Summary:
Can the spirit of Christmas save this budding love affair?
Jakob French is so not feeling the reason for the season. He’s stressed out, hemmed in, and has only a few hours left to finish his window dressing before the world’s most famous parade welcomes Christmas, and the world, to New York City. On top of all that he’s sure that the window dresser across the street has stolen his theme! With a head full of steam and a holly-jolly bonnet on his head, Jakob storms off to face down the purloiner of ideas and give him what for.
Once he lays eyes on Chet Wallace some of his ire fizzles out as admiration for his foe’s handsome face and rangy physique takes over. Some, but not all. The night then devolves into a holiday free-for-all that includes a snowy war, discomfited police officers, and a mad rush to dress a window before Santa arrives in the Big Apple.
OMG! Dressed in Holiday Style is so fun! If this was a full length novel or even a full-on novella it would be the perfect rom-com. As it's more of a long short story or short novella, it may not be full on romantic comedy tag but it's probably the most fun I've had in my holiday reading 2020. The comedic snowball "fight" to the police-ordered cup of coffee . . . well it's just fun, frankly I can't think of a better word than good old fashioned "F-U-N!"
RATING:
RATING:
Summary:
A night to remember, a confession, and a lifetime of love in this small town, friends to lovers Christmas romance.
Andrew Lawson’s life in Sacramento has turned from being everything he dreamed of growing up, to a lonely place where finding someone special to share his life with is impossible. When the first person he meets on returning home for Thanksgiving is his childhood friend Link, it’s a reminder of happier times when his whole future lay in front of him. Agreeing to a drink before heading to his parent’s place is a way to reconnect, and a great way to start the holiday.
Link Stanton never considered leaving the small farming town he grew up in, but he misses Andy more than he’ll ever admit. Secretly lusting after a friend is bad enough but being in love with him is so much worse. One drink with friends seems harmless enough, after all, catching up on old times can’t be a bad thing, until beers turn to shots, and Link reveals how he really feels.
Everything could change, and if Andrew doesn’t remember Link’s heartfelt confession, they could carry on as friends. But, if he does remember, this could be either the worst, or the best, Christmas of all.
Summary:
Order Universe
It’s the Night of Winter Lights.
Heedless of the holiday, the Commander of the H’Aren fortress, Captain Torýn Torhdhar, seems to find his satisfaction in work. Such occurrence hardly surprises his Orderly, Sæbastyn Hyago, even though the young Lieutenant has spent a silent, aching decade wishing his superior officer would pursue pleasure elsewhere—specifically in his arms.
But as the evening continues, nothing about it meets Sæbastyn’s expectations. Will the Lieutenant see his secret desires realised, or his heart shattered?
Alternative winter holiday short, set in the Order Universe.
Summary:
Reasons why Hunter Holliday is on my Naughty List:
1. He dresses like it's Casual Friday every day of the week.
2. Everyone loves him, even though I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually get any work done. It's the smile, I think. Definitely the laugh.
3. He's so relaxed, sometimes I can't even tell if he's awake. Or conscious.
4. He doesn't respect my office space boundaries. Stay in your own office and stop messing with my stuff!
Okay, the list is actually really long, but none of it matters because it's time for the annual Secret Santa exchange, and guess whose name I draw.
Hunter freaking Holliday
And he knows this because, I repeat, he won't stay out of my office and leave my things alone.
Even though I didn't ask, he has no problem telling me exactly what he wants.
Me. For one night
The Holiday Hookup is an MM Christmas short story with high heat and low angst.
Summary:
Amber Falls #1
Holiday at home, check. Snowstorm, check. Hot boss ... check?
Ford Erickson didn't plan to take his hot, and very rich boss home for Christmas. But when an incoming snowstorm grounds flights and there are no vacancies in the small town of Amber Falls, Ford finds himself in close quarters with the aloof man he’s been lusting over.
He’s bound to make Santa’s naughty list with all that temptation.
A family Christmas in a small town was not how Sawyer Lancaster expected his holiday to go… and his plans definitely hadn’t included his adorable assistant and his lovely parents welcoming him into their home. More like a holiday in his cold apartment… alone.
But then again, the best gifts don’t always come wrapped in pretty bows.
When the weather clears, will Sawyer find to the courage to accept that maybe, just maybe, he’s found the perfect gift in Ford?
