Free I'll Be Yours for Christmas by Samantha Hunter

to her fantasies, doing so would only make everything so much more complicated, and right now the last thing she needed was more complication in her life.
    On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t open any wine.
    The phone on the wall next to her rang, and without thinking she picked it up.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œUm, hello?” a heavily accented woman’s voice responded, obviously confused. “I am looking for Reece?”
    â€œHe’s not home. May I take a message?” Abby asked, reaching for a pen.
    A heavy sigh met her request. “And who is this?” the woman asked, her “this” sounding more like “theese.”
    None of your bees-niss, Abby felt like saying, feeling annoyed. “I’m a friend of Reece’s. May I take a message?”
    â€œA friend, eh? You may tell him Danielle called,” she said, a bit huffily, Abby thought. Maybe it was the accent. “Danielle…last name?”
    â€œHe will know,” she said with an aggravatingly sexy laugh.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œBe sure he receives the message, please.”
    â€œOf course,” Abby said. “Goodbye.”
    She set the phone down, wondering why she felt so peevish. It was obviously just a friend of Reece’s from Europe calling. Abby sighed, shaking it off.
    She bet that Reece had lots of friends with sexy accents back in France. Plopping the roast into the Dutch oven a little more forcefully than she planned, she splashed stock on her shirt and shook her head.
    Ridiculous to be this put out by the idea of Reece with other women. Sexier, more sophisticated, French women.
    Well, she couldn’t compete and didn’t want to, she decided, tying on an apron to avoid further damage. Putting the woman and her snooty accent out of her mind, she turned on the radio and focused on cutting vegetables and making her appetizers.
    She quickly worked her way out of her snit and was shimmying across the kitchen, singing at the top of her lungs to Mariah Carey’s version of “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” She was on her way to put the tray of cheese and fruit in the refrigerator, but nearly dropped it all when she met Reece’s amused expression as he stood, propped in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.
    â€œReece!” she said, fumbling and blushing to the roots of her hair. “How long have you been standing there?”
    He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Mmm…about from the first chorus,” he said lightly, still smiling.
    â€œOh, God,” she said, covering her face, shaking with embarrassed laughter.
    â€œI have to admit, the apron adds a certain panache to your performance,” he teased.
    She looked down at the sexy apron she wore, aCheetah print with red ruffles and a bow at the neckline. Hannah had bought it for her birthday as a funny gift, and it had never been worn, especially since an embroidered patch on the pocket read Hot Stuff.
    As if this wasn’t embarrassing enough.
    It was one of the few items from the kitchen pantry that didn’t get ruined. She hadn’t thought twice when she’d donned it, unused to an audience while cooking.
    â€œIt was a gag gift,” she explained. “From Hannah.”
    Reece scanned her up and down appreciatively and walked over to where she stood.
    â€œWhat smells so good?”
    â€œI thought I would make us dinner, as a thank-you…and also because I like to cook. It destressed me,” she said, trying to keep her voice level as he ran a finger over the edge of the bow, the tip of his finger brushing against her skin at the edge of her shirt.
    â€œThat’s nice of you. I haven’t had a home-cooked dinner in a while,” he said sincerely, but there was a glint in his eye.
    â€œThis is every man’s fantasy, you know,” he said, tugging at the bow to pull her forward against him. “A sexy woman in the kitchen making him dinner after a long