His First Noelle
Ranger Security Employee Files
Employee #13: “The Protector”
Name: Judd Anderson
Trademark characteristics: Tall, dark and deliciously handsome, this former sniper has wicked aim.
Weaknesses: Saving girls who are trying to save the world.
Joining his twin at Ranger Security is Judd Anderson’s first step toward a new life. But when he’s assigned to protect a key witness in a murder case, the last thing he expects is a rather sexy Christmas angel to land in his lap....
Humanitarian Noelle Montgomery dedicates herself to helping others, so having someone take care of her is completely different. And now that she’s in hiding with her hot bodyguard, Noelle is finding her niceness taking a decidedly naughtier turn.
But when the line between protection and seduction is crossed, Judd is compromised. Will he be able to save Noelle...in time for Christmas?
Just in time for the holidays, fan favorite Rhonda Nelson is giving Harlequin Blaze readers two more books in her bestselling series
MEN OUT OF UNIFORM
These hot Southern heroes have spent years taking on anything the military could throw at them and they always came out on top. So why do they get knocked off course by the first sexy woman who crosses their path?
Don’t miss
#717 THE PROFESSIONAL
(November 2012)
and
#724 HIS FIRST NOELLE
(December 2012)
There’s nothing like a man in uniform…
or out of it!
Dear Reader,
We have exciting news! Starting in January, the Harlequin Blaze books you know and love will be getting a brand-new look. And it’s hot!
But don’t worry—nothing else about the Blaze books has changed. You’ll still find those unforgettable love stories with intrepid heroines, hot, hunky heroes and a double dose of sizzle!
So be sure to check out our new supersexy covers. You’ll find these newly packaged Blaze editions on the shelves December 18th, 2012, wherever you buy your books.
In the meantime, check out this month’s red-hot reads.
LET IT SNOW by Leslie Kelly and Jennifer LaBrecque
(A Blazing Bedtime Stories Holiday Edition)
HIS FIRST NOELLE by Rhonda Nelson
(Men Out of Uniform)
ON A SNOWY CHRISTMAS NIGHT by Debbi Rawlins
(Made in Montana)
NICE & NAUGHTY by Tawny Weber
ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS
by Lori Wilde, Kathleen O’Reilly and Candace Havens
(A Sizzling Yuletide Anthology)
HERS FOR THE HOLIDAYS by Samantha Hunter
(The Berringers)
Happy holidays!
Brenda Chin
Senior Editor
Harlequin Blaze
Rhonda Nelson
His First Noelle
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A Waldenbooks bestselling author, two-time RITA® Award nominee, RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice nominee and National Readers’ Choice Award winner Rhonda Nelson writes hot romantic comedy for the Harlequin Blaze line and other Harlequin Books imprints. With more than thirty-five published books to her credit, she’s thrilled with her career and enjoys dreaming up her characters and manipulating the worlds they live in. She and her family make their chaotic but happy home in a small town in northern Alabama. She loves to hear from her readers, so be sure to check her out at www.readRhondaNelson.com, follow her on Twitter @RhondaRNelson and like her on Facebook.
Books by Rhonda Nelson
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
255—THE PLAYER
277—THE SPECIALIST
283—THE MAVERICK
322—THE EX-GIRLFRIENDS’ CLUB
361—FEELING THE HEAT
400—THE LONER
412—THE HELL-RAISER
475—LETTERS FROM HOME
481—THE SOLDIER
545—THE RANGER
549—BORN ON THE 4TH OF JULY “The Prodigal”
557—THE RENEGADE
579—IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE MISTLETOE…“Cole for Christmas”
586—THE REBEL
594—THE WILD CARD
615—REAL MEN WEAR PLAID!
645—THE SURVIVOR
657—THE PHOENIX
664—THE KEEPER
688—BLAZING BEDTIME STORIES, VOLUME VII “The Steadfast Hot Soldier”
711—BLAZING BEDTIME STORIES, VOLUME IX “The Equalizer”
717—THE PROFESSIONAL
For all of our military and their families, most especially those who will spend the holidays apart. My heartfelt thanks for your service.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Prologue
Baghdad, Iraq
MILITARY SNIPER JUDD WILLINGHAM ignored the sweat sliding into his eyes and the nausea climbing the back of his throat and snugged his finger tight against the trigger. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it thundering in his ears and the metallic taste of panic clung to his dry tongue. He didn’t move—he’d learned to be perfectly still—his body flat against the sandy ground, his weapon positioned perfectly on the tripod.
“In range, clear shot,” his spotter, Lewis Masterson said, his disembodied voice coming through the headset.
He knew, dammit. He knew. And yet...
“Captain?”
“I see, Lewis,” he said, his voice raspy through his tightened throat.
Clear target, in range, perfect shot. A so-called humane kill. The miserable sonofabitch lined up in his crosshairs had been strapping bombs onto terrified children and then sending them into the marketplace before remote detonating. The man deserved to die, if you asked him, and up until a month ago Judd hadn’t minded meting out justice, had proudly embraced his Angel of Death moniker.
