.
    “I’m sorry.” She whispered frantically, starting to shake, trying to make her mind engage and her fingers release their death grip. “I’m sorry. But I can’t let go.”
    “Here, how about if I hold you?” He shifted again, and the hand on her hip moved to wrap around her waist. “I’m not going anywhere.” The tone was gently persuasive, but she could hear the tension beneath and knew her nails were digging into his arm.
    She sucked in another tortured breath and got a lungful of his scent: sandalwood soap and the musty hint of sweat. His big body surrounded her, his arm and her hands trapped between them where she clung on to him.
    Her teeth chattered as the quaking terror charged through her body.
    “When you let go, put your arms around my neck,” he soothed. “Then you’ll know where I am, okay?”
    She nodded, and the top of her head butted his chin.
    He grunted again, but didn’t say anything.
    “S-s-sorry,” she said on a rattle of teeth.
    “Let go, Katherine. Now.” The demand snapped out, and her fingers released instinctively. Fear shot through her, but he folded both arms round her waist, drawing her close as she flung her arms around his neck.
    Her whole body shook, the tremors raw and uncontrollable. She squeezed her eyes shut, moisture seeping out of the corners. The only sound was the rat-a-tat-tat of her teeth, echoing like machine gun fire in the still dark.
    A slow breath gushed out against the top of her head. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Large hands stroked the slope of her back,