The Thanksgiving turkey is still warm, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in debt from my failed business.
To make matters worse, my knight in flannel never appeared—you know, the guy, the one who was tall, dark, and plaid, who had a friendly yellow lab and a truck and sold firewood, the one who showed the big-city heroine the true meaning of love and Christmas.
Yeah, he did not come rescue me.
Instead, Matt Frost showed up like the Prince of Winter to yell at me about the rent I owed him.
He did not feature in any of my Christmas fantasies. In fact, he was exactly the type of Christmas-hating alphahole billionaire in a suit I left Manhattan to escape.
I can’t worry about him.
I need to fix my life.
I have to make a bunch of money before Christmas Eve or I’m a toasted marshmallow.
No ornament will be left off this Christmas tree of desperation!
Gambling on the Christmas raffle that lets you win either ten thousand dollars, a giant snow globe, or a snack-addicted reindeer? Spin that roulette wheel and bring it on.
Moonlighting as an elf for an irate Santa? Mama’s gotta get paid.
Entering in The Great Christmas Bake-Off in hopes of winning the grand prize? Fetch me my custom elf apron.
I so have this bake-off wrapped, ribboned, and in my Christmas stocking.
Except when I’m paired with Matt the Grinch, I see my dreams of a debt-free Christmas going up in Yule log flames.
Matt Frost and I are not compatible baking partners.
Especially not after he licks the frosting off my Christmas cookies while I scream.
Not like that! He’s a Christmas-hating Scrooge who ruined my bake-off entry.
I am not in the market for a Christmas romance.
Especially not with a six-foot-five guy with ice-blue eyes and washboard abs.
No, not even when he’s covered in frosting, standing in front of a decorated tree, and looking better than an edible Christmas card.
Nope, not even then.
‘Tis the season for holiday romance! This is a full-length standalone holiday romantic comedy with nonstop Christmas and romance. If you love over-the-top small-town Christmas festivals, overbearing but well-meaning great-aunts, and smoking hot guys in nothing but a Santa hat who will melt the snow off the roof of your house, snuggle up with a spiked hot chocolate and get in the Christmas romance spirit!
“Now,” I said, waving the chocolate-covered spoon at him, “are you going to let your ex walk all over you or are you going to pick up a whisk and win this competition?”
His mouth was a thin line. Then his face relaxed in understanding.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said, giving me a flash of teeth. “You think you can play to my ego and help you bake. Too bad.”
“You need to help me!” I shrieked, finally giving up on the candy thermometer. Could you blame it? Who didn’t want to take a bath in a pot of warm chocolate?
“I need this win. You can’t do this to me.”
“I absolutely can.”
I picked up the pot and slammed it on the counter.
“You better fish that candy thermometer out of there,” Matt said in a mocking tone, stepping into my personal space bubble. “You might make someone sick.”
He was making me sick. I turned back to the stove to grab my fork. I had to win. The cheesecake had to go into the oven soon. We were running out of opportunities for him to help. I looked at the clock then the other bakers.
Ugh. Everyone else’s cheesecakes were already out of the oven and cooling.
My dish was a mess.
It won’t matter how good or bad it is if you get disqualified.
I couldn’t give up now.
I stepped up behind Matt, reached around him, and grabbed each of his hands.
He made a strangled noise as I pressed the full length of my body against him.
I think I severely miscalculated.
I was height challenged. And Matt was six feet five with long arms and huge hands that I could barely reach. I smooshed my boobs against his back… his very muscular, hard back.
Unghn.
“Get off of me,” he growled.
“We’re baking,” I squeaked.
I laced my fingers in his left hand, and before he could throw me off, I pulled the pot of melted chocolate closer. Then, with his right hand, I picked up one of the truffle balls and plopped it into the melted chocolate. His hands were large under my own, the tendons fluttering against my palms as he let me manipulate his arms. I adjusted myself against him, and he grunted slightly.
You really should have just stood next to him to do this baking puppetry, my mind chattered as I inhaled his scent, my nose pressed against the back of his suit jacket.