Dressed in Holiday Style by VL Locey
“Do you see what I see?!”
“In a sec.” Mona replied from somewhere behind the magic pond.
I huffed then plastered my rather adorable nose to the icy front window of Bosh & Marsh and glowered across 5th Avenue at the front window of Billing’s Department store, our archrivals in department storing. Department storing? That’s not even a real thing, Jakob. Stop making up words, you’re not Stephen Colbert. Get a hold on yourself, you know where this is going...
“Oh my God. How dare he? Just... how dare he?! Mona! Mona Lisa Hernandez, would you please come here before I exasperate on top of this arc deco, nineteen-eighties snow man?!”
“Can you hold your ass for like two minutes? I’m pushing a steel rod up this reindeer’s bunghole, okay? Remember you said you couldn’t do it because it would be too traumatic and would thusly bring back images of some twisted sex dream about Rudolph that you had when you were ten?”
“It was my first gay sex dream, leave me and Rudolph be. Honestly, Mona, this fishy bitch over at Billing’s is just too fucking much. Come here! Look at what he’s done this year.” I heard the Styrofoam reindeer squeak as he was pleasured by Mona and her rod. Then she finally appeared, purple bangs hanging into bright blue eyes. “Look over there. Just look! Can you imagine the gall? The sheer size of his galls?!”
“Move over.” She nudged me aside, stood in front of me and looked out over 5th Avenue. It was three in the morning after all but traffic was steady probably due to all the parade route street closures. Our front windows were covered with sheeting to keep my marvelous window dressings hidden from the public until they were done. Which had to be tonight as the Macy’s parade was tomorrow – or actually today - and the windows must be fitted out to impress the mobs who came into Manhattan for the balloons, bands, and arrival of Santa.
She was a tiny thing, short and stout, and one of my closest friends here at work so I could look right over her head. “Oh my God, Jakob!”
“Right?!”
“How dare he use red and green?!”
“Oh, just fuck right off. It’s not the color scheme, it’s the theme! A snowman and reindeer party?! Please, as if anyone who worked at that second rate store could come up with something as original as this.” I waved my hand at our work. “He stole my idea somehow. Oh! I bet he posed as a customer and snuck a peek around the curtains. That sounds just like him!”
“You don’t even know him. How do you know it sounds like a man you don’t even know?” She slipped around me, bumping into a snowwoman who lost her holly leaf bonnet at the bump. “I’d suggest you stop eyeballing what he’s done and focus on our work. We have until opening to finish this.”
“But he’s stolen my idea! How can we possibly use the snowman slash reindeer party theme now that Slutty Asshole Idea Thief over there has used it?! And his window is completed and ready to go and ours is still half-baked.”
Mona turned, bonnet in hand, and glared up at me. I did have a good foot on her so she did have to glare up. “Two things.” She held up two fingers in what could have been seen as a rude gesture in some countries. “One. If you paid more attention to our display and less on Chet’s we’d be done by now. Two. We are not starting over. I’ve been working double shifts to help you out with this. Are you feeling okay? You’ve been really frantic the past week.”
“Chet? How do you know his name is Chet? Gasp! Have you been cahooting with him? Oh! The utter audacity. That’s it!” I grabbed the bonnet from her hand, shoved it down over my stylish ginger hair to keep my ears warm, and stormed out into the bitter cold and snow. Chet. Chet. Fucking Chet the Cheater. How dare he steal my friend and my window dressing ideas?! A taxi rolled up to me, hit the horn, and called me a stupid shit.
“Ho-ho-ho to you too!” I yelled as he pulled away with his middle finger out the window and in the air. New Yorkers. You had to love them. Or not. I was a native from Queens so I could say that. Anyone who didn’t come from New York City had to shut it. Those were the rules. Man it was cold out here. I should have grabbed a coat and not a bonnet but I was committed to this now.
Yellow bonnet strings flapping in the cold wind, I made my way through traffic and hit the sidewalk in front of Billing’s Department Store. Chet was folding a sheet, talking to some guy, his assistant I assumed, showing 5th Avenue a genuinely nice ass all cradled in jeans. Mm, I did love jeans. On other men, not me. I preferred silkier fabrics next to my alabaster skin. Chet, who did not have alabaster skin but skin as dark as the winter sky over Manhattan, turned when I lobbed a snowball at the window. Actually, he jumped, dropped the sheet, and flung himself around. I whipped another snowball, this one kind of gray from the dirty sidewalk, at his face.
