Summary:
Snowed Inn
One drunken phone call with a desperate plea for help and an admission of love, and Patrick races to stop his best friend from marrying the wrong man.
Patrick never stopped loving Declan, even if he did shove him away at graduation when they kissed. His alpha-type brothers and father, with all their firefighter history, would never accept him being bi, or understand his need to step outside of the family firm and be a cop. So, he hides how he feels, and ends up losing the only man heâs ever really loved. The only reconciliation they tried was on the night he found out Declan was engaged, and he never imagined heâd have a chance to make things right. That is, until he receives a desperate phone call from Declan asking to be rescued. Through travel chaos and storms, Patrick finally reaches the venue in the Colorado mountains, but with an empty wedding room and no sign of Declan or the fiancĂ©, he knows heâs too late.
All too familiar with rejection, jilted by his fiancĂ© on his wedding day, and lost, Declan has no idea what comes next. He never imagined heâd be entirely alone after his former fiancĂ© and the wedding party leave, or that an avalanche would trap him in the hotel over Christmas. And worse? Patrick is in the hotel with him and wonât leave him alone. Sharing a room with his former best friend is the last thing Declan wants, but maybe nature has given him a sign that he needs to confront the past and find a way to move on with his life. If only it was easy to fall out of love with the man who holds your heart.
All the books In the Snowed Inn collection are standalone stories and can be read In any order.
In my experience, forced proximity tropes are either absolutely brilliant or complete full-on checklist of cliches, Stop the Wedding falls into the former: BRILLIANT!
What makes it tip the scales to brilliant? I don't want to give too many details away but I loved the whole friends to lovers journey. Declan and Patrick have a long history and lack of communication leads to most of their problems but I am a firm believer in fate and timing. Did I want to smack their heads together a few times? Yes. Were there a few instances where had I been there with access to an iron skillet they would have been in for a headache or two? Probably. Some might find a story invoking those kind of feelings a turn-off but not me. For me, that "need to smack" characters means I'm getting into the story so deeply, the author has sucked me in until I feel a part of the story, like I'm right there next to all the action. Definitely a win win feeling.
If you are even remotely familiar with RJ Scott's work then you know she's all about the HEA so the end result is not really a mystery but watching Declan and Patrick get there is pure holiday gold. One of my favorite moments was when Patrick encounters a fellow strandee who seems slightly confused and Patrick goes into cop mode to protect. It is a small scene but it's a scene that says so much and I think it helps to provide a moment of clarity for Patrick. By this time the men have talked and admitted things and their journey has started a new course so that moment of clarity might not effect the couple's road map but you just know that everything that was still "iffy" becomes clear. This scene probably spoke to me more as a caregiver than it would to most so I just had to shine a little spotlight on it.
So long review short: Stop the Wedding is a lovely holiday romance that warms the heart. Some might say it's angtsy, more so than they normally want at the holiday but I think holiday stories are the perfect time for drama. Emotional and holiday go hand in hand in my mind and when written well there is nothing better and Stop the Wedding is definitely written well.
One last series note: Snowed Inn is a multi-author series of standalones with the only real follow thru being the avalanche that traps the main characters at The Retreat. The entries can be read in any order although if I'm completely honest I'm glad I read RJ Scott's Stop the Wedding first simply because there are the occasional wedding(or non-wedding) comments, none of which really effect or play a role in any of the other entries but I was glad I knew what they meant having read Wedding first. But that's more a personal preference of mine than an actually need to know scenario. I still have a couple of entries to read but so far they are all topnotch.
Summary:
A romantic getaway at an all-inclusive boutique hotel over Christmas seems the perfect way for Glenn Trevor to celebrate the festive period with his boyfriend.
But he could have done without waking up on the first morning delirious and covered in spots. Abandoned by his boyfriend, Glennâs only saving grace comes in the dynamic form of Bastian, the waiter assigned to attend his every whim, and who might just be an angel in disguise.
Bastian, has only two rules: always make the guests feel as comfortable as possibleânot a problem with his innate nurturing dispositionâand never ever get involved with a guest. But the quarantined guy in 210 needs someone to take care of him, and Bastianâs more than up for the challenge of making Glenn Trevorâs stay the best ever, even if he has to run himself ragged to do it.
If Bastian can learn to accept the same nurturing care he hands out so readily, and Glenn can get over the farce of his previous relationship, between them maybe they can make it the Christmas of their dreams.
Summary:
A snarky English nerd. A hot American actor. When Christmas brings them together, they have more in common than they knowâŠ
Murdo doesnât do Christmas, but this year, heâs looking forward to spending time with an old friend. Elodieâs working on a film starring Murdoâs Biggest Crush, the gorgeous Lukas Olsen. When Elodie asks him to give Lukas a lift from Logan International, Murdo canât believe his luck. Lukas might be straight, but oglingâs acceptableâright?
Lukas arrives at the airport to find a gaggle of fans but no driver waiting and when he does turn up, the snarky Englishman canât even remember where heâs parked. When they finally reach their destination, Lukas tries to tip him and Murdo makes his current opinion of Lukas very clear. His crush is over.
Things move from bad to worse when Murdo tells the director that Lukasâs English accent isnât authentic. But a pang of guilt, and maybe a remnant of lust, has Murdo offering to give dialect lessons to a resentful Lukas. Only once theyâre in Lukasâs house, annoyance turns into something far more dangerous, because Lukas isnât out and never will be. He has too much to lose: career, fans, family and friends.
Yet something about Murdo makes Lukas want to risk it allâŠ
Summary:
Vale Valley Season Four #8
Oh la la! When two hearts collide...
Nico
Omega and Norwegian forest cat shifter Nico is newly arrived from France, eager to get his perfumery business off the ground. An idyllic drive to pick up supplies ends in chaos when he finds a tiny boy left for dead on the roadside. Lupo, an orphan boy, will require extensive post-operative treatment, and Nico signs up to help. He might be in over his head, but he can't turn away when a child needs him. Drowning his stress in a glass of wine, he meets Will, who offers to help him with more than just Lupoâs bills. Suddenly, heâs considering adopting Lupo, dealing with a budding romance, and hoping to pay for Lupoâs treatment. Little does Nico know, heâs about to have the Christmas surprise of his life.
Will
Alpha arctic wolf shifter Will is trying to save Incubus, the bar he inherited after his fatherâs death. Serving some wine to a mysterious French omega turns into a long, delicious night, and Will canât get enough. When he realizes Nico needs help with little Lupoâs medical bills, he steps up and offers his bar for a fundraiser. He figures he might as well put it to good use. As he falls deeper and deeper for Nico, his fear of losing those closest to him gives him pause. He wants to be with Nico, but letting people in has never worked out for him.
When these menâs worlds collide, they realize special things happen when you mix a little love and a whole lot of Christmas spirit.
The Scent of Christmas is book 8 in Season Four of the Vale Valley Series. Come back to Vale Valley! Take a tour of the magical lake that never gets cold, ride on a wolf drawn sleigh, and savor a cup of hot cocoa at the Vale Valley Christmas Market! Vale Valley brings you healed hearts and souls full of holiday joy. Welcome!
A Little Christmas
Who fires someone for playing Christmas songs at the office?
My sexy, broody ass of a boss thatâs who.
I should have listened when they told me my boss is a Scrooge.
That he hates Christmas and wants the office devoid of holiday cheer.
Instead, I fantasized about him as the caregiver Iâve always wanted.
Of him bringing back the meaning of Christmas to my life.
Who knew the way he looks at me is worth as much as a partridge in a pear tree?
One tiny mistake and Iâm standing on the curb with a box filled with my crushed heart, a fake tabletop Christmas tree, and the miserable truth that Iâll be homeless for sure.
When an accident brings us together two weeks later, the care he shows me leaves me confused. How can I trust him again when the reason Iâve been living on the streets is all because of him?
A Little Christmas: Zahair is an MM Daddy/Little Christmas twist on the Little Princess Classic. Each age play romance book can be read as a standalone.
Random Tales of Christmas 2022
Stop the Wedding by RJ Scott
Chapter One
PATRICK
The day of the wedding
Declan wasnât answering his phone or reading any of the hundreds of messages Iâd sent him in the last two days since heâd called me. We hadnât seen each other since the summer; not talked since heâd ghosted me, deleted me, decided enough was enough.
I couldnât blame him.
I played his last message again, and again, until I knew it by heart, picked apart every detail, and heard every desperately sad hitch in his breath. I knew him; I should be there for him.
He needed me.
The message was long, rambling, and ended with a succession of beeps as heâd attempted to delete it.
Thank god he hadnât managed to delete it at all. It was still here for me to listen to, and it shattered my heart every god damn time, because I had ignored him, too lost in my own misery that he was getting married to want to even listen to his voice.
His sexy, beautiful, voice.
âHi, itâs uhm⊠itâs me⊠Declan, obviously⊠or not⊠uhm⊠I get you wonât answer this call, and that makes me so damn sad. I miss you. Look⊠I know things were said at the gallery opening, but I know you were trying to do the right thing with Lennox. Itâs all youâve ever done, looked out for me, wanted to find the best man for me.