This was way too close. I forced his right hand to grab a fork and fish the truffle out of the chocolate.
“There. Now you participated,” I said as the truffle dropped onto the cooling rack with a plot. My voice sounded a little raspy.
It’s the weather—all this cold, wet air.
Matt turned back to me, eyes a deep blue.
“Was that so hard?” I asked.
“I don’t know. You were the one feeling me up. You tell me.”
“I have to get this cheesecake in the oven,” I blurted out before I could say something like “You’re hard enough to be a nutcracker.” Which would, one, be an idiotic thing to say and two, make Matt think I thought he was attractive, which I certainly did not.
I quickly made the rest of the truffles, keeping an eye on the clock.
Matt wasn’t even pretending to look at his phone. He was just watching me work. Periodically he would steal one of the truffles right as I finished it. The third time he did it, I tried to stab him with a fork.
“Too slow.”
“You could help,” I snapped at him.
“I already helped.” He gave me a smug look. “And now I’m just exhausted.”
“Guess someone doesn’t have any staying power.”
“I absolutely have staying power.”
“I doubt it. I bet that was why your ex left you,” I snapped back at him.
“You—” He bit back the curse word. He was probably going to call me a bitch. Which I probably was. That had been a low blow.
But I was stressed! Everyone else was done and putting the elegant finishing touches on their cheesecakes because they actually had a partner who would help. We had another hour left on the clock. It took a cheesecake that long to bake at minimum.
I was facing a loss. Not just my pride but everything. And it was all because of Matt fucking Frost.
“Or maybe it wasn’t your staying power,” I said shrilly, giving the cheesecake batter one more stir. “Maybe it was because you just stood around while she did all the work.”
“Fine, you want me to do the work?” Matt snarled at me. He snatched the bowl of batter out of my hand and emptied it into the springform pan, sending some of it splashing off the sides.
“You’re doing it wrong!” I protested.
Matt scooped up the rest of the truffles and dumped them in the batter where they sank in a lump off to one side.
“They have to be artfully arranged.” I tried to shove him aside so I could salvage my cheesecake.
Matt picked up the pan, holding it aloft while I jumped around him like a Chihuahua trying to rescue my cake.
“You’re ruining it.”
“I’m helping,” he taunted. He opened the oven and practically threw the pan inside. “You’re welcome.”
Rules are meant to be broken. Except for one–Women can't get enough peonies.
Even the girl in front of me in line is admiring the peonies in my hand.
While I need these particular flowers for my latest plot, I'll still give Meghan the biggest, thickest bouquet I can find.
It's flattering how much she wants my peonies–
And I don't mind personally delivering.
Meghan
I love rules. They make life simple.
One rule I have for my future boyfriend? Fresh flowers every week.
The hot guy behind me in line had a gorgeous bouquet. He was perfect boyfriend material…
Until Mr. Perfect broke the unwritten rule of New York City lunch hour and found a devious way to cut the line.
He took my spot, making me late for a meeting, and then had the audacity to hand me his peonies as he waltzed out with what should have been my sandwich!
A wink and flowers from a handsome guy won't fix my disaster of a life.
My career as a lawyer is failing before it even started.
I live in a tiny, crumbling apartment.
I have to deal with my obnoxious supervisor who seems intent on taking Hunter's peonies for herself
Except that his peonies (and other flowers) are mine.
They were delivered to my desk at work!
Bouquet aside, Hunter breaks all my rules. I know I should ignore him. I know it's going to be an epic disaster.
But when he shows up at my door shirtless, with another excessive bouquet, well, I have to say screw the rules; I want his peonies and the rest of him too!
This fun, 40,000 word prequel is the kickoff to my new romantic comedy series about the Svensson Brothers! This RomCom features a boiling hot romance, the largest selection of hot brothers to ever grace your e-reader, and a heroine prone to making sexually suggestive comments!
Author Note: This book is given away to mailing list subscribers. If you purchase it, you are paying for something you could have gotten for free by signing up!
(Google gives me a small commission if you click on ads)
Sound like a fun Christmas story!
ReplyDeleteI like the cover and excerpt. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDelete