Hot Chocolate Kiss is a perfect stocking stuffer: short, sweet, and sexy. Guys love it, too, thanks to the sports both on and off the slopes.
The Journey is a great story for those who love historically based plots, a love story, and lots of magic and intrigue.
As always, contact me if you'd like a personalized note or signed print copies of either or both stories sent out in time for holiday gift giving.
The blonde perched on a stool wore boots that looked like she’d strapped a husky dog to each leg. Keela doubted she had ever skied in her life. That sleek blonde ponytail wouldn't fit under a helmet, and she'd freeze her perky tits and tight ass off wearing that pink fleece jacket and black spandex pants.
She prattled out the usual disclaimers while processing the credit card transaction. "No refunds for conditions. The gondolas are closed due to high winds. Only the open chairs are going to the summit, and we might have to close them as well. The ski patrol has put up an extreme weather alert: no exposed skin, take frequent re-warming breaks."
Keela tried not to sound bitchy. This wasn't one of Ken's girlfriends. The kid was just doing her job. "Thanks for the tips."
After securing the $75.00 ticket on her parka and putting on every piece of protective equipment in her pack, she waddled out the door like a stuffed pig, sweating like one, too.
She knocked the ice off the bottom of her boots with her poles and clicked into the bindings. No matter who I’m with, it’s always me against the mountain—alone.
Keela skated over to the lift where the same guy she’d met outside the can was working. "It’s the Tuckerman lady." He winked and guided the chair under her butt.
She couldn't see the rest of his face but imagined him licking his lips.
The lift swept her up, and he called out, "Seriously, be careful. I’ll buy you a Hot Chocolate Kiss when you come down from the summit, sister."
I don't think so, dude. No more being treated like a buddy who happened to have a receptacle instead of a plug. No more schlepping boots and ski equipment, plus a backpack full of camping gear to the summit of Mount Washington , dodging rockslides and avalanches, to ski Tuckerman Ravine. No more romantic nights crammed into a lean-to, surrounded by a unisex cadre of other idiots, with a sleeping bag, thermals, and Gore-Tex to light her fire. View the Trailer
Villagers swarmed around the dappled gray stallion to obstruct her passage. They buzzed like flies on dung. Since the day Milena stumbled dazed and disoriented out of the Swampscott forest, and Hecabe'slair, they'd branded her a sorceress. Thomas found her huddled near the docks, knowing little of the world and nothing of her origins, surviving only by an innate ability to forage and perform simple magic. He transformed her from an illiterate, illegitimate enigma with his love and attention, teaching her numbers, letters and the ways of the civilized.
If not for the laws on the books, and the protection Thomas provided, Milena would have been hanged. Being shunned was the extent of her punishment. And for that she owed him her loyalty and fidelity. Perhaps the winds of war blowing since Lincoln 's election and the Southerners' secession now occupied the Northerners' attention, but Milena knew prejudice to be a blinder as effective as those used on skittish work horses.
"Go back into the woods where you belong, witch." A woman reached up and tugged Milena's ebony plaits. "Immodesty in dress and action. No cap covering your hair, devil worship at the full moon."
Greystone reared. The crowd fled the horse's shrill whinny and pawing hooves.
The woman spat on the ground. "Good riddance, demoness. Ride your ghost mount back whence you came."
Milena clutched the horse's middle with her legs, regained her balance and continued on to the docks. The gray, sticky aura of the sea's wrath shrouded everything in Milena's sight. Whitecaps frothed on the bay. Plumes of sea spray surged through the planks with each swell the agitated waters. A steady wind dispersed black clouds over the town.
Hateful eyes glared from a safe distance. She tethered Greystone and walked into the shipping company office. Her footsteps echoed in the room. The workers fell silent.
She approached the purser's desk. He surveyed her from the neckline of her sackcloth dress down to the battered boots on her feet. "What business have you here, witch?"
"To inquire after Thomas Harper." Milena ignored her heart pounding and stared directly into his eyes. He would not intimidate her.
"And of what interest is he to you?" A smirk spread over his face.
The vision of Thomas headed into the forest on the day he left flashed through her mind. Milena's voice quavered despite her effort. "He's my husband."
Unmoved, the brute spoke with the venom of a poisonous snake. "His ship was last seen leaving Cay West on two months ago. The ship went down, but no one knows where." His crooked smile indicated perverse delight in delivering the news. Despair surged through Milena's body like lightning. Her heart trembled with grief, the empty pit in her soul ached. Why had the spirits not spoken the truth? She would not show any vulnerability, she would not react, she would not give them the pleasure of seeing her cry.