I just hoped that, maybe, youâd see that it was you that I⊠no, thatâs not what I wanted to say. I guess youâve moved on, but I want to try for us to be friends again. I invited you to the wedding, but you never responded.
I miss you, Pads, I miss us, and when I sent you the invitation, I hoped that youâd call me, and youâd be my best man. I want to move on, but I canât⊠shit⊠this is stupid, right? Because I could just as easily have called you. Fuck. Jesus, why is this so hard? I just wanted to let you know Iâm okay. I donât know why Lennox wants to marry meâapparently, he wants his brother at a wedding, and this was the only day, and it made sense for me to say yes.
Right?
I mean he said he wanted his brother at a wedding, not at our wedding, but I didnât understand. I didnât ask him what he meant by that.
Stupid.
Ignore that.
What I have with him might not be perfect, but Iâll try my hardest to be happy, so donât worry⊠but⊠god⊠I wish youâd accepted the invitation. I wish you were here to be my best man, my best friend, even if you canât love me the way I used to love you.
I wish you could rescue me from this⊠No⊠Shit, ignore I said that, too.
My head is all over the place.
I donât need rescuing. Iâm doing the right thing, and youâre in my past now. Look⊠just⊠please stay safe eh? No taking down criminal gangs and ending up shot⊠I needed you to knowâitâs important you knowâ that youâre my best friend, and I will always love you, Pads, and, fuck, I hope youâre okay.
I just wish you were here to help me make sense of things.
I think Iâve done the wrong thing.
I donât know.
Shit. Ignore that as well. Iâm okay.
Just yeah⊠I wish you were here Pads.
Shit. Shit.
How do I delete this? Iâm gonna delete this.
âCan you please drive faster?"
Bob-the-cab-driver didnât answer, mostly because he was concentrating on not ending up in a snowdrift, and also it wouldâve been the same answer heâd given me on the four occasions I'd already askedâthat he was driving as fast as he could, and he assumed I wanted to make it to the inn alive.
I'd visualized the journey from the small local airport to the hotel because that was all I could look at on the many flights it had taken from Charleston, diverted to New York because of a snowstorm, stranded there, then through to Denver by train, car, and bus, then getting local flights. Leave the local airport, find a cab, head north, and on a good day the journey from door-to-door would be twenty-one minutes. Bob raised an eyebrow at me then concentrated on his driving. I sat back in my seat with an exasperated huff because if I was at the wheel right now, snow on the ground or not, I'd be pushing the speed limit. Of course, knowing my luck, I'd be pulled over by the cops before I even left the town, let alone made it up the mountain to the inn, but I had my ID, and I was still in the same suit Iâd left Charlotte in, so I hoped theyâd give a cop in service a pass when I told them the mad dash was a matter of life and death.
I wouldnât tell them it was mostly a matter of love, because who would even rush madly cross-country this close to Christmas, through the snow, for love?
Bob navigated around yet another drift, and I hung onto the door as we swerved before the tire chains caught, and we were once again heading down the only road leading to the hotel. There were banks of snow on either side, but I should count my lucky stars Iâd finally outrun the storm that had crippled the East coast and made my journey to this small mountain outside Denver near impossible.
âWhatâs waiting for you at the other end?â he asked conversationally, as if it were okay to take his eyes off his driving.
âSorry?â
âWhy do you need to be at The Rainbow Inn so quickly?â
âNo, wait. What? I need to get to The Retreat.â
âYeah, same place, just we call it The Rainbow Inn becauseâŠâ He flapped his hand, and I wasnât sure what he meant, although I thought he might be feigning a limp wrist, and that got my back up immediately. Still, I didn't have the energy to answer his questions about why the need for speed, fixated on the idea of getting to The Retreat before the worst of all things happened and I lost Declan forever. âYeah, so why you going there?â
I used to love you.
âIt's complicated," I offered in the well-worn tradition of offering nothing and hoping the person asking the question backed off.
âAah.â Bob laughed. âGirlfriend trouble, huh?â
âNo.â Please, just look at the road, then you can drive faster.
âWife trouble?" He frowned into the mirror.
I needed him to stop the questions right nowânot getting to the hotel in time was messing with my head, but I didnât want to die before Iâd had a chance to talk to Declanânot when Iâd gotten this far. âBest-friend-who-is-a-guy trouble.â
âAhh, so the best friend is the one with the girl trouble?"
Jesus. âPlease, can you drive any faster?" I checked my watch again, and there was only ten minutes to go until the wedding started.
Six hundred seconds to let him know Iâd been wrong, that I did love him, and he needed to know that before he married Lennox.
I was selfish, fucked-up, and grieving; and Iâd been so stupid, hiding parts of myself so my family wouldnât disown me, when in doing that Iâd lost everything.
I held my breath as Bob rounded a tight bend, swerving to avoid a truck heading our way, and skimming so close to the snowbank I couldâve reached out and grabbed a handful of the white stuff.
Bob didnât seem fazed, humming along to Mariah, bopping his head to the Christmas beat, yet still managing to keep the car on the road. How the man could sing, chair-dance, and drive was beyond me, but it was all too fucking scary, so I closed my eyes and focused on what I was going to say to Declan when I got there.
"We're nearly there," Bob announced.
I leaned to the side to stare through the front window past the banks of snow and got my first glimpses of The Retreat.
It was an old buildingârustic and with a lot of woodâset back into and sheltered by a rocky overhang, and there was so much stone it was as if it had been built right into the side of the mountain. A circular driveway had us up to the front door. I thrust a pile of bills at the driver, not caring if I'd given him way too much.
âGood luck, son! Go get her!â
Clearly, he hadnât heard a word I said, and I didnât bother to correct him again.
âThank you.â I grabbed my duffle, exited the car, and ran, jumping the steps to the front door three at a time and barging my way through so fast a man standing just inside tumbled backward into the wall in surprise.
âSorry, I'm looking for the wedding hall."
He shook his head and shrugged, probably still in shock at the sight of the idiot in a worn, crumpled suit who pushed past him. There was a small line at the reception desk, but I bypassed everyone, slamming my hand down on the counter and frightening the women behind it. "The hall with the wedding, where is it?â
âSir, there's a line." She was so startled her eyebrows vanished under her bangs, and she gave me a thorough once-over, and her eyes widened. I knew I was disheveled, exhausted, and travel-rough. Come on, just tell me where Declan is.
âSorry, please, I donât mean to be rude, I just need the hall with the wedding.â
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, a woman in a ski cap. "I think it's that way." She pointed toward an area behind reception. I nodded my thanks and sprinted so fast past a few small boutiques that, I swear, I left scorch marks on the wooden floor. I went through the double doors with more care, not wanting to flatten anyone standing on the other side, and found myself in a corridor, with doors to the left and right. Where now? I glanced at my watch, seventeen minutes past eleven, and in my heart I felt that maybe I was just too late. âThe wedding!" I shouted, not thinking through what I was doing, and rounded on someone whoâd followed me through double doors.
âThe wedding?â I repeated as the same woman whoâd tapped me on the shoulder, sans ski cap, gestured to the middle door and the discreet sign to the side that said Essex Hall in small letters. I schooled my features into what I assumed was a pleasant smile of thanks, but the woman took a hurried step back, and I guessed my smile needed some practice. I didn't have time to apologize, and steeling myself for what I needed to do, I thrust open the doors and stepped into a vast high-ceilinged room. All I could see was white from flowers and ribbons, and I shouted as loud as I could.
"Stop the wedding!â
The room was empty. Beautifully decorated with pale roses and fairy lights draped everywhere, there was no one there. I slumped to the nearest chair, every breath Iâd been holding sweeping out of me, and emotion knotting in my chest.
I couldnât rescue him.
I couldnât tell him I loved him.
I was too late.
Calamine & Christmas Cake by Lillian Francis
âJesus Fucking Christ! What the fuck have you done to yourself?â
The shrill words tugged me from a troubled sleep, reverberating around my head despite the fact that my skull seemed to be stuffed with cotton wool.
Had I drunk that much last night? I felt as groggy as hell. I searched through clouded memories, but I could only recall a bottle of Peroni, left mostly untouched beside a half-eaten dinner.
âGlenn, Iâm talking to you.â
A finger poked me in the arm, attacking a muscle that ached as though Iâd been lifting weights all day. But Iâd spent my day floating in the pool and doing leisurely lengths in a lopsided front crawl. The gym I left to my six-pack obsessed boyfriend. Who poked me again in that tender spot. I wanted to rub it until my skin bled. And wasnât that a weird thought.
And I had left him, checking himself out in the mirror while I alternated between the water and stretching out on a sun lounger with my Kindle. Not that there had been much sun coming in through the glass of the pool house. Hardly a surprise since it was December in England.
Wasnât it?
I couldnât dredge up the date, or the day for that matter, but that was often the case once school broke up and I didnât have to worry about classes and staff meetings.