It hit the glass and splattered to hide his handsome face until it melted and slithered down to the pane. His brown eyes were wide. I gave him the finger. His eyes rounded even more. I gave him two fingers. Then he disappeared from the display, which was cute, sort of, if only he’d not stolen the idea. The other guy ran after him. I stamped to the front door as I fashioned another snowball. When it opened, I fired, and caught Chet the Cheater right in the face. I hooted, pumped the air, and then had my bonnet knocked off my head by an incoming snowball. War broke out then. The war of the window dressers. The Roses had nothing on us. Snowballs flew steadily. Many lives were lost. Not really, but a few cars took solid hits. Vulgarities rained down on us like fiery arrows.
When I caught one in the face I fell to my ass, my nose and eyes full of slushy, dirty, city snow. I heard someone running up to me so I lunged at the nearest snowbank, a poor looking thing that had been shoveled up yesterday and was now probably littered with cigarette butts and dog piddle. Making two wet balls I threw both at the sound of shoes rapidly approaching. Then I reached up to clear my eyes as the someone who’d been barreling at me stopped and began cursing.
Chuckling over my victory, I blinked the melted snow off my lashes and looked up to see a NYPD beat cop wiping dog pee snow from his face. He did not look amused. Another snowball impacted the back of his head knocking his blue cap off. Chet the Cheater ran up as apologies rolled out of him. The disgruntled cop said we were both being arrested for assaulting an officer with wintery weapons. Chet and I were told to sit on the curb until a police vehicle arrived while we both pleaded our cases as he cuffed us. Cuffed! Like common criminals. My mother was going to lose her shit when she heard about this...
When I was placed in the back of a cruiser in handcuffs which were not nearly as much fun as I’d been led to believe by that one guy I dated last fall, I gave Chet a long dark look. He was actually classically handsome, in a Chadwick Boseman with silver highlights kind of way. Actually he was smoking hot even if he did have sidewalk grit in his closely cropped hair. Mona was standing on the curb calling me vile names in Spanish as we were about to be taken to the nearest precinct and be locked up until I was no longer young, hot, and the best window dresser in New York.
“You sure know how to start the holiday season off with a bang. What do you have planned next? Popping all the balloons? Delaying Santa? Stealing candy canes from small children?” Chet asked as we pulled away from my irate assistant. Mona wasn’t the only one cussing then.
Remember When by BL Maxwell
Sunday morning came and I slept in. The past few days, including two nights of drinking, had finally caught up with me. I’d stayed up late the night before texting with Link about anything and nothing at all. Like always, that was just how it was between us.
Around ten I rolled out of bed and checked my phone. A few clients had messaged hoping to get in sometime before Christmas. They were smart to book it now. Even though it was a month away, by the end of this week there wouldn’t be any openings.
It was a perfect Sunday, I didn’t leave the house and got everything ready for the week. This week would be the beginning, and it wouldn’t let up until Christmas Eve. I normally worked it, but after this year I’d decided it was time to start taking it off.
I was just settled down on the couch and turned on the TV when my phone rang. “Hello?” “Hey.” I’d know that smooth deep voice anywhere.
“I was just thinking about you.” It wasn’t a lie, since I’d left home Link had been on my mind constantly.
“Good thoughts I hope.”
“Always. It was great seeing you again. I know it hadn’t been that long but it really was nice to catch up again.”
His words brought a smile to my face, and I pictured his blue eyes crinkling at the corners with a grin. “So, are you going to give me any clues?”
“Do you need a clue?” he taunted, and he knew he taunted. I would have sworn I could hear his smirk through the line.
“Link, you know I need a clue. I’ve been racking my brain since Friday trying to remember anything that might help. Why did you let me drink so many shots?”
“Hey, you were having fun, we were all having fun. Who was I to ruin anyone’s good time? And once you started you were all in. Then we were dancing, and well it was a lot of fun.”