So why in the name of all that was holy couldn’t he pull the godforsaken trigger? Why couldn’t he do what he’d been trained to do? What he knew how to do best? Better than anybody, he’d been told. What he’d been doing for Uncle Sam for the past five years? Why the sudden attack of nerves, of conscience?
Why did he want to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this?
“Captain, you gonna take the shot?” Lewis prodded again, a hint of galling uncertainty in his voice.
He wanted to, dammit. It was his duty, his job, his purpose. He forcibly swallowed back the bile in his throat, dry heaved and readied himself once more. His target hadn’t moved. He could do this, Judd told himself. Had to do this. He released a breath, narrowed his gaze, and then put his finger determinedly against the trigger and...
“He’s moving, Angel! He’s moving!” Lewis exclaimed. “Take the shot! Take him out!”
Judd hesitated.
Lewis didn’t.
Captain Judd Willingham hung his head in as much shame as relief, swore softly under his breath and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his career in the military was officially over.
1
Six months later...
DRESSED IN A courier’s uniform, newly minted security agent Judd Willingham made the short walk up the cracked sidewalk to the small front porch of the nondescript brick house. Twinkling Christmas lights with more burnt-out bulbs than working ones sagged from the eaves and a sad-looking wreath hung from a door in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. Dead weeds, their crispy skeletons all that
remained from a robust summer, pushed up between the evergreen shrubs, crowding the flower beds on either side of the entrance, and a rusty mailbox hung drunkenly from a lone nail which was dangerously close to slipping from the mortar. Judd grimaced.
This was the safe house? Really?
Granted he hadn’t expected a mansion—the little town of Mossy Ridge, Mississippi, could barely afford its five-man police force, let alone a state-of-the-art safe house—but surely something a little more sound could have been made available. Considering this was the third time his target, Noelle Montgomery, had been evacuated due to another failed attempt on her life, no doubt their choices were dwindling.
Honestly, when he’d been briefed on his first assignment for Ranger Security, Judd had expected something a little less grave than protecting a key witness to a murder trial. After all, Jeb, his twin brother—older by two minutes and his exact mirror opposite—had merely had to find a jewel thief burgling a high-end retirement community. No life-or-death situation there. In fact, other than potentially getting run over by a motorized scooter, he hadn’t been in any danger at all. At least physically, anyway. Judd inwardly grinned. His heart was another matter altogether. Much to their equal astonishment, Jeb had found himself married at the end of his assignment.
Having always enjoyed an almost supernatural twin connection, making sense of his brother’s feelings had been a little disconcerting. He’d picked up on a lot of awe, wonder, confusion and frustration. It wasn’t until Jeb’s, er, physical release—orgasms had never been a secret, a fact that had been quite embarrassing in their teens—that Judd had realized that his brother had fallen head over heels in love. Though he didn’t experience the sensations as strongly as Jeb—more shadowed and less profound than the original—he’d found himself a little envious of his twin.
Not envious enough to want to permanently shackle himself to a member of the opposite sex though. He’d come damned close to that in his last year at West Point, a mistake he didn’t ever intend to make again. He smothered a dark chuckle.
Fool me once...was enough. Lesson learned.
Naturally he knew that all women weren’t faithless money-grubbing connivers, like the one who’d almost tricked him into an until-death-do-you-part, but knowing it and having it make a difference were two different things.
Heather had studied him, understood his weaknesses and knew exactly what to say and do to appeal to his “hero” complex. In the end, his “damaged fragile flower in need of a protector” had been a two-time divorcée with multiple aliases and a rap sheet longer than the damned Declaration of Independence. And he’d nearly brought that viper into their family? His lips quirked.
They already had one of those, thank you very much—his grandmother.
The matriarch of the family and the formidable head of Anderson Enterprises, Twila Anderson was notoriously hard and could hold a grudge and her own opinion longer than anyone he’d ever known. She no longer had the ability to scare the hell out of him, but if he’d wanted to continue taking orders he would have stayed in the military. Though he could have gone to work for her, or any one of the company’s holdings, Judd had ultimately, once again, decided to follow in his brother’s footsteps.
Contrary to popular belief, he did have an original thought and they didn’t share a mind, but they were so closely tied to one another that living independently of the other was simply...unpleasant. They were more than brothers, they were best friends. And while Jeb had left the military after that horrible disaster in Mosul, Judd had actually been considering it before his brother had.
A sniper who couldn’t pull the trigger was essentially useless and, given that it had gotten increasingly more difficult with every target...
And the hell of it? He had no earthly idea why.
Judd had always prided himself on being able to do the hard job—making the conscious decision to end another person’s life was not easy, even if it was justified. Men who intentionally killed, mutilated and maimed innocent women and children were lower than pond scum and didn’t deserve to live, dammit. For every one of those people he finished off, he’d always congratulated himself with the lives he’d saved.
The end justified the means, the greater good and all of that. And he still believed it—he really did—but doing it... Putting a man in the crosshairs, making the kill shot. That was out of reach. He couldn’t do it anymore.