Xander poked me again, his finger an irritant despite the duvet between the offending digit and my tortured flesh. I swatted away his attack and dislodged the duvet at the same time. Icy shards seemed to cut at my skin everywhere the air touched it. And despite the fact my body seemed to be boiling internally I had an almost desperate urge to tug the covers back up around me.
âOMG! Youâre covered in it! Gross.â
Whatever sleep Iâd been clinging on to was ripped away, as I was jerked to full wakefulness not by the harsh unfathomable words, but by the pitch and lurch of the bed as Xander scrambled away. His sudden move took most of the covers with him, leaving me totally exposed to the cool December air that made my skin tingle and itch. I scratched at a particularly annoying patch of skin at my hip and tried to unglue my eyelids enough to glare at my boyfriend.
He wavered into view but refused to properly focus. I suspected my glare lacked its normal power that regularly left 10-year-olds quaking in their non-school compliant trainers. Not that it mattered, blurry Xanderâs gaze was fixed on the area where I was scratching. I didnât even have the energy to convince myself that he was staring at my dick.
And now that itched too.
I rubbed at my shaft lazily, soft and stuck to the crease of my left thigh. No sign of my normal morning wood, and I really didnât have the energy to care.
Xander shriekedâthe drama queenâthe sound ripping a hole in my skull. I waited for the inevitable leakage of brains on to my pillow. When that didnât happen, I opened my eyesâwhich had apparently drifted shut againâjust in time to watch his fuzzy shape toss the duvet in my direction. Whether by accident or design it settled on me like falling snow. The cotton felt cool against my skin. I spread my arms and began to make a snow angelâit was nearly Christmas after all. Two sweeps in and the heat and friction made me uncomfortable and itchy again.
Banging and muttering from the other side of the room distracted me from the tightness of my skin. I tugged the duvet closer around me and tried to lift my head to focus on the crashing just long enough to tell the noisy fucker to piss off.
My heavy skull wouldnât obey. I rolled onto my side, my head cradled by the super soft feather pillows. White, fluffy, floaty clouds. Floating up into the sky, away from all the noise. But clouds werenât pure white when there was the angry rumble of thunder in the air.
Not thunder. I blinked and made a concerted effort to focus. Xander slammed the wardrobe door, the empty hangers clanging together. He was still muttering furiously away to himself and I forced myself to make sense of the words.
ââŠinvited to three parties over the holidays. But nooooo, I turned them all down for a romantic week with Spotty McSpotDick.â
There was something off in the way he spat out the word romantic but I couldnât quite work out what, in my befuddled state. Instead, I focused on the part of his rant I could appease. âI told you,â I started but it came out more like Didoldu so even I was distracted from what Iâd planned to say next.
I attempted to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth and tried again.
I donât think I was any more successful the second time. Xander gave a snort of disgust. He stomped over to the mini fridge, yanked out a bottle of water and twisted the cap off, with more aggression than his lithe frame would imply. All that time in the gym working on his six-pack was obviously doing wonders for his biceps too. Not that I could appreciate any of it with all the clothes he was wearing.
âThis is why I donât do sick people.â He held out the water bottle and glared expectantly. I raised myself up enough to take the offered bottle and risk a sip of the water.
Oh, that tasted good. Cool and refreshing against my scratchy throat. I took another swallow and smiled my thanks. Xander grimaced and moved away from the bed, back towards the wardrobe. He opened the other door.
Another sip of water and my brain seemed to come back online. âWe can go to the parties and still have a romantic break. I never intended for us to stay in the hotel the entire time but itâs nice to be able to just spend time relaxing and not to have to worry about cooking, especially on Christmas Day. And the staff here are really attentive.â Something tugged the edges of my mind. Sleep or just that hazy mist that had been bothering me since Iâd woken that morning. I took a longer swig from the bottle then, because it was a good point and I felt it needed to be stressed, I added, âReally attentive.â
Xander snorted, apparently unimpressed with my reasoning. âWhat, like that twinky waiter who was flirting with you at dinner? Donât think I didnât notice him out at the poolside too. Bringing you extra towels and drinks.â
âThat was the same guy?â I could barely remember him. Although I think I recalled a waiter, dark hair with a fiery red streak, ask with concern if I needed some water and express dismay about the amount of food I left. Could he have been the pool boy in the shortest of shorts whoâd been happy to run around and get me drinks from the bar? Iâd had an unquenchable thirst yesterday that Iâd put down to the chlorine and the amount of shouting Iâd done on the last day of term. But his hair had been slicked back and the red streak was the only thing I remembered from the waiter. I couldnât even remember what Iâd ordered to eat, but I felt bad that Iâd left food uneaten.
âAnyway, we still have New Yearâs parties to go to when we get home.â
âWith you looking like that? I donât think so.â
I frowned as Xander tugged his shirts from the hangers. Wind chimes jangled but the air in the room was still, stifling. Xander rammed the shirts in his case. Strange, he was normally such a meticulous packer. Even his gym bag.
Packing?
âAre you going somewhere?â
âIâm not staying here to get sick. Iâll call you in the New Year.â
âBut, Christmas?â
âBye, Glenn.â
I blinked my eyes open at the slamming of the door. God, it was hot in here. All that fractious energy my boyfriend had been giving off probably. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the window on legs weaker than Bambi. After some fumbling, I finally got the latch unfastened and threw open the window letting in blessedly cool air.
My stomach caught up with my sudden departure from the horizontal. It lurched in protest. I spun around in desperationâprobably not my finest ideaâuntil I spied the waste bin under the dressing table. My legs gave way and I crumpled to the carpet. I just had the presence of mind to grab for the bin before I puked my guts up.
Next time I woke there was a woman standing over me, screaming. I smiled at her reassuringly. It didnât seem to help.
This is Real by Barbara Elsborg
1
Murdo quietly crooned âBaby, Itâs Cold Outsideâ as he danced between his bed and a chest of drawers. Any louder and heâd piss off Mrs. Levine who lived in the apartment next to his and had the amazing ability of being able to hear him breathe. Too loudly, obviously. When she saw him, she was always ready with a complaint. Yesterday it had been his electric toothbrush disturbing her. Murdo had this image of her sitting with her ear to the wall waiting for a reason to knock on his door. Well, he was away for a week, maybe more, so at least heâd be spared those encounters, as well as being removed from the temptation to fling open his door with just a towel wrapped around his hips.
His ski gear was in its own bag, and he was only packing a small suitcase on the basis that he could either get his stuff laundered or buy extra if he stayed away longer than the week heâd planned. His accommodation was booked for the next two nights, and heâd wing it after that. Snow chains had been purchasedâjust in case, the first part of his route planned, and in less than four hours he should be at the Quality Comfort Inn in Ancatch, New Hampshire, with its promised outdoor hot tub and fabulous mountain views. He couldnât wait.
Murdoâs marking was done, his lectures prepared for the first two weeks of the spring term, and the only work he needed to do was occasionally check his emails in case a student was having a meltdown. He was enjoying his job as a mathsâor math as he was still trying to remember to say to any Americanâlecturer at Harvard⊠Harvard! He still couldnât even think of Harvard without gulping. Though he wasnât sure how long heâd stay. The pay was okay but not brilliant, and although money wasnât everything, there wasnât much you could do without it, and a lot you could do with it.
More importantly, even after moving all the way to another country in the hope of a fresh start, after five months here, Murdo still felt unsettled. To be fair, it was the same unsettled feeling that heâd had for as long as he could remember, as if he was looking for something without knowing exactly what that something was and feeling on edge because heâd not found it. Something or somewhere or someone? All three?
Murdo called it his Greener Grass Syndrome. One that heâd brought on himself because things had to feel right. Heâd had a few someones whoâd turned into boyfriends, though none had ended up being the right someone for him. Or rather, theyâd spotted greener grass elsewhere. Being dumped by everyone heâd been with had dented Murdoâs delicately balanced confidence, the seesaw on which he persistently wobbled. Because youâre not good enough said that familiar voice in his head. Yes, I am Murdo said back.
A lecturer at Harvard and he still heard himself being called useless. When was he going to shake that off? Never chimed his other self.
Oh bugger off.
He slung his messenger bag over one shoulder and his bag of ski gear over the other. One last glance around his studio apartment for smoldering fires, dripping taps, a magic portal to another worldâŠbefore he carried rather than rolled his case out of the door. See, Mrs. Levine? He was being courteous. He headed down to the street. His car was parked underground a few blocks from where he lived. In a way, the vehicle had been a waste of money because he didnât drive to work, but he liked to go exploring at the weekends and having a car made that easier.
His phone rang as he was walking to the garage. Elodie. He hoped she wasnât going to tell him not to come, that thereâd been a change of plan, because he was so looking forward to this.
âHi, Elodie.â
âHi, sweetie. Where are you?â
âJust about to set off.â
âOh great, Iâve caught you in time. Can you do me a huge favor?â
âGod, why donât I like the sound of that? Is it going to get me into trouble like nearly all the other huge favors youâve asked?â
She laughed. âNot this time. Youâre going to thank me for asking you to do this. Maybe freak out first though.â
âRight. What do you need me to do?â
âPick Lukas Olsen up from Logan and drive him here to his hotel.â
Murdo gulped. Christ Almighty!
