Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
*
Single all The Way
Being dumped weeks out from Christmas already sucks, so imagine your fiancé replacing your position with his high school sweetheart while you're snowed in at his family's estate that's meant to host your wedding.
Things couldn't get any worse—so I won't mention the hot chocolate incident, insensitive demand for the return of my engagement ring, or my luggage being stolen mere feet from my apartment when I can finally fly home.
But it's December, the second most romantic month of the year, so things can only go up, right?
Wrong.
After too many drinks to numb the ache, and an unexpected advertisement for a male escOrt company, l decide to gift myself a night of plea$ure instead of wading through a handful of duds to find 'Mr. Do Me Right!’
I'm set for a night of fun until I skip halfway across Ravenshoe before recalling I have no access to the funds needed for my festive night.
Thank goodness good old Saint Nick points me in the right direction. The mysterious stranger is everything I want to find under my tree Christmas morning.
He's gorgeous, flirty, and single all the way... So why does it feel like more than Christmas magic will fuel our union when he offers the services I'm seeking for free?
*
Home for Christmas
After a grinchy battle to maintain the lease on the only place I’ve ever called home, the last thing I expect four days out from Christmas is an unexpected house guest.
I get more than I bargained for when a ginger-haired brute answers *my* door, wearing nothing but a towel, a devilish grin, and clutching a recently signed lease agreement.
I assume the mishap is a horrible misunderstanding, and that the brutish Brit will exit stage left with his tail firmly lodged between his legs once I’ve cleared the matter up.
I’m terribly mistaken.
He arrived stateside with intent, and it has nothing to do with bringing me home for Christmas
Thank god my once-favorite Christmas movie exposes exactly how to rid my apartment of an unwanted intruder.
This Christmas ‘ho’ has met his match, and the ruse our union inspires may very well kill him.
Christmas Kisses is two Christmas Ravenshoe Novellas. Single all The Way was published last year under the same title. Home for Christmas is brand new.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
KELSEY
“Two. Cheaper for two.”
While stuffing a bag under the seat of the first airport transfer company I came across upon exiting the domestic terminal, I reply, “I don’t need two seats.”
“Yes, two,” misunderstands the man with a heavy accent. “Great prices. Get you to hotel quick smart.” He nudges his head to the triple-strength expresso that’s supercharging my veins with more than caffeine. “Hot chocolate still hot at the check-in desk.”
Dark locks swing against my bare shoulders when I spin to face him. Considering the month, it should be chilly enough for a sweater. Florida just never gets the memo when it comes to winter.
Or perhaps the nip of bourbon you added to your coffee with your duty-free purchase when the barista wasn’t looking is the cause of your sweaty top lip?
After shrugging off the certainty that more than alcohol is heating my skin, I say, “I’m single.” When he peers at me as if I spoke in a foreign language, I try again. “Sin… gle.”
Breaking it up won’t help, Kelsey.
I hold my left hand in the air, highlighting my bare ring finger. “Single. No love. I’m going to be alone and miserable for the rest of my life.” My last five words come out with a low, pathetic whimper.
It is December, the second most romantic month of the year—unless you’re single. Then it is as painful as a table for one on Valentine’s Day, though you get half-price candy the day after Valentine’s Day. Nobody wants an endless supply of eggnog.
“Oh…” the stranger drags out dramatically, pulling my focus back to him. “Single.” His bottom lip drops into an immature pout before he guides me into the empty seat next to the driver. I ignore the scorching burn of the coffee and bourbon as it slides down my throat when he adds, “Keep the good seats for the couples. Better tippers when in love. Everyone happy.”
He slams the van’s door shut before dashing for a couple with matching Christmas sweaters and a grossly sick expression of love crossing their faces.
Thirty minutes later, I almost fall out of the van when it comes to a stop half a block down from my apartment building. No amount of cheap bourbon will wash the image of the two loved-up commuters in the rearview mirror from my eyes. They’re not in the throes of passion, more a hand slip away from indecent exposure, but still, I’m drinking on an empty stomach, and my shoes are new. I don’t want them wrecked.
Remembering the last time I thought a bottle of champagne was the equivalent of steak and eggs, I veer my steps to a hotdog vendor on the corner of my building.
“One hotdog or two?” Not looking up, the vendor announces, “We have a buy-one-get-one-half-price special for Christmas.”
“I’m single,” I reply, my words slurred since I chose the possibility of the fiery burns of bile drinking on an empty stomach causes than to rehash memories I need alcohol to fade. “Uno. Solo. Without el compañero.” My Spanish is horrible. It is expected. I haven’t visited my parents’ home country in years.
As I hand the vendor a crinkled twenty from my purse, I take in his shadowed jaw, tight body, and inky black eyes. “And available?”
Don’t look at me like that. Every woman on this side of LA knows there’s only one way up when you’re down.
With a star-inspiring orgasm.
The vendor’s smirk reveals he appreciates my underhanded compliment that he’s hot, but he holds up the hand I flashed an hour ago, nosediving my effort for a rebound fuck.
He’s married. For a long time, by the looks of it. His ring is embedded in his finger. He couldn’t remove it even if he wanted to.
Although I want to be in the “who cares if he’s taken” stage of my life, I’ve not yet reached that level of desperation, so I accept the loaded hotdog he’s holding out for me before wishing him and his wife a happy upcoming holiday season.
He flashes me a second grin before digging the stake deeper into my heart. “Merry Christmas to you too, ma’am.”
Ma’am? How old does he think I am?
Don’t answer that. I don’t want this week to get worse.
As I trudge to my apartment building, my steps slow and sluggish, loved-up couple after loved-up couple pass me. Although the public PDAs add to the swirling of my stomach, I stop to admire a super cute couple holding hands on a bench. They’d have to be in their eighties. The tips of their noses are red, but they stare up at the stars with their tongues hanging out, hopeful to catch the first snowflakes of winter.
That’s what I want.
That’s what I thought I was getting.
Then he threw it away for someone with a pathetic name like Noelle.
Who cares that Christmas is only two weeks away? For the other eleven months of the year, she’ll look foolish pimping out her Christmassy charm on unexpecting naïve men who shouldn’t be looking at her oversized baubles since they’re in a committed relationship.