Hiding poignant heartbreak behind garish clothing and outlandish fashion, Eva hopes to never marry. Oscar is happy to never propose, but the two of them find a casual friendship growing into a strength of feeling that challenges even the most deeply rooted stubborn intentions or fears.
When her presence is requested at a house party of a distant relative, she does what any outlandish woman who has stopped caring about her reputation would do: She invites Oscar to go with her.
Oscar is ready to live on his own, but he needs the means to do so. When Edward has stretched his last ounce of patience, Oscar decides to spend as much time from home as possible. In that moment, he receives an invitation from his most outlandish and garish friend inviting him to attend a house party.
Enjoy a sweet regency romance full of charm and lovely holiday traditions. The other books in An Easton Family Christmas include:
Snow and Mistletoe
A Christmas Kiss
Wishing on a Christmas Star
Can also be found as a Vella story told in episodes called, A Regency Christmas Snow.
Evaline carefully wrapped a black band around her arm. “Remy, could you help me tie it tight enough that it will stay?”
“Certainly, my lady.” Her loyal lady’s maid cinched it and applied a pin at the back for good measure.
“Excellent. Mother deserves longer than the small three hundred and sixty five days of mourning no matter what Father or Aunt say.”
“Yes, my lady.” Remy seemed to have sympathy. It was so difficult to tell what went through the woman’s mind. But Eva chose to interpret her most uttered three words, “yes, my lady,” with whichever emotion Eva desired to hear at the moment, and that is precisely why she and Remy got on so well.
The rest of her clothing flowed around her in anything but mourning colors. Mother forgive her, but she must forge ahead. Her gown of bright canary yellow would glow even in the darker lighting of Almack’s. Her hair was tall and wrapped in a turban adorned with a full array of peacock feathers. Her gloves were a bright purple. Her slippers green. She applied rouge, enough that people would know she’d done it, and though she hoped to take further steps outside of acceptable fashion in the future, her current dress seemed garish enough for her first party out of mourning.
She determined never to ever attract another man again.
An award winning author, including the GOLD in Foreword INDIES Book of the Year Awards and LDSPMA Praiseworthy’s top award for Romance, Jen Geigle Johnson has more stories circulating in her brain than can possibly be told. She discovered her passion for England while kayaking on the Thames near London as a young teenager. History is her main jam. Her literary heroes include the greats: Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. But she has modern sensibilities as well. Six children and an inspiring husband keep her going and make certain she doesn’t stay glued to a keyboard or lost in obscure fascinating details of old castles. She once greeted an ancient turtle under the water by grabbing her fin. She waterskis like a boss and hits the powder, falling down steep moguls with grace. During a study break date in college, she sat on top of a jeep’s roll bars up in the mountains and fell in love with the man who would become her everything. Now, she loves to share bits of history that might otherwise be forgotten. Whether in Regency England, the French Revolution, or Colonial America, her romance novels are much like life is supposed to be: full of adventure.
Disagreeing from the first time they meet, Noah and Niko know exactly how to push each other’s buttons while they fight the intense pull between them. But when they’re forced to work together, they might realise that their connection runs deeper than frustration and lust.
Niko is driven and ambitious, even when it’s misconceived as cold and measured. Her latest project is her great-grandmother’s nature organisation. Niko is determined to see it thrive again and hopefully understand herself and her broken family better in the process. Getting a handle on her inconvenient feelings is a must too.
Noah has made a promise to set things right and honour his eccentric grandfather’s hard work. Even when that means taking on an active role in a small nature organisation, while hiding his true identity. He is busy enough as it is with university, work, and late nights of writing. Still, he can’t help but care about the organisation. Or the fierce woman who always seems to make his life harder.
Only Sometimes is a new adult frenemies to lovers romance set in Copenhagen, Denmark (with a getaway to a gorgeous Swedish forest). It’s book three in the Without Filter Series, but it can be read as a complete standalone. Only Sometimes is a steamy slow-burn romance, and it contains spicier content than the previous two books in the series.
When he returns a moment later, he wastes no time pulling me close again. He smiles shyly and says, “I also made dessert if you want some. I made tiramisu.”
“Darn it, Noah, you sure know the way to a girl’s heart.” The words are out before I can stop them, but my usual ability to shrug off embarrassment and appear unaffected is broken around him. Instead, my eyes are wide, and I’m at a loss for words.
Noah grins, delighted, and I flick his chest. I’m cranky because I said something that could be misunderstood, especially since it’s not a lie… Noah cooking dinner, remembering my love for dessert, opening up to me… fucking me with so much passion and care. I just can’t help but feel affected. If I’m not supposed to run away from vulnerability and sincerity, why does it have to feel so bloody horrible?
Noah gives me the slowest and softest kiss yet, then says, “I like you, too.”