Elodie laughed. âI heard that gulp.â
âOh my God, Elodie. That wasnât a gulp, it was me hyperventilating. I thought I might catch a glimpse of him on set, not sit next to him for twenty-four hours.â
âIt isnât going to take you twenty-four hours to get here, idiot.â
âIt might if we get caught in the snow and have to spend the night in a motel where thereâs only one room and we have to share a bed. Oh dear, itâs a really bad snow storm. Might be more than twenty-four hours.â
She snickered. âHello, Hallmark movie.â
âForced proximity has me every time. You know I have The Biggest Crush on him.â
âAnd you know he isnât gay.â
âI can still have a crush. How am I going to sit next to him and not get a hard-on?â That was exactly what was going to happen. âGod, Elodie, I canât do this.â
âYes, you can. Youâre only coming up to see me because you wanted to see him.â
âNot true.â
âIs your nose growing, Pinocchio?â
âIâm coming to see you! But okay, yes, I was hoping to quietly drool over him, but not when he was sitting next to me. Iâll be a mess. Heâll think Iâm a rabid dog and Iâll say something inappropriate like can I sit on your dick?â
She laughed. âI know you wonât. Youâll be polite and courteous and very British and you wonât drool or flirt. Please Murdo, otherwise Iâll have to send a driver and youâre already in Boston and heading here anyway.â
âFine.â
âHeâs landing just after ten. Iâll text you the details.â
âTen? Right, thatâsââ
âThanks so much, Murdo. Dinnerâs on me tonight. See you later.â
Sheâd gone before he had the chance to say he might be late getting to the airport. It was nine fifteen already. He sighed and kept walking. Lukas Olsen. Murdo swallowed hard. He had to admit, when Elodie had invited him to spend a couple of days on the film set, the cherry on the very tempting cake had been the presence of Lukas Olsen. Murdo had assumed all heâd be able to do was ogle from a distance. Now heâd be in a car with him for four hours. Complete and utter heaven or an awkward-as-shit journey with Murdo constantly attempting to hide how sexy he found the guy?
What were they going to talk about? How gorgeous Lukas was? How much Murdo loved his films? Loved him? Scratch that. What a fan Murdo was of the film industry in general? Maths? Math? Murdo groaned. Note to self! Donât talk too much! Especially about maths. Math. You usually do, particularly when youâre nervous. Youâre not too much of a weirdo. Heâll like you.
Why are you even worrying what he thinks? chimed his alter ego. As if heâd have any interest in someone like you.
Thank you for that reminder.
Lukas was mouthwateringly good looking. Dark hair, eyes as blue as the hot springs in Yellowstone, sculptured cheek bones, tall and lean, and he moved with a languid grace that made MurdoâNo, youâre not allowed to drool. The guy was chiseled but not bulkyâMurdo had seen his abs on screenâa lotârewind, rewind, rewind. As well as that dark treasure trail. More rewinding. And occasionally Murdo had put a hand down his sweatpants. Lukas had a very sexy smile, the sort of quirky grin that made Murdoâs heart twang every time he saw him in a film, along with exciting another part of him.
Sadly, Lukas was not on the available list. Not that heâd ever have been available for Murdo. The guy had been linked to a couple of A-list actresses, a model or two, and always had a woman on his arm in any publicity shots Murdo had seen. So definitely straight. And since Murdo had no faith in the reality of the gay-for-you romance trope, Lukas was untouchable, unobtainable, irreversibly heterosexual, and there was no point thinking, wanting or longing for it to be otherwise. Murdo hoped Lukas made up for that terrible character flaw by being a nice guy or it was going to be a long journey.
He put his bags in the trunk and climbed into his car. Elodieâs text came through while he was putting the airport details into his satnav. Logan was only about twelve miles away, but everything worked to delay him: traffic, traffic lights, idiot drivers, reckless pedestrians, a low-flying cardinal bird that nearly came to a sticky end, then getting pipped to a space in the terminal parking lot that had clearly been his. He had to restrain himself from sounding his horn and giving the smug driver a piece of his mind becauseâŠguns⊠It wasnât worth the risk.
After heâd finally parked, seemingly as far away from the terminal as he could possibly get, he ran across the parking lot and nearly got knocked down. He mouthed his apology to the white-faced driver and pressed the button on the elevator. By the time he headed into the building, it was almost an hour since Lukas would have landed.
The moment Murdo walked inside, he spotted a crowd of women holding up selfie sticks. Lukas had his back to the wall like a cornered deer, though he was smiling and chatting. Oh God. How was it fair this guy was straight? He was just so sexy and elegant and⊠To Murdoâs horror, his cock began to swell. Bad timing, pal! Luckily, his coat was long enough to hide the bulge in his jeans.
Despite being late, he still took a moment to stare. Holy shit. This was like every sexual fantasy come to life. The guy was even better-looking in the flesh, and all that awareness did was depress Murdo further because it reminded him that heâd never attract anyone like this.
Looks are less important than whatâs inside.
Yeah, right, that might well be true, but unless Murdo felt some physical attraction, he had no interest in pursuing a relationship. Yes, Iâm shallow. I canât help it. Shallow and picky and nerdy, which was why he was single and would likely die single because anyone who looked at him or listened to him was not going to think, itâs whatâs inside that counts.
Lukas was even taller than Murdo had thought he was, or maybe it was the women who were short and made him look taller. His dark hair was just the right side of scruffy, and that smiling mouth should definitely have a warning label. Murdo found himself licking his lips. Four hours in the car with him was going to be excruciatingly painful, though Murdoâs future night-time fantasies had been fed a hefty dose of sexy fertilizer. He can be gay in my head. Gay for me. It worked.
Murdo suddenly realized Lukas was looking at him. Not just looking but giving him get over here looks. Not ones that made Murdoâs heart sing, ones that said What the fuck are you waiting for? Get over here right now. Lukas was pissed. Christ! How long have I been standing staring? Murdo headed over. The guy was still smiling as he talked to the women, but Murdo had definitely caught a flash of irritation aimed straight at him.
âMr. Olsen? Iâm here to collect you,â Murdo called over the backs of the women who surrounded the star like fish in a feeding frenzy, all wedged tightly together, taking a picture, or asking for a selfie, then sliding back to let someone else get close. Actually, it was fascinating and Murdo was thinking about the mathematics of it when Lukas coughed loudly.
âAbout time. Whereâve you been?â Lukas snapped.
Well, fuck you. How did the guy manage to smile and still snap and look pissed off at the same time? Murdo kept the half-smile on his face, but didnât answer him.
âSorry, ladies, my chauffeurâs turned upâat long last.â
The sea of women parted as Lukas moved forward, then gathered together again behind him. That was quite a talent. Lukas held out his bag to Murdo. Like a fool, Murdo took it. Furious with himself, and knowing how bad it would look if he just dropped it, he turned and stomped off with it.
Lukas caught up with him just outside, minus his posse, Murdo noticed.
âWhereâs the car?â Lukas asked.
âCar park. Parking lot.â Murdo was trying to speak American.
âNot at the curb?â
I just told you it wasnât. âItâs not allowed.â
âYet people are getting picked up right in front of us. At the curb.â
âYes, but the signs say donât leave your car unattended and since Iâm on my own, and I didnât have your number to call and ask you to come outside, I had no choice but to park.â
âSo youâre English. Here for the holidays?â
âOh, my goodness, what could possibly have given that away?â Murdo muttered in his poshest accent.
âThe stick up your ass?â
What had he said to deserve that? Ah, my sarcasm. Not lost on this American then.
âSorry. Iâm tired,â Lukas said.
Cue instant forgiveness. After all, Murdo had been late and the guy had been forced to cope with his adoring fans (The only reason he was a star. Donât tell him that!) for close to an hour.
Murdo went up to the pay station and slid in his credit card. At least it hadnât cost him a fortune to park. He turned to head into the ocean of cars and his heart sank. Oh shit. He always double checked the zone where he parked, but heâd been frazzled by that guy slipping into the space heâd been waiting for, then in such a rush⊠Fuck.
âWhich way?â There was irritation in Lukasâs voice.
Murdo set off in what he was pretty sure was the right direction, then pressed the fob to open the trunk, scanning from side to side only to see one raise and wave at him. Please donât let anyone steal my stuff before I get there. Except as he was leading Lukas to it, Murdo registered it wasnât his car. He slowed down and pressed his fob again.
âCanât you remember where you parked? What sort of driver are you?â
The guyâs incredulity pissed Murdo off. But as he turned to snap at him, he spotted his vehicle a couple of rows away and said instead, âOf course I can remember where I parked.â Thank you, God!
He put Lukasâs bag in the trunk, closed it and saw the guy standing by a rear door. Was he waiting for him to open it? What an up-his-own-arseâŠarsehole!
âThis is your car?â
What was wrong with it? âNot shiny enough?â It wasnât. âNot new enough?â That was true too. âToo many dents?â There were a few. âWould you like me to try and open a different one? If we look around, weâll probably find a limo thatâs more to your liking. Bar and hot tub in the back? Along with a leggy supermodel?â
That won Murdo an horrendous glare.
