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Mistletoe and Mario: Holiday Interludes, #1
Mistletoe and Mario: Holiday Interludes, #1
Mistletoe and Mario: Holiday Interludes, #1
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Mistletoe and Mario: Holiday Interludes, #1

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What's a girl to do when her teenage love turns up on her doorstep? It's Christmas Eve and JAG Lieutenant Mario Judson is set to deploy to the Middle East in the morning.

Struggling interior designer Alexa Devereaux has a deadline looming, and truth be told it's been eight long years since she's seen him. Now she has to struggle with whether or not to send him off to war with a smile on his face and sweet memories to last a lifetime.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 28, 2014
ISBN9781498971874
Mistletoe and Mario: Holiday Interludes, #1
Author

Marie-Nicole Ryan

Marie-Nicole Ryan was born in a small western Kentucky town, but after college and marriage, she said "Good bye" to small town life. After spending three years as an army wife, she landed in Nashville, TN, where she spent several decades working as an R.N. and case manager. Finally in 2002, she achieved her dream of becoming a published author. She loves all lawmen and detectives and writes erotic historical western romance and contemporary romantic suspense.  TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE, won a 2008 EPPIE for erotic romantic suspense. One of her early books, SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS, won the Golden Wings award from the publisher for excellence in romantic suspense. In addition, her mystery/suspense novel, ONE TOO MANY, was a 2009 EPPIE Finalist. She's a formerly active member of RWA® and Music City Romance Writers. Recently, she returned to her old hometown in western Kentucky. When she's not slaving away at her current work in progress, you might find her walking her dog Kelsea, a sheltie rescue, or at the Y. But you won't ever find her in an airplane. No, not ever.

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    Book preview

    Mistletoe and Mario - Marie-Nicole Ryan

    MISTLETOE AND MARIO

    by

    Marie-Nicole Ryan

    A holiday short story

    R Y A N D A L E  P U B L I S H I N G

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    About the Author

    Bibliography

    Copyright

    Chapter One

    THE INTERCOM BUZZED. Alexa looked up and glared at the intercom unit. Now what?

    Someone to see you, Miss Devereaux.

    Crap. Office hours, as such, were over, and she still had to finish the proposal for the Landry’s condo reno. If she was going to get the project design exactly right, working the entire holiday weekend and all of next week was the only thing on her agenda. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to squeeze in Christmas dinner with her dad and stepmom Nikki. Alexa double-checked her PDA, and she didn’t have a single scheduled appointment, so who was at her door on a holiday weekend?

    Who is it? Maybe it was her stepmother Nikki. No, Nikki was a frequent visitor. The doormen knew her quite well, so he wouldn’t have said, Someone...

    Looks like a naval officer, Miss.

    "A sailor?" One who was desperately in need of her interior design services on a Friday evening? Give me a break.

    An old friend. A deep and resonant masculine voice came over the intercom.

    Could it possibly be? Surely not. Eight years ago, her teenage crush Mario Judson had left for the Naval Academy and never once looked back.

    "I don’t have any old friends," she said, hoping her snarky tone hid the telltale pounding of her heart. Damn good thing he couldn’t see her burning cheeks.

    Come on, Lexxie. You wouldn’t deny a man who’s getting ready to ship out, would you?

    She sucked in a deep breath and finger-combed her unruly curls with hands that shook as if she had a full-blown case of the flu.   

    Okay. Send him up. Glancing around the Soho loft, she tamped down the impulse to scramble around and try to straighten things up a bit. No point. The studio was always a disarray of fabric and carpet samples, paint chips, and a hundred other things—that was a given. The fact she was in the homestretch of a project only made the mess worse.

    So the sailor boy wanted to be sent off with a smile on his face. Was that it? Well, she’d show him. Three freaking e-mails in eight years—not that she was counting. As if she had nothing better

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