Christmas in Stilettos: Red Stilettos, #4

By Rebecca J. Clark

A marriage of convenience…

Francie and Dylan Maguire married for practical reasons, not love. Once he gets home from deployment, they’ve decided to go their separate ways. There’s just one little problem—his family thinks they’re happily married…and his parents and siblings are expecting the couple home for Christmas.

A temporary husband…

Francie tries her best to get through three days of family dinners, holiday traditions, and sharing a bed with her husband—a very cozy double bed. But the more she pretends, the more she realizes it’s no longer a charade for her. Unfortunately, Dylan’s made it very clear that their marriage is temporary.

Christmas…a time for miracles…

• Language: English
• Publisher: River Gate Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519907851

Book preview

A marriage of convenience…

Francie and Dylan Maguire married for practical reasons, not love. Once he gets home from deployment, they’ve decided to go their separate ways. There’s just one little problem—his family thinks they’re happily married…and his parents and siblings are expecting the couple home for Christmas.

A temporary husband…

Francie tries her best to get through three days of family dinners, holiday traditions, and sharing a bed with her husband—a very cozy double bed. But the more she pretends, the more she realizes it’s no longer a charade for her. Unfortunately, Dylan’s made it very clear that their marriage is temporary.

Christmas… a time for miracles.

CHRISTMAS in STILETTOS

Red Stilettos—Book Four

by Rebecca J. Clark

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Christmas in Stilettos/Red Stilettos—Book Four

First edition COPYRIGHT © 2015 Rebecca J. Clark

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Steven Novak

Published in the United States of America

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Dedication

To anyone battling hard times during this holiday season (or whenever)… I hope this story brings you a spot of happiness and laughter while you’re reading it.

CHRISTMAS in STILETTOS

Red Stilettos Series—Book 4

Rebecca J. Clark

C

hapter One

Twenty-three-year-old Francesca Maguire stood in the terminal of the Boise airport next to the windows, while her twin daughters pressed their hands and noses to the glass, their excitement at seeing all the big airplanes barely containable. Molly was the more expressive of the two, telling anyone who walked by that her daddy was coming home on an airplane. Macy was more reserved. She was excited about the planes, but ambivalent about seeing her father for the first time in nine months.

Francie knew exactly how Macy felt.

Her phone beeped, alerting her to a text. She pulled the phone from her purse and glanced down at the small screen. Dylan. Getting off plane. See u at luggage.

Her gut clenched with excitement and nerves as she squatted down beside the girls. Guess what? Daddy’s plane is here. He’s going to be coming down those stairs in just a few minutes. She pointed to the escalators.

Molly jumped up and down and clapped her chubby hands. Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!

Macy turned her face away from the window, but didn’t smile like her sister did. Francie reached for their hands. Come on, girls. Let’s go wait over here.

Molly tugged ahead and Macy dragged behind as they joined the small crowd waiting for the passengers. Francie unrolled the ‘Welcome Home, Daddy!’ signs they’d painted this morning, and handed them to the girls.

She breathed in and out of her nose as a group of passengers appeared at the top of the escalators.

She’d taken extra care with her appearance, even though it really didn’t matter how she looked to him. She wore a new silver sweater over jeans and red stiletto ankle boots. Instead of her normal ponytail that she wore to work at the gym or to teach dance, she’d left her red hair long and loose around her shoulders, the way Dylan liked it. Not that it mattered. Not really.

There he was.

Her heart fluttered and her breathing sped up when she spotted him, head and shoulders above his fellow passengers. Safe, on American soil, and apparently healthy. Thank God. He hadn’t seen them yet, so she was free to check him out. His hair was buzz cut and he was tanner than she remembered. But of course he’d just spent much of a year in the Afghan desert. He wasn’t wearing his fatigues as she’d expected, but Levis jeans and a Seattle Seahawks hoodie stretched taut over his broad chest.

Butterflies danced through her stomach. He was bigger than he used to be. In one of his emails, he’d said there was little to do in his downtime except work out. Well, it showed.

He glanced their way and his pale blue eyes crinkled at the corners in recognition and pleasure. God. Her knees actually trembled. There’s Daddy, she said, pointing and nudging the twins forward when Dylan reached the ground floor.

Francie had shown them photos of him every day, and he’d spoken to them via Facetime whenever he could; the girls had been so young when he’d left, they wouldn’t remember him otherwise.

Molly squealed, dropped her sign, and ran to him as fast as her chubby legs would carry her. Dylan lowered all six foot three inches of himself to a kneeling position and wrapped her into his big arms. Hey, pretty girl, he said, hugging her tight.

Daddy, miss you! Molly said, pressing her face into his chest.

Francesca picked up the sign and walked toward them, Macy clinging onto her legs.

Dylan looked up and met Francie’s eyes. Hey. His gaze traveled appreciatively over her body, and back down again.

She ignored the unexpected throbbing between her legs. Not gonna happen. Hey, she said to him. She rubbed Macy’s head. Macy’s a little shy, sorry. She would use the girls’ names for a while, in case he couldn’t tell them apart. Both were strawberry blond and brown eyed, so it might take him a few days to know who was who. But for today, she’d dressed them in colorful sweatshirts—Molly, who was first born by five minutes, wore a pink sweatshirt that said One. Macy’s yellow shirt said Two.

It’s okay. She doesn’t know me. His words conveyed his understanding, but disappointment flickered in his eyes. Cute shirts. Those’ll help. He stood, lifting Molly with him and shifting her into one arm, and Francie imagined his muscles flexing and bulging beneath the fleece. She remembered very clearly what those arms felt like around her, and pushed those thoughts away.

Welcome home, soldier, she muttered, leaning in to give him a one-armed hug. She pulled him tight against her. I’m glad you’re back safe and sound. She held onto him a bit longer than she probably should have, then glanced up at him and tried to read his expression.

His blue eyes darkened and he lowered his head to kiss her. She turned her face at the last minute and his lips brushed her cheek instead. He gave a sharp intake of breath at her rejection as she stepped out of the embrace.

He cleared his throat. It’s nice to be back on American soil. You look really good, Francie. He glanced down. I especially like the shoes. One of his eyebrows rose as he met her eyes again.

Oh, shit. Her stiletto ankle boots. She hadn’t even thought—These aren’t, um… She knew her face must be fifty shades of red. "These are technically boots not really shoes." The explanation was lame, but how in the world had she forgotten? She just hadn’t been thinking. Obviously.

Back when their relationship was hot and heavy, before reality and life got in the way—aka two unexpected bundles of joy—Dylan had loved it when she’d worn stiletto heels during sex. He’d told her once that all she needed to do to let him know she was horny was put on a pair of high heels. So she used to wear stilettos just to tease him. Drove him crazy. And she always ended up naked.

She couldn’t read Dylan’s expression. Was that disappointment she saw? Well, of course it had to be. He’d been in a horrible place for almost a year. He’d probably love to get laid tonight. But she knew he didn’t expect to.

Dylan squatted and set Molly down, then cocked his head toward Macy. Hey, baby girl, he said softly. That’s a really nice sign you made. She turned her face into Francie’s thigh. Can you give Daddy a hug? I sure missed you.

Not baby! Macy moved farther behind Francie’s legs and squeezed her eyes shut as if thinking if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her.

Francie reached behind her and rubbed Macy’s soft curls—the exact color mix between her red hair and Dylan’s light brown hair. It takes her a while to warm up around— She’d been about to say strangers but caught herself. To an almost two-year-old, it was true. Dylan was a stranger to his