I huff out a laugh to hide my happy smile and push him off me. “Come on then, feed me tiramisu, please.” I make sure he gets a full view of my body as I get up to retrieve my knickers and his t-shirt. I’m glad we have the house to ourselves, since I’m tall and his t-shirt only covers the top of my bum. Based on the lust in his eyes, he might have to eat tiramisu with a hard-on, and I can’t help but smirk.
Then our eyes meet, and something happens. Despite the heat in his gaze and my desire to get right back into bed with him, we share a smile that isn’t sexual. It’s warm, a little careful, a lot happy. We smile like lovesick fools, and it’s like my stomach is doing somersaults. My eyes feel hot, my emotions running raw and free. I turn around when it becomes too much, blinking rapidly as I walk down the stairs. I like him. So much.
Felicia writes quirky, heartfelt, and steamy romance with real, flawed characters.
Felicia’s books have themes about being true to yourself, and she is passionate about mental health and authenticity. As an adult, Felicia received professional confirmation that she is actually autistic.
Felicia hangs out (too much) on Instagram where she posts about her author journey, mum-life, flowers, dinosaurs, musings about autism and anxiety, book recommendations, and much more. She would love it if you came by and said hello. @feliciablaedel
Make sure to follow Felicia on Goodreads and Amazon so you don’t miss a new release.
I’ve just placed a tray of my favorite go-to cookies in the oven when the alarm on the metal staircase outside my building is tripped.
Screw this day.
I don’t get visitors. Ever. And I’m too old to believe a fat man in a red coat is coming to see me with gifts aplenty today. Whoever isoutside is probably not friendly.
And definitely not wanted.
I lift the purple hat that serves as the lid on my oversized Dopey the Dwarf cookie jar and remove my gun before moving to check the security monitors set up in the second bedroom of my apartment.
What the heck is Sam Beneventi doing here, and why is he knocking on my door?
When I don’t answer the door fast enough for him, he knocks again.
Louder this time and with more force than necessary.
With a shake of my head, I call out, “Hold your damn horses,” and take my time. Once I get to the door, I leave the chain in place, and crack it partially open. A cold burst of wind whips through the opening, and I wrap my favorite comfy sweater tighter around myself. “Why are you here?”
“Well, hello to you too, Snow White.” Sam attempts to reach through the cracked opening and release the chain, but I smack him away. “Let me in, Snow.”
“My name is not Snow White, Beneventi.” I push on the door, trying to shut it when he blocks me with a foot in the opening. “Move it or lose it.”
Sam’s foot stays firmly planted between the door and the jam. “Open the door. You’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
My eyes trail from his feet to his face. “I’d let you in if you’d move your foot, genius. I can’t unlatch the chain unless the door’s closed.”
Sam huffs out a sound of annoyance in a puff of cold air before pulling his foot back.
Of course, I take the opportunity to slam the door in his face, and for a hot second, I contemplate not reopening it. This door is reinforced steel. You’re not breaking it down with Italian leather boots on your feet.
But I decide to be a big girl instead, and after I put my gun in the waistband of my jeans under my sweatshirt, I let the mafia prince in.
Suddenly I’m feeling a bit like Little Red Riding Hood opening the door for the big bad wolf.
Or maybe just the idiot who opened Pandora’s box.
Either way, this feels like a bad move at the end of a bad day.
The timer goes off in the kitchen as Sam walks through my door, looking around and taking it all in. From a stranger’s perspective, my apartment probably doesn’t look like much. It’s small and above a bakery. But I own the bakery and the building, allowing me the privacy I needed and the ability to modify it however I wanted.
No questions asked. No nosey neighbors.
It’s my safe space. I can breathe here.
Until Sam walked through my door. His enormous presence sucks all the oxygen from the room, taking up all the space and leaving me crowded where I’m usually lonely.
“What is that incredible smell?” The look of hunger on his face tells me he may eat me if I don’t feed him a cookie immediately.
Maybe he is the big bad wolf disguised as a tall, dark, and annoyingly handsome hitman.
You’d think I’d be afraid right now.
You’d be wrong.
Stupidly, I’m intrigued. George would be so disappointed.
I pull the hot tray of gooey chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and place them on the stove top to cool before turning back to Bash’s brother. “Why are you here, Sam? You don’t know me, and today’s events don’t change that.”
I amend my earlier statement.
This exquisite man smiles at me, and I realize there’s no maybe about it. He is the big bad wolf. And a lesser woman would have given anything to be his Little Red Riding Hood for the night. But I need to get him out of here.
“You’re a prickly little princess, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry. Prickly what?” I level him with a glare. “Listen to me carefully. I’m no princess. So whatever fantasy you’re rocking on that chiseled jaw of yours has got to go.” His smile grows obnoxiously wide.