Oh god, he was right. It wasn’t unusual for us to all get together before a holiday and have a few drinks, there was nothing that would make me not go all in. “It was a lot of fun, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out.” I wanted to mention his confession, and how he kissed me. But I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, and it felt like something we should talk about in person.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years,” he whispered, and I would have sworn I could feel his breath on my neck.
“I think you said that the other night.” My own voice was soft and breathy. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but the mood had changed, and I didn’t want anything to break the spell his words had woven around us.
“Did I?” He played coy, something that was new between us. But I found I was quite drawn to.
“You did, right before you kissed me.” He was quiet then. Too quiet, and I checked the phone to be sure we were still connected. “Link?”
Blessing and Light by Kasia Bacon
THE OLD GARRISON, DARK AND QUIET, resembled a deadhouse. With every step towards the upper front hallway, I felt the draft from the entrance grow stronger and whisk across me with more ferocity. I curbed the sense of broody melancholy before my mood sank any deeper. I hadn’t been a barrel of laughs recently—or ever, in truth—and it took little to push me into the embrace of despondency.
Especially that night. The thought of the Winter Lights Festival, anticipated by many, tangled my nerves in a knot, reviving recollections that had no business crawling from under the rock of my memory.
I pushed open the iron-clad door and looked down onto the gleaming surface of the snow-covered courtyard. Immediately, thousands of invisible icy needles launched their stabby onslaught at the exposed skin of my cheeks, neck and hands. A shiver grabbed me.
It would snow again later; I could tell by the pinkish shade to the overcast night sky. Thank gods the wind had subsided. A snowstorm would’ve ruined the festivities down in the village, well underway by then.
A glow of watchfires backlit the silhouettes of six guards on duty. The poor sods, who had drawn the holiday shift with their short straws, huddled together between patrol walks. Moving around, they stomped their feet, waved their arms and clapped their hands, as if dancing to reels heard by them alone. At the fete, meanwhile, their brothers-in-arms sweated their arses off, prancing to the sound of fiddles and likely approaching intoxication.
“Joyous holiday, Lieutenant Hyago,” one of the soldiers called upon spotting me up on the gallery. “Blessing and light!”
“And to you all,” I said, returning their salutes. “Cold evening, eh? Better watch out for frostbite.”
“Aye, sir. It’d be an easy job to freeze off one’s cock out here.”
“Yours in particular, Figo, since it’s so small,” the tallest guard mocked.
“That ain’t what you said last night, Azeln,” Figo shot back.
The men roared with laughter. Their mirth only increased when Azeln let out a string of muffled obscenities, protesting the statement all too much. Eventually, he dropped it and ended up laughing too.
“How about I send you some hot chicory coffee from the kitchen?” I said.
“Aye, a grand idea, sir,” someone answered, while the others joined in to murmur their appreciation.
“Would that coffee be laced with rum in any way, Lieutenant?” inquired Figo to the chorus of supporting voices. “After all, ’tis the holiday.”
I smiled at the chancer’s request. “I’ll see what I can do about that, soldier.”
Frozen to the quick in my uniform, I nipped back inside. My footsteps on the stone floor echoed with thuds, emphasising the eerie silence in the abandoned corridors.
Downstairs, I instructed Dynne, the freckled cook, to measure out a double shot of rum for every mug of coffee and deliver it to the guards outside, complete with a basket full of holiday pastries. “Captain’s evening meal ready?” I asked.
“Almost, sir. Gravy’s about to reduce. It’ll go well with the partridge,” he said in the pleased tone of a man who took pride in his work. At his gesture, the kitchen boy took over stirring the contents of a small, tall pot on the stove.
I nodded. “Good. Send it to his study. And don’t forget the pudding.”
Dynne’s broad smile displayed an impressive gap between his front incisors. The Captain’s predilection for sweets was the garrison’s worst-kept secret. If it came to a siege—the joke went round—he’d surrender the fortress only in case of an almond biscuit shortage.
“What of your supper, Lieutenant?” the man asked. “Will you eat in the village?”
I shook my head. “Send mine up, too.” Aptly, my stomach rumbled, which prompted the kitchen boy to dissolve into giggles. “Once you’re done, you may join the celebrations, if you wish.”
Joy flashed across both faces. “Thank you, sir!” Dynne said. “Blessing and light to you.”
"The same to you," I replied and left.
There would be many a sore head around the fortress the following day. Of that, I had no doubt.
