(The Wynter Brothers, #2)
Publication date: November 12th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance
Synopsis:
When you kiss your perfect boyfriend under the mistletoe…only for your cousin to scream to the family that you stole her man, Christmas is OVER.
In my defense, I didn’t know my boss—yup, boss. Buckle up because this is messy—was my cousin’s newly minted and totally lying fiancé. I thought he was the Nutcracker Prince come to finally show my family that I, too, was worthy of putting the star atop the Christmas tree.
I was so wrong.
Now my entire family thinks I’m a ho ho ho.
I’m at the top of the naughty list, not in a fun Elf on the Shelf way, but rather in a snide-comments-at-brunch and sitting-at-the-kids’-table kinda way.
I have to clear my name, or Christmas is ruined. Again.
What better way than to blackmail my family’s number one sworn enemy?
Anderson Wynter is this desperate elf’s last hope. Six-foot-five, ethically challenged, with washboard abs and a death wish, Anderson is the perfect weapon to expose my ex and help me get back in my family’s good graces.
That is, until the weapon massively backfires… and no, not like that.
Anderson goes full Nightmare Before Christmas and shows up at my family’s annual holiday party in nothing but tattoos and a motorcycle helmet and tells everyone we’re dating.
Yep, that kicks me off the naughty list and sends me straight to the Grinch’s garbage dump.
Now I’m chained to a motorcycle-riding bad elf with terrible morals and an even worse attitude—one who sticks his hand down my shirt in the middle of my parents’ posh country club and tells me to ride him like I do his bike.
When I slap him, he just smirks and asks if I fluff my marshmallows while fantasizing about betraying my family with him.
As if.
No way am I sleeping with the man my entire family hates.
Because that won’t just ruin Christmas.
It’ll ruin the rest of my life.
Naughty elves of Christmas checking in! We’re drunk caroling, eating cookies at midnight, surviving family drama, and drooling over hot, unattainable men who are oh so wrong for us. This standalone holiday romantic comedy has all the Christmas cheer you can fit under the tree and a happily ever after guaranteed!
Excerpt
There was a man—a huge man!—in my father’s study, all in heavy black motorcycle gear, a helmet hiding his face.
Snowball had her needle-sharp teeth latched onto the robber’s pant leg, and he was batting at her roughly, trying to knock her off.
“Don’t you hurt my dog!” I screamed, picking up a priceless wood statue my parents had brought back from their anniversary trip to Japan and racing after the attacker.
He grunted in surprise but raised his arm too late to block the statue from crashing into his motorcycle helmet, shattering the tinted visor.
Eyes like a raging winter storm glared back at me through the broken glass.
I hefted the statue again, and it connected with one of his massive arms.
The hit didn’t even knock him off-balance.
“Oh shit,” I whimpered as he took a step toward me.
The huge arm came up, knocking the statue out of my hands to split on the floor.
I spun to escape but tripped on the corner of the rug and crashed to the floor, yelling unintelligibly as he pounced on me, pinning me on my back. His huge gloved hand covered my mouth and nose so I couldn’t scream. I could barely breathe.
“Shut up,” the deep voice ordered, slightly muffled by the broken motorcycle helmet.
I struggled under the massive male body that had me trapped on the floor, clawing ineffectively at him.
“What the hell?” he growled. “Fuck, I need to do something with you.”
Was he going to hurt me? Or take me with him to be—Gulp—disposed of somewhere else?
Don’t let yourself be taken to a second location!
But I couldn’t budge all the muscle and sinew holding me down.
“Motherfuck—” he roared, snatching his gloved hand back from my mouth as Snowball bit him, her sharp teeth sinking through the gloves into his thumb.
Sucking in shuddering breaths, I pummeled the man’s helmet as he shook his hand, Snowball not letting go as he flapped her around.
Scraping my nails on his neck, I managed to drag his helmet off his head and hoisted it, banging it on his face and shoulders as he cursed, finally shaking the dog and the glove free.
His tattooed hand made a fist and punched the helmet out of my grasp. His knee pinned my hip to the floor. As he raised himself slightly, his face was lit up by passing headlights.
“Oh my god,” I whimpered, eyes bugging out of my head as I took in his chiseled face, strong jaw, black hair, wintery gray eyes, and scars on his cheek and across one eye.
“You’re the… the… the…”
“The… the… the…” he mocked as he catalogued my dawning recognition.
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