Page 1 of Mistletoe and Magic

PROLOGUE

JACE

Undisclosed Location in

South America

Christmas Eve

Ten Years Ago

Jace Winterborne’s heart pounded in his ears, the chaos of battle swirling around him like a storm. Gunfire cracked through the humid night air, the jungle thick with the scent of damp earth and gunpowder. He moved on instinct, feet pounding through the underbrush as the shouts of his SEAL team faded beneath the heavy thrum of adrenaline.

Then he saw him—Ryan Murphy, his commanding officer, crumpled behind a fallen tree, clutching his side where blood seeped through his uniform.

“Murph!” Jace hissed, sliding in beside him and yanking his rifle up to scan the tree line. “Stay with me, boss. We’re getting out of here.”

Murphy’s face was pale, his breath shallow and ragged. “They’re closing in, Winterborne... Leave me. Get the rest of the team out. That’s an order.”

Jace snarled under his breath. “Yeah, well, order denied.” His mind raced, calculating the distance to the extraction point and the dwindling minutes before enemy fire would pin them down.

Without hesitation, Jace grabbed Murphy’s arm and hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Murphy let out a pained grunt, but Jace was already moving, his muscles screaming with the effort. His boots dug into the mud as he sprinted through the dense jungle, gunfire popping just behind them.

“Drop me; you’ll ruin your back,” Murphy groaned.

“Shut up, Murph,” Jace muttered, adjusting his grip. "You always said pain is just weakness leaving the body."

Murphy huffed a weak laugh, but Jace heard the fear beneath it—a fear that made his legs pump harder. He wasn’t losing his commander, not today.

Shots whizzed past, and Jace dove behind a cluster of boulders, dropping to his knees with Murphy still slung across his shoulders. He shifted him down and onto the ground, ripping open a field dressing with his teeth.

“Keep pressure on this,” Jace ordered, slapping the gauze over the wound. His hands worked fast and steady, but inside, he was a knot of fraying nerves. They didn’t have much time.

Murphy’s eyes fluttered open briefly, locking on Jace’s. "You always did know how to make an exit."

Jace gave a crooked grin. "And you always knew how to get shot at the worst possible times."

A low rumble announced the incoming chopper. The sound of salvation. But Jace knew they weren’t out of this yet.

“Hold on, boss," he murmured, lifting Murphy again as the whir of the helicopter blades grew louder. “We’re almost home.”

And with a final burst of strength, Jace Winterborne carried his commander toward the waiting chopper, every step a promise he refused to break.

1

FELICITY

New York City, New York

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tok. Her great grandmother’s mantle clock ticked away. Somehow Felicity felt as if it were tut-tutting her in addition to marking the passage of time.

In the small, dimly lit apartment of Felicity Hart, shadows danced across the walls, cast by the flickering screen of her laptop. Felicity sat hunched over her cluttered desk, the only sources of light in the room were the small lamp she’d had purchased at one of the local thrift shops and several candles scattered about the room that added a warm ambiance. The cursor on the blank document taunted her, a constant reminder of her struggle to write the perfect words for her novel.

The sharp, bitter scent of stale coffee hung heavy in the air, evidence of Felicity's many sleepless nights spent trying to capture her ideas on paper. With a defeated sigh, she pushed her laptop away and rubbed her tired eyes, hoping for a moment of respite from the daunting task at hand. Her gaze wandered around the room, searching desperately for any hint of inspiration.

Poor Hattie had taken a chance on her when they’d met at a book convention. Felicity had won a ten-minute pitchspot with the famed senior editor for one of the largest and best independent publishing houses. Hattie had hated the book Felicity pitched but had invited her for a drink later and had subsequently taken her on.

“As I said, I didn’t like the book you pitched to me,” Hattie had said while sipping a chocolate martini, ‘but I do think you have talent. What else do you have to show me?’

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