The Holiday Hookup by Baylin Crow
One
Finn
My fingers slide across the keyboard as I focus on the financials for the latest client we've acquired while trying to block out the strong scent of warm apple pie drifting from wax warmers scattered all throughout our company floor.
"Finn, may I come in?" My boss, Mr. Waggoner, taps on my office door, snapping my attention from the spreadsheet I'm color coding.
Leaning back in my cushioned office chair, I wave him inside. "Of course."
A wide smile stretches his rosy cheeks as he strolls inside and tosses a small red velvet pouch on top of a carefully organized stack of paperwork. I wince, but he doesn't appear to notice. "You haven't drawn from Santa's sack, yet."
My nose wrinkles as I try to understand my very eccentric boss. "Santa's sac—oh. Oh!"
To be fair, I might have come across a little Santa porn by accident last night. Although I didn't watch it, the preview was enough that I'd never look at the jolly man ever the same.
Secret Santa is my least favorite activity the office engages in for Christmas. Every single year for the five I've been working for Waggoner's Financial Resources I've ended up gifting someone with festive scented candles or a coffee mug with some generic phrase. How am I supposed to know what my coworkers want? It's not like I hang out with them outside of work. It would be nice if they'd add a wish list or something to each name and save me the headache.
I force a smile. "I must have forgotten to draw one on the way out of the meeting."
"You always work too hard." Mr. Waggoner chuckles. The man cuts a clean figure in his black suit, red tie, and slicked back salt-and-pepper hair. Despite his sharp appearance, my boss is a soft-hearted family man with a perky blond wife, five kids and another on the way. Work is simply work. Not life.
He eyes the pouch expectantly until I paste on a wider grin and tug the gold rope to open the bag, reaching inside. There's only one last folded piece of paper left. I pull my hand free and hold the bag out for him to take.
My boss grabs it while damn near bouncing on the soles on his shiny loafers as I unfold the paper. "Well, who is it?"
I read over the name again, hoping it'll magically change, begging for a Christmas miracle. No such luck. I hold back a groan. Of all the people who work on our floor, of course it would be him. I struggle to keep the smile in place. "Hunter Holliday."
If I wasn't a fan of the game before, I despised it now.
Mr. Waggoner's hazel eyes sparkle and he flashes pearly white teeth in a pleased grin. "Oh, that's wonderful. I'm sure you'll find the perfect thing, what with you two being so close."
Close? More like being harassed by the giant ex-professional quarterback on a daily basis. I suppress an eye roll and nod instead. "It's perfect."
He stuffs the now empty pouch in his pocket and turns to walk away, but pauses in the doorway. "Don't forget to bring the present to the party next Friday night. Will you be bringing anyone?"
"Not this year." I offer an apologetic shrug. I never bring anyone, and sometimes I'm sure my boss is itching to set me up with someone. Anyone. But I don't have time to date while I'm focusing on my career. I'd been hired right after graduating college and have goals that are much more important than finding my soulmate.
Mr. Waggoner appears disappointed but quickly hides it behind his usual cheerful smile. "Well, I'll let you get back to work."
When he strolls away, humming to the tune of “Jingle Bells”, I know it'll be stuck in my head all day. I close my eyes and groan in annoyance. What is it about Christmas that makes everyone slightly more insane than usual? I stare down at the slip of paper in my hand and grimace. Literally anyone other than Hunter would have been better.
Sighing, I slide the folded paper under my stapler to deal with later. Just as I turn back to my spreadsheet, a slow thump, thump hits my door frame. I know that knock. I loathe that knock. I don't even need to look up or bother to invite him in because it wouldn't matter if I told him to leave anyway, so I don't waste my breath.
"Can I come in?" Hunter asks as if I have a choice in the matter. Not waiting for a reply, he takes measured steps across the worn carpeted floor, dragging his giant body as if the heavy burden alone slows his movement. Then the chair in front of my desk is slowly dragged backward and his ass drops onto the poor thing as its wooden legs struggle to hold the weight of the six-seven athlete who still has a tanned, toned body ready for game day, although he'd chosen to leave the field. Probably because he couldn't get in enough naps each day.
He yawns. "So, who'd you get?"
