“What do you want from me, Vivian?”
Rafael looked up, his black eyes gleaming in the soft light.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, unsure what else to say.
“That’s a cop-out.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I don’t think so.” Rafael withdrew his hands from hers, only to wrap them around her elbows. Then he pulled Vivian toward him until her face was mere inches from his own. “I think you knew exactly what you wanted when you came back in here.” He pulled her a little closer. “It’s the same thing I’ve been wanting since I felt you pressed against me on that damn bike tonight.”
Vivian’s heart nearly exploded in her chest, it was beating so fast. But she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. Because Rafael was right. Damn the rules of professional conduct, damn staying uninvolved, damn the fact that they were from two different worlds. Vivian knew what she wanted…and to hell with the consequences.
Dear Reader,
I’m so excited to be a part of Harlequin’s sixtieth anniversary celebration, especially since they’ve been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My mother—who has been reading Harlequin romances since she had to cross into Canada to get them—handed me my first book when I was in fifth grade. I devoured it in one afternoon, and was well and truly hooked. Over the next few weeks, I read all of the other Harlequin books on her shelf and was completely thrilled when the next month rolled around—and a whole new crop of books came available.
This is my third book for Harlequin and, as I write this letter, I can’t help remembering the ten-year-old I was and the Diana Palmer novel that opened my eyes to a whole new world of happily ever after. How could that young girl possibly have imagined that twenty-two years later she’d be writing love stories for that very same publisher?
A Christmas Present is a story of love and redemption, preconceptions and unexpected surprises. I really enjoyed creating a novel that concentrated on the themes of the holiday season—family, forgiveness, hope and second chances. Rafael and Vivian have a long way to travel to get to their happy ending, but I think the trek is a heartwarming one, and I hope you feel the same.
Thank you so much for letting my vision of Christmas into your hearts. I love to hear from readers via my Web site, www.tracywolff.com or on my blog, www.sizzlingpens.blogspot.com. I hope you enjoy reading A Christmas Present as much as I enjoyed writing it. Drop me a note and let me know what you think.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Tracy Wolff
The Christmas Present
Tracy Wolff
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls’ lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her lifelong love. Now an English professor at her local community college, she writes romances when she’s not chasing after her three young sons.
To Emily Sylvan Kim,
for your friendship, guidance and always available shoulder to cry on.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
VIVIAN WENTWORTH WALKED down Ellis Street as fast as her four-inch stilettos could carry her. Head up, eyes alert, she clutched her leather briefcase in one hand, while the other—tucked into the front pocket of her coat—was wrapped securely around a small canister of pepper spray. She ignored the catcalls and crude comments that came from seemingly all directions, cursing her boss, and the judge who had kept her late at court, with every rapid step she took.
“Hey, lady. Are you lost?”
Ignoring the tough-looking teenager who stank of alcohol and sweat was extremely difficult, particularly when he had planted himself directly in her path. But ignore him she did, shifting her body a little to the left to keep from brushing up against the dark-haired youth as she passed.
This whole thing was a bad idea. A really horrendously bad idea. She’d known it right away, but Richard had been immovable. The firm needed to take on more pro bono cases, needed to raise its profile for community service in a city that took activism to a whole new level. Why she’d been selected as the guinea pig for the new program, she didn’t know. But Richard had insisted—they had to take this specific case, had to help this specific shelter, and she, specifically, was the one who had to do it.
She sighed in disgust. She had nothing against pro bono cases, having taken on quite a few in the six years since she had passed the bar. Nor did she hold a grudge against homeless boys accused of murder.
But she wasn’t a defense attorney. She was a divorce attorney with a very full plate, and most of her past pro bono cases had been for local women’s shelters, helping their residents escape abusive marriages with something more than a bunch of physical and emotional scars.
What did she know about mounting a defense in criminal court, save what they had taught her in law school over six years before? Even then she’d known she wanted to be a divorce attorney, so she hadn’t exactly dedicated herself to the criminal law courses. How on earth could she help this boy when she didn’t have a clue what she was doing herself?
It wasn’t fair, not to her and not to Diego Sanchez. If he truly was innocent, as Richard claimed, then he deserved more than an attorney who hadn’t been in a criminal courtroom since her first internship. And if he was guilty, then she took offense at wasting her time defending anyone who could callously and brutally rape and murder a pregnant, sixteen-year-old girl.
Vivian glanced at her watch, knowing what it would say before she saw the little hand sliding past the seven. Court had run over by nearly an hour, which meant that she was hugely late for her appointment with Diego. She hated being late to anything, let alone a client meeting. It was particularly hard to swallow tonight, as her lateness was what had put her in the unenviable position of being hassled by this teenager in the street.
A part of her couldn’t help wondering if Diego got his jollies the same way this boy seemed to, though she did her best to ignore the thought.
Maintaining her air of confidence was getting more difficult by the second, but Vivian was determined not to let anyone around her know just how uncomfortable she was walking in this particular area—filled with prostitutes, drug dealers, gang members—as day slowly drifted into twilight. But as the short kid who had spoken to her was joined by a couple of friends and the trio began to trail her down the street, she grew increasingly