He took a deep breath. Why am I being so snarky? There was no reason to upset the guy. Murdo had no idea what was going on in Lukasâs head. Everyone had issues and problems of one sort or another. Lukas had said he was tired. Be nice. They were going to be stuck with each other for at least four hours. Elodie wouldnât be pleased if one of her stars arrived in a temper because of him. âDo you want to sit in the front or the backâŠor in the trunk?â
Murdo hadnât meant to voice that last part but Lukas sighed. âWhere would you like me to sit?â
âWherever you like.â Murdo got in, threw his coat in the back and slammed the door.
He was surprised when Lukas sat beside him, tossing his coat on top of Murdoâs. Donât be jealous of a coat. Oh, but I am. I really am. Murdo entered the directions for Ancatch into the satnav and set off.
âWhatâs your name?â Lukas asked.
âMurdo.â
âMurder?â
âMurdo. It means sea. Itâs Scottish.â
âYouâre originally from Scotland?â
âNo. And Iâm not keen on the sea either.â
Lukas laughed and Murdoâs heart twisted. He hadnât meant to be funny but he liked hearing Lukas laugh, liked making Lukas laugh. Though that slight distraction, resulting in renewed interest in him on Murdoâs part, also resulted in Murdo having to brake hard to avoiding running into the car ahead, which had unexpectedly stopped halfway over a junction. Idiot! Lukas overreacted and slammed his hands onto the dashboard. Dramatic much?
âDidnât you see that heâd braked?â
âClearly, I did. I stopped, didnât I?â
Lukas huffed.
âDid I hit him?â Murdo asked.
âNo.â
âThen whatâs the problem?â
âDid you pass your driving test?â
âEventually.â
âIâm surprised.â
Murdo clenched his teeth. Heâd had no problem passing the test here. It was much easier than the one heâd taken in England when he was seventeen. Three attempts to pass that.
âWhat did you have a problem with? Awareness of other vehicles using the road?â
âHa ha. Reversing around corners was my nemesis, and a miracle I managed it, except having a disagreement with the examiner on stopping distances didnât help my case. But yes, I passed on the third attempt.â
Do I argue with everyone?
Yes, you do. Be nice! This guy is one of your heroes. Jack Lane, the heroic undercover agent. Miles Benton, the lonely cowboy. Jules Fally, the serial killer with a heart. Every character Lukas played, he played to perfection.
âHow did you know it was me whoâd come to collect you?â Murdo asked.
âElodie described you.â
Do not ask what she said. Murdo did not want to hear that sheâd told Lukas about The Biggest Crush and that heâd probably be the one standing there with his mouth open and drooling.
Murdo pulled onto the freeway and accelerated to get across four lanes of traffic. He hadnât needed to drive so aggressively, but maybe he was making a point. Both for him and his trusty dented steed.
âI donât think youâll get paid if you donât get me there in one piece.â
âProbably not. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.â For some perverse reason, Murdo didnât want to tell him he was doing a favor for a friend.
Lukas chuckled. âWell, try not to lose me.â He yawned. âExcuse me if I fall asleep. I did an early morning hydro session and Iâm wiped out.â
âIâve tried hydro.â Murdo was pathetically happy to have one little thing in common with the prince of Hollywood sitting next to him.
âHowâd it go?â
âI said yes when the instructor asked me if I was a swimmer. That was the first mistake.â
Lukas laughed. âYeah, you need to be good.â
âShe said to swim four lengths of front crawl. I was okay for two lengths. And I use the term okay broadly. Not okay at all for the third, and I had to do breaststroke to finish the fourth. Everyone was waiting when I finally reached the end.â
âThat bad?â
âWorse. I thought, at least thatâs the warm up doneâit was a fifty-yard pool after allâbut no. Two lengths using only arms. Two lengths only legs. Two lengths one arm. I was waiting for her to say two lengths with no arms or legs. It reminded me of a survival badge I did when I was ten where I had to swim in my pyjamas, how embarrassing to have ones with teddies on them, tread water for twenty minutes and climb out of the pool unaided. I couldnât get out. In the end, I had to use the steps.â
âAh.â
Stop talking! âI could see what lay in my future in that hydro lesson. An inability to get out when the session concluded. Theyâd end up having to heave me onto the side like some floundering whale. My front crawl morphed to doggy-paddle and finally to an overdramatic flail in sheer desperation that I didnât drown.â
âItâs a good workout.â
âItâs a tortuous workout.â Shut the fuck up! âFine if Iâd had gills. Useful if Iâd been going to swim the Atlantic. Fun if I was an Olympic champion. I got worse and worse. Honestly, after a couple more laps, I couldnât even do a decent flail let alone a recognizable stroke. To everyoneâs relief and especially my own, I gave up. Then I went and comfort-ate a whole four-cheese pizza and followed that up with cookie dough ice cream.â
There was no response from Lukas and when Murdo glanced across, he was asleep with his head resting against the window. Shit. Iâve bored him already. Murdo was embarrassed heâd talked so much. Heâd known he needed to stop rabbiting on, but he hadnât stopped. That was what nerves did to you. He could still hardly believe he had Lukas Olsen in his car. He wished he could take a picture. But Murdo needed hands on the wheel at all times. He didnât want to go down in history as the reason Lukas Olsen had died before he won an Oscar.
At least Lukas hadnât continued to behave like the grouchy guy heâd met in the airport. Murdo put himself in Lukasâs shoes. Being surrounded by a tribe of man-eating cannibals, aka fans, all wanting a piece of him. Me too. But Lukas was straight. Did you hear that wishful heart?
Straight! Straight didnât mean no looking, just no touching. The one plus of Lukas sleeping was that Murdo could keep sneaking glances at him and run the fantasy in his head that they were together, off on a road trip and spending Christmas at Lukasâs cozy mountain cabin. An improvement on Murdoâs earlier plot of the forced-proximity fantasy where theyâd end up snowed in, sharing body heat and body parts as they fell in love and went on to live happily ever after. Ahhh!
The downside of Lukas sleeping was that Murdo couldnât listen to the Christmas station on the radio as heâd planned, which was intended to get him in the mood for the holiday. Not that he was ever really in the mood. Nor did he feel he could stop to take pictures of interesting things he passed, and he loved taking pictures. Murdo could find beauty in the strangest of things. He glanced at Lukas. Nothing strange about him. He was perfect.
But not gay. So not perfect for me.
An hour later, it started to snow. In the blink of an eye, the situation changed from Murdo sighing with pleasure as a few pretty flakes fluttered down, to him freaking out as he drove into a raging blizzard. Weather like this hadnât been forecast; Murdo had checked, so he hoped it wouldnât last long. He kept having to readjust his concept of long because the snow showed no sign of stopping. He was doing little more than crawl along, and decided heâd rather pull over for a while. It was uncomfortable being the slowest vehicle on the road, especially when huge trucks barreled past spitting slush at the car, but he had a precious cargo. He really didnât want to involve the guy in an accident.
Lukas stirred when Murdo flicked the indicator to turn off.
âWhat are you doing?â Lukas asked.
âTaking a break.â
âYouâve only just started driving. Itâs a bit of snow. Keep going. Iâm meeting friends for dinner.â
You arsehole! Murdo pulled his indicator back to neutral and didnât turn off at the exit, but plenty did. Those who were sensible. He glanced at them with envy. Snowflakes were slamming themselves at the windscreen with such force that the wiper blades were struggling to cope even on double speed. Murdo had to slow down even more because the visibility was so poor.
âI donât think you need to go quite this slowly.â
âDonât I? I hadnât realized.â
âJust press harder on the gas.â
Murdo gritted his teeth. Iâm trying to get us there in one piece. You, in particular, you pain in the arse. âIâm not used to driving in snow.â
âThen how the hell did you get this job?â
Oh, fuck you and the horse you rode in on.
Murdo had barely completed the thought when the truck in front of them jack-knifed. Murdo held in his shriek as he braked. Not too hard!
âShit!â Lukas gasped.
For a moment, it felt as if everything was happening in slow motion, every vehicle on the freeway heading towards disaster with little they could do to avoid it. It was a miracle the truck didnât hit them as it spun round and that they didnât hit the truck. Somehow Murdo managed to turn the wheel at exactly the right time and the right way to avoid a collision. Twice. It was like some strange choreographed dance.
The truck was now sideways across the road, still upright, but also still sliding, the cab twisting as the driver wrestled for control. Two cars slid past Murdo and clipped the truck, which didnât help, then they skated in a circle in front of Murdoâs car, before striking each other and juddering to a halt right in his path. Murdo had to take evasive action again. He was trying to look in every direction, including behind them, calculating the best route to take, searching for the safest place to come to a complete stop, and finally he managed to pull up safely. Thank God.
Fortunately, the vehicles coming behind them also came to a halt. That didnât mean some massive truck wasnât going to plow into all of them and turn them into the explosively hot filling in a metal sandwich. Shit. Take a breath!