Hunter's voice is thick with sleep, deep and husky, except I'm fairly certain he's been awake for hours. The slow drawl makes the hairs on my arms stand at attention, and I want to slap myself for thinking it's infuriatingly sexy. He's also clearly stalking me since he knows what I've just done.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I glance at him, a mistake I quickly realize I've made countless times. When I connect gazes with Hunter, he slowly blinks his deep-set brown bedroom eyes framed with thick black eyelashes and runs his fingers through his chestnut-colored hair that hangs in short loose waves that frame his face. Although he's only a few years older than me, his rugged features give him a look that makes him appear older than twenty-seven. Thanks to my baby face—rounded pale cheeks, small nose, dark brown hair that's kept neat, and light blue eyes—I'm often mistaken for a guy still in college.
Irritated, I jerk my attention to my computer, pushing my square framed glasses up the bridge of my nose, and trying to ignore the reaction my body betrays me with every damn time he's within a ten-yard radius. I hammer my fingers on the keyboard harder than necessary, pretending to do something productive and hopefully send the message that I'm busy. He doesn't need to know I'm unable to focus on the numbers across the screen. His ego is big enough without my help.
Hunter hums as if he doesn't believe me and leans forward with the speed of a sloth. When he starts moving things around on my polished desk where I have everything meticulously organized, I swat his hand and glare. "Paws off, Holliday. For the last time, leave my shit alone."
Hunter ignores me as usual, and before I can stop him, he snags the paper with his name written on it. A lazy grin slants across his stupidly handsome face, making a deep dimple pop beneath dark scruff that should have been shaved at least two days ago. "You got me."
Why does he look so happy about that? "I'm aware because I can read."
Hunter leans back in the chair, crossing his jean-clad ankles and resting his hands over his t-shirt covered stomach, a far cry from the smoke gray suit I've worn today. He cocks his head. "Aren't you going to ask what I want for Christmas, Finn?"
"Can't say it has crossed my mind." I straighten my tie while glaring, which only makes the overgrown oaf's grin broaden.
"I got Janie in marketing. Probably just get her a gift card," Hunter tells me as if anything he does might interest me in the slightest.
Buying a gift card would be easy enough, and I consider doing the same for Hunter. Although it's frowned upon by Mr. Waggoner, who thinks deep thought should go into gift giving, I decide if Hunter is allowed to break the rules then so can I. The less thinking I do about Hunter, the better. "That's probably what you'll get too."
He shakes his head. "I don't want a gift card."
Rolling my eyes, I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. Hunter won't leave until he drains the life from my soul anyway. "You don't get a say, Hunter. You shouldn't even know I got your name in the first place. Hence the Secret part of the game." He shrugs, and if possible, slouches further down in the chair, causing a squeak I'm sure will eventually turn into splintered cracks that will have his ass landing on the floor. While he gets more comfortable, I get more exasperated. "Don't you have work to do? Wait... Do you actually have a job here, or do you just hang around to drive me crazy?"
"You're cute." His lips kick up on one side, and I scowl. "I'm finished for the day."
I glance at the time on my computer. It's only two in the afternoon. "How did you manage that?"
Hunter yawns again. "I'm a fast worker."
I sputter a laugh, and even he chuckles. "You aren't a fast anything."
"Damn right," he gloats, and I feel like I've missed something, but he seems in no hurry to elaborate on the comment.
I sigh. "I need to get back to work. Some of us don't have whatever magical powers you possess that make work vanish without lifting a finger."
He doesn't reply so I glance at him and find his eyes closed while his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Did he really just fall asleep? I snap my fingers. "Hunter, wake up you lazy jock."
"I am awake," he mumbles and I squint. Sure enough his eyes are open, barely noticeable. "But I do like it when you're bossy."
I suppress the urge to rub my temples to relieve the forming headache that always ebbs and flows when Hunter is around. "You have problems, you know that, right?"
Hunter struggles to his feet and stretches his back as if he's been in the chair for more than five minutes. "Fine, I'm going. Some of us are getting together tonight for a drink. You should come."
"I'll think about it," I lie. I'll probably end up working late before dragging myself home for a glass of wine while I catch up on whatever work I hope will get me ahead in life. Lame.
Hunter places his giant hands on my desk and leans down, whispering, "I'll be disappointed if you don't show."
Scoffing, I avoid his gaze. "Well, it is my mission in life to keep you satisfied."