Oh no. “That panty-melting smile isn’t working on me. Not even a tiny singe. So put it away and sit down.” I point to the saucer-sized chocolate chip cookies. “You have to wait for them to cool a little. So talk. Tell me what you’re doing in my apartment on Christmas night, instead of at the hospital with Bash and Belle.”
I may not be at all interested in getting involved with any man, let alone this one, but I certainly can appreciate how scorchingly hot he is. Movie star hot. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt a real attraction to a man, so being attracted to Sam is irritating the hell out of me. Which means instead of allowing him to study my face after that little tirade, I move across the room and grab a spatula from the drawer to take the cookies off the tray.
I may call myself a coward as I turn away, but at least I’m a coward whose emotions won’t be on display.
“Panty-melting smile, huh?” Plump lips pull back, framing bright white, perfectly straight teeth. A strong jaw and the most beautifully blue eyes I’ve ever seen that are framed by long black lashes are topped off by a head of gorgeous thick brown hair. I mean seriously . . . it’s just not fair.
“Shut up.” I push the plate of cookies in front of him. “Do you want some milk with them?”
Sam looks around my apartment again, then raises his hands. “Hold on. Time-out. Why are you feeding me cookies and milk? And how the fuck did you have time to bake anything?”
I pour us two glasses of milk and pass one to Sam before leaning against the counter and picking up a cookie. “I’m a pastry chef, Sam. It takes me less than five minutes to mix a half batch of cookies and eleven minutes to cook them. Not a biggie.”
I watch that mouth bite into the cookie and hold my breath until he moans.
Actually moans. “Oh my God. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Not gonna lie. That reaction never gets old. “Thank you. Now would you like to tell me why you’re here?”
Cobalt blue eyes look up at me, assessing. “I think you know why I’m here, Amelia.”
“I really don’t.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “I’ve spent the last few hours at the police station, and I’ve already answered enough questions meant to throw me off my guard to last me a lifetime. I told them everything I knew. So, if you have something to ask, ask it.” I steel my spine and cross my arms, ready to be pissed off. To throw him out of my apartment, and go the hell to bed, ending an unusually awful Christmas. But an image of Belle flashes in front of me, and I soften. “Wait. Before you ask me anything, how are Belle and Bash? Are they both okay? I mean, the cops at the station said they were fine, but I still should have asked you that as soon as you barged in here.”
Sam dunks his cookie in his glass of milk, and I resist the urge to gag.
Why do people do that?
It ruins a perfectly perfect cookie.
And leaves cookie bits in an otherwise perfectly good glass of milk.
I am not a fan of cookie floaties.
Why would anyone want to drink chunky milk?
“Sebastian is fine. A few stitches. A few pain meds. He’ll have a great story to go with a good scar to use to get himself laid. Ballerina is still in the hospital, but she’s going to be fine. The babies are fine. You should call her. She was asking about you earlier.”
I give him a curt nod, appreciative of his answer, but still annoyed by his presence. “Thank you. Now what do you want?”
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” he mumbles around a mouth full of cookie.
I scrunch my face up, disgusted. “Seriously? Chew before you speak next time.”
Sam makes a big show of chewing, and exaggeratedly swallowing. “Don’t deflect, Amelia.” Another dunk.
“I’m not deflecting, Samuel. I’m refusing to answer your question when you haven’t answered mine.” I pull the plate of cookies out of reach as punishment.
“Sebastian asked me to check on you. He wanted to know that you’re alright. He was worried.”
Huh. Of all the things he could have said, that was not what I was expecting. And it makes me strangely uneasy. “I’m fine. You did your good deed. Now it’s time for you to go.”
“Not how this is gonna work, Snow White. I answered yours, now you answer mine. Where did you learn to shoot like that?” His long arm reaches forward as his fingers pull the plate back to within an easy reach. “And don’t tell me it’s a long story ’cause I’ve got all night.” A chocolate morsel falls from his lips as he asks, “Got any more milk?”
I spin around, annoyed, and grab the jug of milk from the fridge. “A good friend of my mother’s taught me. He was a big believer in being able to protect yourself. I own the shop downstairs and sometimes have big bank deposits on me. I carry my gun everywhere I go.” I’ve learned out of necessity that the best way to lie is to cover it in a truth. A partial truth never feels as bad leaving my lips as an all-out lie.
I top off his glass of milk and slam the fridge door. “Happy?”
Sam sips the milk as he eyes me over the glass. “Okay, listen. I’m tired and not in the mood to beat around the bush. It’s been a long fucking day. So how about you tell me the real story, Anastasia?” My gun is out of my waistband and trained on Sam before he takes his next breath.
Bella Matthews is a Jersey girl at heart. She is married to her very own Alpha Male and raising three little ones. You can typically find her running from one sporting event to another. When she is home, she is usually hiding in her home office with the only other female in her house, her rescue dog Tinker Bell by her side. She likes to write swoon-worthy heroes and sassy, smart heroines with a healthy dose of laughter thrown in.