âJesus Christ,â Lukas whispered. âThat was close. I take back what I said about your driving. Well done.â
âYou might want to get out and move away from the road.â Murdoâs heart was hammering. âSomething could come up behind us and not be able to stop.â
âYouâve seen those video clips too? Yeah, youâre right.â
Murdo reached over into the back and grabbed his coat. Lukas did the same. When they were out of the car, Murdo set off towards the accident, snow plastering his face.
âWhat are you doing?â Lukas yelled.
âGoing to see if anyone needs help. Get off the road and call the police.â Murdo fastened his coat as he ran towards the wrecked vehicles.
He was relieved to find the car drivers, both male, one young, one old, were okay, just shaken, and after repeating his warning about traffic running into them, he headed for the truck. Murdo pulled himself up on the running board and opened the door. The driver had a thin line of blood trickling from his head and his breathing was noisy, but he was conscious. Murdo reached over to switch off the engine.
âAre you carrying anything dangerous? Inflammable? Poisonous?â
âToys.â
âCan you move?â
âYeah. I just hit my head.â
âYouâre bleeding a bit.â Murdo picked up a wodge of fast-food napkins from the passenger seat and leaned over to press them against the guyâs wound.
The man held them in place himself. âI suddenly had no traction. Did I hit anyone?â
âTwo cars hit you, then each other, though not hard. The drivers are fine.â
âOh shit. I should call my boss.â
âThereâs plenty of time for that.â Murdo wasnât sure if he should get the guy out or leave him where he was. He was probably safer where he was. As long as nothing bigger plowed into them. At the moment, they were sitting ducks.
âIs he okay?â Lukas asked at Murdoâs shoulder.
âI think so.â Now Lukas was a sitting duck too.
The sound of sirens filled the air and Murdo gave a sigh of relief. It was lucky they were only just past the last junction. The driver was pale and shaky and his eyes kept fluttering closed.
âLast delivery before Christmas?â Murdo knew he shouldnât let him fall asleep.
âYeah.â
âDo you live around here?â
âLouisiana.â
âThatâs a long way.â
âI hope I can get back. Is my truck wrecked?â
âNo, it looks okay. You were lucky. So was Santa.â
âThe police are here.â Lukas said.
The driverâs door opened and a highway patrol guy climbed up.
âHeâs injured his head,â Murdo said. âHis load is toys soâŠâ
âWeâll handle it now, sir.â
Murdo moved back and dropped down on the road. Lukas had a hat pulled low on his forehead and his coat collar was up over the bottom half of his face. Did he really think anyone was interested in who he was in this situation? Or maybe Murdo was being unkind and he was just sheltering from the snow.
âIâm going back to the car,â Lukas said.
Murdo set off after him. He turned the engine on, and they both sat in their coats as the vehicle heated up. Murdo rubbed his hands together, then held them in front of the air vent.
âI think weâre going to be stuck here for a while,â Murdo said.
Lukas tucked his hands in his pockets, leaned against the window and closed his eyes. Murdo envied him his ability to fall asleep so easily. He was too wired to sleep now, but even in bed, he felt like his mind was always racing, especially if he made the mistake of thinking about some maths problem. Most nights he slept badly. Some nights he didnât sleep at all.
He pulled his Kindle out of his messenger bag and started to read the thriller heâd downloaded. Then gave up and stared at Lukas. Do not sigh with longing. Or with anything else. And donât go hard!
Finally, the road was cleared, and he was able to drive on. Lukas hadnât stirred, not even when the highway patrol guy came to tell them they could go. The snow had continued to fall, but it wasnât bad enough for snow chains. Probably just as well, as Murdoâs single attempt to put them on to make sure he could do it, had taken him ages.
As Murdo finally drove through Ancatch, he thought how pretty it looked. All the shops had been decorated for Christmas, as had the spectacular hotel heâd brought Lukas to. Grand View. Lukas didnât even wake when he pulled up. Murdo texted Elodie that they were there. The place looked amazing. An oversized mountain lodge with lots of windows. The trees on the approach road were wrapped in white lights, both the trunks and the branches, right to the tips. It wasnât yet dark, but they looked pretty in the falling snow.
By the time heâd lifted Lukasâs bag from the trunk, heâd had a text back. Gr8! In meeting. Call U L8er.
When Lukas suddenly appeared in front of him, Murdo jumped. Lukas took the bag from Murdoâs hand, pressed two twenty-dollar bills into his fingers, said, âThank you so much,â in a tone that felt slightly off, with a smile that was wrong, then walked away. What the hell?
Murdo strode after him and tapped him on the shoulder.
Lukas spun round. âOh, you want an autograph? Sure? Got any paper?â
âNo.â Murdo shoved the money back into Lukasâs hand. âStuff your autograph. But a proper thanks would have been nice, as well as a genuine smile. No Oscar for that performance, buddy.â Then he stomped off in a massive huff.
The Scent of Christmas by Leyla Hunt
Nico
The first few lines of my favorite Christmas song played on the car radio and I smiled as I turned up the volume.
âLet it snow, let it snow, let it snow,â I sang along.
It was a perfect day to grab some much-needed supplies for my budding perfumery. Christmas was coming up and I was expecting a high volume of orders.
I glanced out over the landscape, blanketed with the fluffy white stuff. Thankfully, the driving wasnât as bad as Iâd feared. Weâd just had a heavy snowfall, which meant fewer cars on the road, and my trusty winter tires got me through some perilous stretches, so overall the drive was relaxing.
The only unfortunate aspect of the trip was having to leave the safety of Vale Valley in order to pick up the goodies. Being a crappy shifter wasnât funâwhenever I was stressed or anxious, I had to fight a spontaneous shift. I wished I didnât have to leave Vale Valley. It couldnât be helped, though, because the town lacked what needed for perfume making, which meant I had to take the risk of an outsider discovering my shifter status. That would be a disaster of epic proportions.
I was safe in Vale Valley, though, because its human population knew about shifters and accepted us as we were, without discriminating against or persecuting us. The townâs slogan was âIf you need a home or love, Vale Valley will be there for you,â as I learned when I first moved to town. If all that wasnât awesome enough, it was a magical town, visible only to those who needed a home or were looking for love. Iâd been here for just a month, but there was nowhere else Iâd rather live. If only my hometown back in France was like this.
Snow started coming down again, so I shifted my attention to the road. There wasnât a soul in sight. I was surrounded by snow-blanketed fields as far as the eye could see, with the occasional patch of trees.
âHeyâwhat theâ?â My gaze focused on a small, black moving figure on the side of the road up ahead. Was it an animal about to attempt a crossing? I pressed on my brake, but gently so I wouldnât skid out. My inner Norwegian forest cat meowed with curiosity. What could it be?
I squinted as I tried to focus on the figure, slowing down to almost a stop as I passed it. A chill froze my entire body as I realized it wasnât an animalâit was a boy! My heart thumped and panic seized me. What was a little boy doing out here alone in the middle of nowhere, in the snow?
I glanced in the rearview mirror and pulled over slowly with my hazard lights flashing. Putting on my winter hat, I clambered out of the car and rushed over to the kid.
Oh, shit. Poor thing. He couldnât have been older than six or seven years old. He lay on his side, one of his legs buried in the snow while he clutched the other one, obviously in pain. He moaned when he spotted me, and my heart almost broke. What was he doing out here? My questions would have to wait until later. I had to get him out of this cold and snow and get him to the safety and warmth of my car.
âAre you okay? Iâm going to help you up.â I grabbed him under his arms and attempted to lift him, but he let out a shrill cry and I knew instantly that he was in pain. I had to reassess.
âYour leg hurts, sweetie?â
He nodded, a tear trickling down one of his plump red cheeks.
âAll right, Iâm going to get you into the car as carefully as I can, okay?â I opened the car door, then I put one arm behind his head and looped the other under his legs. âReady? One, two, threeâŠâ I lifted him, keeping my arms as stiff as possible to minimize unnecessary motion, and placed him gently in the backseat.
âCan you sit upright? I should put a seatbelt on you, just in case.â
He dropped into the fetal position, still clutching his right leg. All right, so no seat belt. I remembered a blanket I kept in the trunk, retrieved it and draped it over him, and stuffed an old sweater under his head. At least I could keep him warm and comfortable.
I ran back to the other side of the car and slid into the driverâs seat. My hands were freezing; I rubbed them together while considering my next move. Obviously, driving to the next town to get my supplies was out of the question now. The boy needed medical attention; he was in excruciating pain, and who knew how long heâd been out there in the snow.
But where would I take him? I knew there was a hospital in the town where Iâd been heading, but I hesitated taking him there. Firstly, what if he was from Vale Valley? I didnât want outsiders sniffing around our secret town, looking for the boyâs parents. Second, there was the chance of an involuntary shift, and the last place I wanted that to happen was in front of judgmental humans. The only reason Iâd left France and came to Vale Valley was so I could live in peace as a shifter. Besides, I was probably halfway between the two towns, so itâs not as if turning around would waste any time.
I turned to the backseat to look at the poor boy. His cheeks had returned to a normal color, and he appeared comfortable and alert.