Hunter hums in approval. "Cool. So, I'll see you..."
Seriously? I glare up at him. "No, Hunter. That was sarcasm."
"You say sarcasm. I say suppressed honesty with oneself." He blinks slowly and my frustration escalates.
It takes everything in me to keep my ass in the chair instead of hopping over my desk in an attempt to… Well, I'm not sure, but it wouldn't be pleasant. "Do the words that come out of your mouth actually make sense to you? I'm not suppressing anything."
He pushes away from the desk with a lazy grin. "Let's agree to disagree."
I shake my head vehemently. "Let's not do that. How about you just get it through that thick skull that not everyone drools at the first word you say to them?"
His lips tilt in a crooked grin. "I don't care what everyone does. Just you."
"Because you get off on torturing people?" I suggest, and he chuckles as if we are just two friends discussing whether he likes to inflict pain on someone for shits and giggles.
"Lucky for you, I'm not into the whole torture thing. Now ask me what I want for Christmas, Finn." He's still grinning, and I'm still annoyed.
I groan and tug my hair before pointing at the door. "Out."
With a rumbling laugh, he casually strolls to the door, pausing to glance back with his stupidly sexy smile in place and brown eyes, that fuck with my head, lowered half-mast. "you. Just one night in my bed. Think about it."
I freeze and stare at the empty spot where he stood only a second ago. There was no way he meant what it sounded like, even if it wasn't the first time Hunter had tossed a flirty comment or two my way. But that's just how he is, hitting on anything that moves.
That was, however, a pretty obvious invitation, which...doesn't sound terrible. I frown and rub my eyes beneath my glasses. There is no way I'm sleeping with Hunter, and besides, he definitely had to be joking. I hate him. He knows this, although it never seems to bother him.
Giving my head a solid shake, I look back at my computer screen and let loose a deep breath. At least I have numbers to distract me from thoughts of Hunter and me tangled in the sheets while he hovers above me, thrusting...
I huff. No. Definitely not. I will never sleep with Hunter fucking Holliday.
Stranded with His Boss by Rheland Richmond
1
Ford
“All flights have been canceled until after Christmas. Private planes are no exception. I’m sorry, sir, but nobody’s going anywhere.” Ford hung up the phone and forcibly swallowed the scream of frustration building in his throat.
His boss, Sawyer Lancaster, was the definition of an entrepreneur. He had what the Financial Times had called the “Midas touch,” meaning whatever company he invested in usually ended up making a mint. The Amber Falls resort was his current one.
The door to Mr. Lancaster’s temporary office was open, and he was currently clearing his desk of all the files and blueprints until they returned in the new year. Ford looked at his boss moving around in the office, all sleek and suave like a jungle cat. Jungle cat! Really Ford… He shook his head at himself. Whatever. The fact was his boss was possibly the most good-looking man Ford had ever laid his eyes on, not to mention successful, meaning he won the most eligible bachelor lottery.
So there’s no way he’s noticed you, Ford. Maybe if he said it enough, his stupid heart, or maybe places further south, would get the memo.
That was probably how Mr. Lancaster had convinced old man Roberts to sell the small ski hotel his family had owned for almost three generations. Now, his boss would be turning it into a high-end ski resort in the winter, and in the summer, it would offer a number of recreational activities, including hiking, mountain biking, zip-lining, and all the other wonderful outdoor things you could dream of doing during the warmer months.
Construction would start in the new year, and that was when Mr. Lancaster was supposed to be returning after he’d left for the holidays, but it looked like he wouldn’t be leaving at all. With the weather the way it was, there was no way Mr. Lancaster was making it to New York for the holiday season.
Ford knew it wasn’t his fault that his boss had chosen to leave things until the last minute to book a flight, or that they were snowed in. But it now fell on him to tell Mr. Lancaster he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
How on Earth was Ford supposed to tell a man, who probably didn’t know the meaning of failure, that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of getting a flight out of town?
I’m so screwed.
Everyone else had left for their Christmas vacation, and it was just him and Mr. Lancaster remaining in the office. Christmas fell on Tuesday this year, and today was Thursday. According to the weather forecast he’d checked, after speaking to the very unhelpful woman on the phone, they were likely going to be snowed in until Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.
