Murder respects no traditions. It ignores sentiment. It takes no holidays. Because murder was her business, Lieutenant Eve Dallas stood in the predawn freeze of Christmas morning coating the deerskin gloves her husband had given her only hours before with Seal-It. The call had come in less than an hour before and less than six hours since she'd closed a case that had left her shaky and exhausted. Her first Christmas with Roarke wasn't getting off to a rousing start.

A Christmas to Remember... The strong, dreamy scent of pine made Eve shake her head. Roarke had gone wild for tradition on this, their first Christmas together. Who knew what he had paid for the live trees he'd placed throughout the house. And this one, the one that stood by the window in their bedroom, he'd insisted they decorate together... "Tree lights on," she ordered, and smiled a little as she watched them blink and flash. She was sitting on the arm of the sofa taking off her boots when Roarke came in... She angled her head and studied him as he stood just inside the doorway. She let her second boot drop and stood up slowly. "Come here." Recognizing the glint in her eyes, he felt the light tingle of lust begin to move through his blood. "There?" "You heard me, slick." Keeping his eyes on hers, he walked across the room. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Traditions, Eve thought, had to start somewhere.