âMon pâtit loup,â I said, using a French term of endearment, âWhatâs your name?â
He stared at me with his big blue eyes, which resembled the summer sky. I could detect an undercurrent of child-like hostility in them, but I brushed it off. Maybe he had reason not to trust strangers. I didnât blame him.
âAll right. Well, if you donât want to talk, thatâs fine. But Iâm going to take you to the hospital whether you like it or not, okay?â
He broke eye contact, realizing he didnât have a say in the matter. I checked my mirrors and made a U-turn, heading back to Vale Valley. Hopefully, he was from there and the sheriffâs office could locate his parents. It was a long shot, but I thought Iâd get some info from him, in case they asked at the hospital.
âHow did you end up out here alone?â I asked.
âCar,â came the assertive but child-like voice.
âA car dropped you off?â âA car hit me when I was crossing the road.â
I gasped. âA carâa car hit you?â I frowned, and angry tears threatened to overflow. I swallowed the lump in my throatâgetting emotional in front of the boy probably wouldnât help.
He let out a sob. âIt hurts so much.â
Why does shit like this have to happen? Poor little boy. âThe doctors will make it all better, I promise.â I hoped my promise wasnât made in vain. I glanced in the rearview mirror but couldnât see him because he was still lying down.
His response consisted of a single moan.
Thinking it better to let him rest, I stopped asking questions and we spent the rest of the drive in silence, other than the holiday music streaming from the radio. I kept the volume on low for the little guy, though.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, I pulled into the ERâs parking area. I ran to the door and called for help and a stretcher. It was better if the professionals handled him from here on outâI didnât want to risk making his injury worse.
The ER was quiet and almost deserted, and we were called to the triage nurse right away. I explained I knew nothing about the boy, only that heâd said heâd been struck by a car. The policeman on duty was called over and I gave him a quick statement while the nurse took the boyâs vitals. He still wouldnât give his name, and insisted he had no parents. He wouldnât even share where heâd lived. The more I heard, the more depressing his story became.
A little boy, with no parents, alone in the cold and snow, hit by a car...I felt a âwhooshâ rush through my chest and recognized it as the beginning of a panic attack, which was often followed by an involuntary shift. Shit. This was an unbelievably inconvenient time to shift, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
My bones folded in on themselves, my skin tingled as fur sprouted out, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the hospital floor, staring up at the nurses and the little orphan boy.
âMeow. Meow!â
One of the nurses rolled her eyes, as if to say âwhy in the world would you shift nowâ, while the nurse next to her adopted a look of concern as she bent over and caressed my head. Damn, that feels good. I didnât get a lot of human contact in my human form, but I could get some love as a cat. I purred and pushed my head into her hand.
âAw, kitty! Is everything okay?â she asked, her deep brown eyes sparkling.
I stood up and tried to focus on shifting back, knowing full well Iâd have to grab my clothes and find a private place to get dressed.
After calming my heart rate with a few deep breaths, I managed to shift back to human and scampered off to the bathroom. I came back with a sheepish smile and a quick nod to the kind nurse.
âSorry about that. I sometimes lose control in stressful situations.â
She smiled. âThatâs all right. It used to happen to my dad all the time, and always at the wrong times, so I feel you.â
When it came time to discuss financial matters, I made clear that I had no idea who the childâs guardians were, but if they had to bill someone, they could bill me. Of course, I could never afford his emergency medical treatment on my meager income, but I could make it work somehow. The little boy deserved the best care possible, no matter the cost, and I felt responsible for him now.
The other nurse handed me a folder and directed her colleague to take us to the âgreen zoneâ, whatever that meant. I hoped it meant weâd be seeing a doctor soon. I kept my gaze on the little orphan boy as they wheeled him down the hall. I followed close behind, not letting him out of my sight.
âWeâre going to take him for some x-rays now. You can wait here, if youâd like, or if you plan to leave, weâll update the police.â
My heart skipped a beat. âThereâs no way Iâm leaving him here alone. Iâll stay.â I sat down and put my head in my hands. A while later, I went to the hospital cafĂ© for a black coffee, but came right back. I paced up and down the imaging waiting room, thinking about the boy.
Suddenly, I remembered the reason Iâd been on that road in the first placeâthe supplier must have waited and waited, since weâd had an appointment. Shit. I pulled out my phone and called him so I could apologize. He was understanding and said I hadnât inconvenienced them. Hopefully, he was telling the truth. I took my obligations very seriously and was loathe to stand people up, whether they were friends or business associates.
Just as I finished my coffee, the door through which theyâd taken him swung open and a doctor approached me with concern written all over his face.
âAre you Mr. Couture? Iâm sorry, but it appears weâre going to have to operate. Heâs got a broken bone and some internal bleeding, and the sooner we operate, the better.â
Warmth drained from my cheeks and my heart thumped.
âI donât suppose the police have located his guardians yet?â the doctor asked.
âI havenât heard anything. Is he going to be okay?â I felt more anxious by the minute.
âHeâll be fine. Kids are so resilient. He doesnât appear to have any head damage, which is very reassuring.â
âI see. Thatâs great to hear.â I hated this part of hospital visits. I gulped. âI suppose I should talk to a financial officer now?â
âYes, that would be fine, though thereâs no rush. Mr. Couture, weâre going to take him for surgery now. Iâll update you when possible.â
âThanks,â I said, watching him disappear through the swingy door.
Eventually, I was going to have to figure out a way to pay for this. I found the financial office and sat down in the waiting room. After only three minutes, a stocky lady with curly red hair, big glasses, and a warm smile stepped into the room.
âCome on in, dear, youâre next. Well. Youâre the only one, it looks like.â She gestured around the empty room.
The discussion wasnât nearly as painful as Iâd expected. It turned out that the hospital had special funds set aside just for emergency cases, so his treatment at the hospital would be covered. What a relief! I knew Vale Valley was a special place, but I had no idea just how much the community cared about each of its members. A warm and fuzzy sensation washed over me.
âHowever,â she continued, âany ongoing rehabilitation heâll need after discharge such as occupational or physiotherapy, are not covered. So, unless we find his guardians, those would have to be paid out of pocket.â
My heart sank, but my spirit wasnât crushed. I could probably afford his rehab, somehow. I thanked her for the information, and after filling out some forms, I went back to the green zone waiting area. Exhaustion nagged at me and eventually, I nodded off. I wasnât sure how long Iâd napped, but was woken by a handsome nurse, probably around my age. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. It had felt like an incredibly long day, and it was only one oâclock in the afternoon.
âMr. Couture, the little boyâs surgery went well, and heâs in recovery now.â
I stood from my seat. âGreat! Can I go and see him?â
The nurse cocked his head to the side. âNo, Iâm afraid not. Heâs quite out of it and will need rest today, and lots of it. How about tomorrow morning? He should be himself by then.â
âSo, this poor boy is going to be alone all day?â The thought of him having no one to visit him broke my heart.
âNo, not at all. We have specialized staff whose specialty is entertaining the children. Heâs in great hands, donât worry.â
I nodded hesitantly and grabbed my coat. âVery well, then. I guess thereâs no reason for me to stick around.â
âThatâs right,â said the nurse apologetically. âHope the rest of your day is better.â
The plan was to go home and get a good nap. I was emotionally spent and needed a couple of hours to reset my brain. And then, it was time for drinks. I didnât have a partner in crime, but Iâd be damned if I let that stop me.
Zahair by Gianni Holmes
Prologue
ZAHAIR
Scan a picture of your ass, my friend Elliott said. Itâs the only way to prove to me you work in an actual office.
Did I know it was a terrible idea when he sent me the message? Yes, yes, I did. Did I do it anyway?
Well, from the cool, unperturbed blue of my bossâs gaze, one would never have guessed heâd just walked into the copy room, where I was sitting on the sturdy industrial photocopier.
If there was a time I wished I wasnât so easily influenced by others, it was that moment. I prayed that the machine would split open in two and swallow me whole to save me from the intense waves of embarrassment that washed over meâover and overâŠand over again.
âThis isnât happening,â I whispered and clamped my eyes shut. âThis isnât happening.â
Footsteps approached, and I opened one eye. Fuck. It was happening.
Mr. Gilchrist slowly walked toward me, looking every bit as intense and gorgeous as all the other times Iâd glimpsed him. Even after nine hours of work, he appeared immaculate. His suit didnât have a wrinkle in it. Or maybe Iâd missed them because I was too busy staring at his too-handsome face, strong jawline, thick dark brown hair, and full beard and mustache.
Iâd never thought I was into facial hair until him.
âI see youâve made yourself at home,â Mr. Gilchrist said, his deep baritone only making my stomach queasy. âZahair, is it?â
âMr. Gilchrist, sir.â I hopped off the photocopy machine, and my pants slid down to my knees. I hastily grabbed them and yanked them up along with my underwear. My hands shook so hard it became a Herculean effort, but eventually, I got everything in the right hole, and my belt buckled. I didnât dare look at him, so I kept my gaze on his expensive black leather dress shoes.