Ford loved living in the small town of Amber Falls. To him, it was perfect. They had the ski slopes, the gorgeous lakes, the mountains, and the most awesome hot spring ever. He’d grown up in Amber Falls, and he would probably die here if he had anything to say about it.
Amber Falls was the best of small-town America. There were bigger cities within driving distance, but they were still, in essence, a small-town community where neighbors still looked out for each other.
The town’s main source of income was tourism, yet they were selective on who they allowed to open up shop. Ford saw it as the best of all worlds, but he wasn’t sure how to tell his uber-sophisticated boss that he would be having an Amber Falls Christmas instead of spending the holidays in New York.
Ford hadn’t been outside of Colorado, but if every TV show and movie was to be believed, a New York Christmas was all about the glitz. While Amber Falls was stunning, it couldn’t compare to New York.
When he’d applied for the job of Mr. Lancaster’s assistant during this project and had gotten it, he’d been so excited—especially because it meant he would be up for a job at the resort once it opened. But now, he was cursing his good luck.
Then again, it seemed like said luck had run out because if he couldn’t get his boss out of the state, hell, out of this town, then he’d be screwed six ways to Sunday. And not in a good way either.
I’ll probably have to start looking for a new job by the new year, Ford thought bleakly.
Ford didn’t know where his boss would stay. He’d called around to the four B&B’s in town and had been told that they were all booked up. Amber Falls was picturesque this time of year, so they got a lot of people from around the country who wanted to experience a snowy Christmas. Then there were also the avid skiers. That meant that his boss, who’d already checked out of one of those B&B’s, was now stuck in town with nowhere to go.
Yeah. Not good.
Fuck my life! Fuck my life! Fuck my life!
Ford wiped his face in frustration, trying to come up with a way to not only tell his boss there were no departing flights but also that the cozy B&B he’d been staying at was now fully booked. Sawyer was a good boss, but he had high expectations and expected them to be met. The thing was he held himself to the same standard, so Ford couldn’t really complain.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
BL Maxwell grew up in a small town listening to her grandfather spin tales about his childhood. Later she became an avid reader and after a certain vampire series she became obsessed with fanfiction. She soon discovered Slash fanfiction and later discovered the MM genre and was hooked.
Many years later, she decided to take the plunge and write down some of the stories that seem to run through her head late at night when she’s trying to sleep.
Many years later, she decided to take the plunge and write down some of the stories that seem to run through her head late at night when she’s trying to sleep.
A linguist and an avid reader with a particular fondness for fantasy and paranormal genres, KASIA BACON lives in London with her husband. When not tearing her hair out over a translating project, she writes stories about the shenanigans of emotionally constipated assassins and sexy Elves. Otherwise, she can be found shaking her loins at a Zumba class, binging on anime or admiring throwing knives on Pinterest. A lover of MMA and Muay Thai, she also enjoys nature and the great outdoors. She dreams of becoming independently wealthy, leaving the city and moving into her wooden mini-manor—located in the heart of stunning forests resembling those of the Elven Country depicted in her tales.
Baylin Crow
Rheland Richmond
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Baylin writes gay romance stories full of sweetness and steam. She's best known for her Sugar Land Saints series that follows a college football team set in Texas, which she also calls home. Whether writing books or reading them, Baylin spends the majority of her time tucked into the pages of stories about men who love other men. She has two children, a spoiled cat, and a heavy addiction to caffeine.
For as long as she can remember Rheland's had her nose stuck in a book, getting lost in the world of someone else's creation (She still does). Her love for writing came from her love for reading. She could never have one without the other.
Writing has always been a hobby and a cathartic experience for her. There are many stories lost to the never to be completed or published pile but needed to be written at the time.
She's just a girl that loved stories so much she wrote hers.
Rheland would love to hear from her readers and learn more about Y'all. So if you get a chance... please get in touch.
She also writes Omegaverse as Skye R. Richmond.
VL Locey
BL Maxwell
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Rheland Richmond
EMAIL: rhelandrichmond@gmail.com
Dressed in Holiday Style by VL Locey
👀⏳Bookfunnel Limited Time 11/3-12/31⏳👀
Remember When by BL Maxwell
Blessing and Light by Kasia Bacon
The Holiday Hookup by Baylin Crow
Stranded with His Boss by Rheland Richmond
