Marry-Me Christmas Read Online Free PDF

Earl.”
    Flynn let out a short gust of disbelief. “I’d be in better hands with a troop of baboons.”
    “Oh, Earl’s not so bad. He’s really easygoing. You just gotta get used to him. And, indulge him by listening to his stories once in a while. Nothing makes him happier than that. You might even get a discount on your service if you suffer through his account of the blizzard of ’78 and how he baked a turkey, even though the power was out for four days.” She shot him a grin.
    “I don’t have time for other people’s stories.”
    “You’re a reporter, isn’t your whole mission to get the story?”
    “Just the ones they pay me for.” That pay had been lucrative, ever since he turned in his first article. Flynn had risen to the top of his field, becoming well-known in the magazine industry for being the go-to guy for getting the job done—on time, and right on the word count.
    Then he’d hit a road bump, a big one, with the celebrity chef back in June. His editor had lost faith in Flynn, but worse—
    Flynn had temporarily lost faith in himself.
    He refused to get sucked into that emotional vortex again. He’d gotten to the top by staying out of the story, and he’d do that again here. Get in and out, as fast as possible.
    And then make one stop, one very important stop, before heading back to Boston.
    But he couldn’t do either if he didn’t shake off that silly whisper of conscience, write the story his editor wanted and get it in on time, no matter what it took.
    The interior of the Jeep had reached a comfortable temperature and Sam pulled off one glove, then the other. Her hands, he noticed, were slim and delicate, the nails short and no-nonsense, not polished. She tugged on the zipper of the parka, but it stuck. “Oh, this coat,” she muttered, still tugging with one hand while she drove with the other.
    “Let me.” He reached over, intending only to help her, but his hand brushed against hers, and instant heat exploded in that touch. Flynn’s hand jerked upward. He hadn’t reacted with such instantaneous attraction to a woman—a woman he’d just met—in a long time. Granted, Samantha Barnett was beautiful, but there was something about her. Something indefinable. A brightness to her smile, to her personality, that seemed to draw him in, make him forget his reporter’s objectivity.
    Not smart. If there was one thing Flynn prided himself on being, it was smart.
    Controlled. He didn’t let things get out of hand, get crazy. By keeping tight reins on his life, on himself, he was able to manage everything. The one time he had lost control, he’d nearly lost his career.
    He cleared his throat. He clasped the tiny silver zipper and pulled. After a slight catch, the fastener gave way, parting the front of the coat with a low-pitched hum as it slid down.
    Beneath the coat, she wore a soft green sweater that dipped in a slight V at the neck and skimmed over her curves. From the second he’d met Samantha Barnett, Flynn had noticed the way the green of the sweater enhanced the green in her eyes, offset the golden tones in her hair. But now, without the cover of the apron, he noticed twice as much.
    And noticed even more about her.
    The scent of her perfume…cinnamon, vanilla, honey—or was it simply the leftover scents of the bakery?—wafted up to tease at his senses. Would her skin taste the same? Taste as good as the baked delights in the cases of the shop?
    Flynn drew back. Shook himself.
    Get back on track, back in work mode.
    Getting distracted by a woman was not part of the plan. It never was. He did not get emotionally involved. Did not let himself care, about the people in the story, about people in general. That was how he stayed in control of his life.
    No way was he deviating from the road he had laid for himself. Even Mimi, with her need for no real tie, no commitment, fit into what he needed. A woman like Samantha Barnett, who had small-town, commitment values written all over