âWell?â
I glanced up and couldnât look away when his eyes snagged mine. âUmm.â I swallowed hard. âPlease donât fire me.â
âAnd one good reason I shouldnât?â
âI, umm, itâs after hours, and I didnât expect anyone to visit the copy room?â
Omar, the other office assistant who worked down here with me, had left half an hour ago, and since there was a cutoff time for documents to be sent down to us, I never expected anyone to walk in.
Stupid. Stupid. I should have locked the door.
Mr. Gilchrist lifted one of his brows, impressing the hell out of me with how he did it so perfectly. âOh. I suppose everyone can do what they please in my office building once itâs after hours?â
âAbsolutely not, sir.â I inhaled deeply. âIt was a dare.â
âHow old are you, Zahair?â
âTwenty-two, sir.â
âAnd youâre smart enough to know this sort of behavior will get you fired, yes?â
âYes, sir.â
âAnd if a friend told you to jump into a fire, would you?â
âNo, sir.â
Disappointment and worry filled my chest. I couldnât afford to lose this job. If I did, I would be forced to find somewhere else to live. After working at an ice cream shop, as a hotdog mascot outside a fast-food restaurant, and as a singing telegram, this was the best job Iâd ever had. It paid well, the staff was nice to me, and most of the time, I was left alone.
Why had I taken that stupid dare? I could have just sent a picture of me working.
âIt wonât happen again,â I said softly.
âYou assume you still have a job to not let this happen again?â
I hung my head. âI understand, sir.â
A folder came into my line of vision. Mr. Gilchrist extended a file to me. âI need this copied and on my desk by eight tomorrow morning.â
I gasped. âDoes this mean Iâm notââ
âBy eight a.m., Zahair. Not a second later.â
Mr. Gilchrist strode from the room, leaving me thirsting after his broad back. Heâd look so damn good out of his clothes. I smacked the file against my forehead. Now was hardly the time to think inappropriate thoughts about my boss. I was already skating on thin ice.
But why hadnât he fired me?
Omar had shared all the office gossip with me about everyone who worked in the building. From day one, heâd warned me to stay away from Mr. Gilchrist. I would never forget the first day Iâd seen him. Weâd been walking back to the office from our lunch break when he entered the elevator. Before we could get on too, Omar had clutched my arm and steered me into the next one.
âThatâs Mr. Gilchrist, CEO of Sterling Capital,â Omar had whispered. âItâs best to stay as far away from him as possible.â
âWhy?â Iâd asked.
âBecause heâs a shark. He has a bad temper that only his PA knows how to handle. The entire floor will go quiet once heâs there.â
âHe canât be that bad.â
âHe doesnât give second chances.â
âBut the turnover rate for employees is low.â
âThatâs because he pays well, but he also expects you to be pretty much on the go all the time.â
If all that was true, why had he given me a second chance? If itâd been me in his shoes, I would have fired me. It was no less than I deserved for slapping my bare ass on the manâs property.
I sucked in a deep breath and shook my head to dispel the image thatâd formed.
Nope, Iâm not going there.
Maybe something had put him in a good mood, and that was the reason he hadnât fired me. After this, Iâd better be on my best behavior so he didnât have another opportunity to fire me.
I wiped off the area where my ass had beenâit was the polite thing to do, since I wasnât the only one who used the machineâand copied the files heâd requested according to the instructions on the sticky note heâd pasted to the cover. Iâd never have imagined a man of his standing would visit the copy room. Wasnât that a job for his secretary?
When I was finished, I scooped up the pages, paper-clipped them, and put them to one side. Only to pick them back up. Why not deliver them to him now? That would put the eight-oâclock threat hanging over my head to rest. Maybe he would see how efficient a worker I was, and not regret giving me a second chance.
But how to face him again after the infantile thing Iâd done? His reprimanding words echoed in my head, and a shiver ran down my spine. I straightened my shoulders. Iâd apologize better this time and thank him for not firing me.
Mind made up, I left the copy room and marched toward the elevator. I rode it up to the fifth floor, where his office was. Which I knew because on my first day, an HR employee had walked me through the building and told me who worked on what floor. Not all people had a secretary to pick up their copies, and I had to go up with the files.
My heartbeat sped up when I walked out of the elevator. Other than his office, there was another with the lights on. A custodian was cleaning the floor. His secretaryâs post was vacant, so my cowardly self couldnât drop the copies off and run after all.
Damn.
You can do this, Zee. Youâre no longer dressed as a hotdog twirling a sign.
I wouldnât have minded the hotdog suit right now to cover up my embarrassment.
I walked to the door with âBrody Gilchrist, CEO,â engraved on the stainless steel plate. Before I could change my mind, I rapped my knuckles on the door.
âEnter.â
Just from that one word, my stomach churned. I turned the doorknob and shuffled into his office. Mr. Gilchrist sat at his computer and didnât even look up to see who had disturbed him.
I cleared my throat. âI got the copies you asked for, Mr. Gilchrist.â
He waved at his desk. âPut them there.â
I gently placed the copies on his desk and stepped back, but he kept tapping away at his computer. It was almost as if he didnât even realize someone was in the room.
Maybe I should go.
But the apology. I owed him one.
âI nââ
âIs there something else?â The clickety-clack of the keyboard stopped.
âN-no. Soââ
âThen close the door on your way out.â
I bowed. I took a fucking bow like I was a butler from the nineteenth century. Mortified, I ran out of the office and closed the door behind me.
âStupid, stupid, stupid.â I smacked my palm against my forehead over and over. The custodian was staring at me open-mouthed.
I gave her an uneasy smile and hurried to the elevator. Back in the copy room, I dropped into my chair and buried my face in my hands. Maybe I should quit instead of waiting for him to fire me.
My phone rang, and I picked it up from the desk. I glared at Elliotâs name.
âYou!â I snapped. âThis is all your fault.â
âWhatâs my fault?â
âThat my boss walked in on me buck naked on the photocopier.â
âNo way! Youâre making shit up.â
âIâm not.â I jumped to my feet and marched over to the photocopy machine. âDo you know how embarrassed I am?â
âShit, man. Are you fired?â
âI donât know.â
âYou donât know?â
âI donât think so, but I wouldnât be surprised if when I come in tomorrow, Iâm called into the HR office.â I checked the receiving tray and stiffened. Shit, only blank papers. âOh god, no.â
âWhatâs wrong now?â
âThe page with my scanned butt.â I groaned. âI think I mistakenly put it among my bossâs files.â
âHoly shit, dude. What are you going to do?â
Maybe I could go back to his office andâŠnope. I wasnât going to do it. I rubbed a hand across my forehead. âIâm not going to do a damn thing but wait for him to fire me.â
Fingers crossed, he didnât. Maybe he would like the butt pic?
Writing love stories with a happy ever after â cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isnât with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a weekâs break from writing, she didnât like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldnât defeat.
Lillian Francis is an English writer who likes to dabble in many genres but always seems to return to the here and now.
Their name may imply a grand dame in pink chiffon and lace, but Lillian is more at home in jeans, Converse, and the sort of T-shirts that often need explaining to the populous at large but will get a fist bump at Comic-Con. Lillian is a self-confessed geek who likes nothing more than settling down with a comic or a good book, except maybe writing. Given a notepad, pen, her Kindle, and an infinite supply of chocolate Hobnobs and they can lose their self for weeks. Romance was never their reading matter of choice, so it came as a great surprise to all concerned, including their self, to discover a romance was exactly what theyâd written, and not the rollicking spy adventure or cosy murder mystery they always assumed theyâd write. Luckily there is always room for romance no matter what plot bunny chooses to bite them, so never say never to either of those stories appearing.
Lillian lives in an imposing castle on a windswept desolate moor or in an elaborate shack on the edge of a beach somewhere, depending on her mood. And while theyâd love for the heroes of their stories to either be chained up in the dungeon or wandering the shack serving drinks in nothing but skimpy barista aprons, more often than not they are doing something far less erotic like running charity shops and shovelling elephant shit.
Drawn to the ocean, although not in a Reginald Perrin sort of way, they would love to own a camper van and to live by the sea.
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, and she hopes they are as much fun to read as they are to write.
Leyla writes sweet and sexy mpreg. Her alphas are strong and protective, but sweet. Her omegas are lovable and know how to bring their alphas to their knees. And their babies are adorable!
Step into a new world by reading a Leyla Hunt book!
Gianni Holmes is a book nerd who pretends her obsession with Thor is completely healthy. She enjoys computer games, word games, and anything that will make her LOL. She loves bingeing on funny 'old but goodie' sitcoms such as I Love Lucy, The Golden Girls, and The Andy Griffith Show. She writes her characters with sass at the bottom, substance in the middle, and snark on top.
Sign up for her newsletter today and get instant access to several freebie short stories.
RJ Scott
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
Lillian Francis
Barbara Elsborg
EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com
Stop the Wedding by RJ Scott
Calamine & Christmas Cake by Lillian Francis
This is Real by Barbara Elsborg
The Scent of Christmas by Leyla Hunt
Zahair by Gianni Holmes