Not that he’d confided that to anyone—even Jeb. It was too galling, too shameful. Better that they thought he missed his twin than the truth.
Initially, he’d chalked his hesitation up to burn-out—it happened. He’d taken a short leave to Crete—he hadn’t had time to come home and wouldn’t have even if he could—but even the island paradise, lots of good sex, good food and good wine hadn’t made a difference.
He was done. His career in the military was over.
Luckily, Jeb had paved the way with Ranger Security and Judd couldn’t have been any more thankful. Owners and legendary Rangers Jamie Flanagan, Brian Payne and Guy McCann were the collective best of what Uncle Sam had to offer. Coolly efficient with an unmatched attention to detail, Payne had been nicknamed The Specialist and the moniker more than fit. With a rumored genius IQ and enough brawn to strike fear into the bravest of men, Flanagan had met and married Colonel Carl Garrett’s granddaughter, which was proof enough of his courage. And McCann’s mystical ability to surf the fine line between brilliance and stupidity and always land in hero territory had made him locker room lore.
Added to the fact that these men were former soldiers—and more significantly, Rangers—it made this job the perfect fit. Because he’d never been stateside long enough to outfit a permanent residence, Judd was thankful for the furnished apartment that came with his generous employment package and looked forward to finding a place of his own.
His new sister-in-law, Sophie, had even offered to deed him off some acreage from her farm, where she and Jeb had made their home. Admittedly, it was tempting, if for no other reason than it would make his brother his neighbor. And since he suspected that a little Sophie or Jeb wouldn’t be too long in the making, being the “fun uncle” held immense appeal.
A tinkle of low, feminine laughter sounded through the door, ringing an internal hum of awareness along his nerve endings. An unfamiliar prickling tightened the skin on the tops of his fingers, made his stomach clench. He frowned, shaking the bizarre sensation off, and focused on the job at hand. A quick glance along both ends of the street confirmed that he wasn’t being watched and that all was well. Judd pretended to check the address on the package he carried against the house number, then knocked on the door.
Utter silence. The laughing stopped as though a switch had been thrown.
He heard the soft shuffle of a heavy foot across carpet, could feel someone staring at him through the peephole and held up the box. “Bluebird Services. I’m here to deliver a package.”
“Perishable or non-perishable?” a voice asked, verifying the security question.
“Perishable,” he confirmed.
Judd listened as a series of locks disengaged, then the door opened to reveal a rangy officer with more hair on his face than his head. His eyes were guarded, a little regretful and mildly relieved. No doubt keeping this key witness out of harm’s way was the most exciting bit of police work Officer ZZ Top had ever done, Judd thought, following him inside the house.
In keeping with the generally shabby appearance of the outside, the interior was equally depressed. Stained brown carpet covered the floors, dated brown paneling lined the walls and bare bulbs hung from the dingy water-stained—okay, fine, brown—ceiling. Wearing uniforms the color of ditch water, the three officers matched the bleak decor.
Which was probably what made the woman standing in the middle of them all the more remarkable.
She stood out like a flamingo in a flock of cowbirds.
His heart began to pound, pushing the blood through his veins so fast that his mouth
parched. A peculiar feeling fluttered through his chest, not altogether unpleasant, and the centers of his palms tingled with heat. He couldn’t have been any more surprised if fireballs emerged from them. Though he knew it hadn’t, the floor felt like it shifted beneath his feet and his stomach suddenly floated inside his belly with breathless anticipation, the same way it did the instant he jumped out of a plane. He swallowed, shaken.
It was...disconcerting.
Tall and willowy with long, blazing red hair that gleamed with vitality despite the lack of proper lighting, she practically glowed from within, bathing the rest of the world around her with her illumination. Her skin was pale and peachy-looking, her mouth a small but ripe raspberry pink that immediately put him in mind of sex, and delicate brows arched over a pair of particularly startling green eyes. They were light, the color of antique glass, and heavily fringed with dark auburn lashes. She wore a long multi-
colored skirt which clung to an especially nice ass, a white tunic with billowy sleeves, lots of noisy jewelry—it jingled with every move she made—and a pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers on her feet. The scent of meat loaf and apple pie hung in the air and a small candle burned on the battered coffee table.
What was more startling was what she was doing—cutting one of the officers’ hair, of all things. While she worked, she did a lot of humming under her breath, biting her distracting lips and frowning critically. She didn’t look the least bit concerned that someone was trying to kill her. In fact, she just looked...busy. A quick glance revealed that everyone but ZZ Top had gotten a fresh trim and shave.
“I’m almost done,” she said, without looking up. Snip, snip, snip. Frown. Snip, snip, snip. “See, Roy, the trick is to condition regularly. Hair is hair. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean your hair doesn’t need a decent moisturizer, especially with all this curl,” she said, pushing her hands through it with a little groan of delight that made his balls tighten.
Roy’s, too, by the look of him.
A fair baby-faced blonde with more than a spare tire hanging over his belt, dear old Roy blushed to the roots of the hair she presently worked on.