A Regency romance on the high seas. Two hearts yearning to find a safe harbor, and possibly, a lasting love.
As a young girl, Georgana Woodall dreamed of beautiful dresses, fancy balls, and falling in love. However, when her mother dies, she cannot face a future under the guardianship of her abusive grandmother and instead chooses to join her father on his ship disguised as his cabin boy, “George.”
Lieutenant Dominic Peyton has no time in his life for love, not with his dedication to His Majesty’s Royal Navy claiming his full attention. While trying to adjust to a new crew, he strives to be an exemplary officer and leader. When he sees the captain’s cabin boy being harassed by the crew, he immediately puts a stop to it and takes the “boy” under his wing.
After discovering a number of clues, Dominic deduces that George is really a woman. Knowing that revealing the cabin boy’s secret would put her in serious danger from the rowdy crew, Dominic keeps silent and hides his growing affection for her. Georgana is quickly losing her heart to Dominic’s compassion and care but is convinced nothing can come of her affection. She cannot continue to live her life on the sea, and having already missed too many seasons in London, her chances of being welcomed back into polite society and finding a suitable husband are quickly slipping away.
Georgana stumbled to the mainmast and collapsed against it. He stopped beside her, hands on his knees and gasping for breath.
A laugh—a warm flash that split the night—spilled out as she slid down the mast to sit on the deck. No one glanced their way, and the feminine tone was lost in the shouts of the next round of dancers. Little droplets glinted from corners of her eyes.
He sank quietly to the floor beside her, not wanting to disrupt the scene. She drew in gulps of fresh sea air as her peal of laughter wafted away like autumn leaves on the wind. It was no wonder she never laughed on board. She’d mastered the facade of a shy cabin boy, but he didn’t think she could ever mask her laugh.
She wiped the moisture from her eyes and watched the bright moon above them. He ignored the moon and the way it tripped across the waves. Tonight he forgot the ocean. He watched her.
His heart pounded between his ribs, and he nearly let it push him forward to kiss that contented smile. How would it feel to have Georgana Woodall’s soft lips caressing his own? To be wanted by someone like her would be a wondrous thing.
Dominic straightened, giving his head a sharp shake. What was he thinking? As though he could ever conceal a kiss with three hundred other men milling about or while this close to her father. Besides, he couldn’t see her welcoming a kiss that could compromise her disguise.
“What is it? Are you sure you’re well, Lieutenant?” She leaned toward him, face upturned. He needed to get out before his reckless nature took over and he did something they’d all regret. “Yes, quite well.”
Arlem Hawks began making up stories before she could write. Living all over the Western United States and traveling around the world gave her a love of cultures and people, and the stories they have to tell. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in communications and emphasis in print journalism, and now lives in Arizona with her husband and three children.
He was sent to save her life, but ended up losing his heart, memories, and clothes.
Eden Credere should be in Barbados with her new husband. Instead, it was like she married Murphy and his law was ruining her life. She’d lost her dad, her job, her best friend, and her fiancé. After drowning her sorrows with rum and eggnog on Christmas Eve, she takes a tumble in a tree lot with a Douglas Fir, sending Eden over the edge.
Theliel has watched over Eden her entire life, from her first steps to her latest, where she dove in a tree lot. He’s always been there to save her, and this time should have been no different—until it was. As her guardian angel, he’s not supposed to be seen, but one corporeal slip-up later, and he’s got a lot of explaining to do.
As Theliel works to convince Eden why the world is a much better place with her in it, he finds himself the one falling, and it’s Eden who catches his heart. In a twist of fate, Theliel must not earn his wings, but his humanity by convincing Eden they’re meant to be together.
The only problem is neither of them remember who he is when he wakes up on Christmas morning in a snowbank with no memories and no clothes. With the magic of Christmas in the air, love in their hearts, a vision of yoga pants, and maybe a little help from their “friends”, all they have to do is believe.
I wandered out to my living room. In front of the window stood an enormous Douglas fir. The image of the tree in my face flashed before me, and I stumbled backward until I hit the sofa. Stairs creaked down the hall, and adrenaline burst through my heart, tingling its way through my frozen limbs. I scrambled around my living room, looking for something to defend myself with. All I could come up with was spray bleach. I dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle from the counter.
But what thief brought a tree instead of stealing one?
Heavy boots lumbered across the hardwood floor until a man came into view. I held up the spray bottle, nozzle turned to stream for max effect, and took my best Charlie’s Angels stance.
“Who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?”
The man turned around. His long, flowing blond hair whipped around his shoulders, and he looked at me with a quirked brow. “What are you doing, Eden?”
I blinked. The assailant knew my name. I blinked again and dropped the bottle. It was him. The man, the one from my dreams I could never remember. He stared at me with such a quizzical expression a laugh popped from my throat.
“You,” I whooshed out in more of a mumble than a word.
“I was getting your Christmas decorations down from the attic. I didn’t want you trying to carry the heavy boxes with your sore wrist. I’m sorry if I woke you.” His sad eyes and sullen lips oozed regret and remorse.
“I’m sorry. I don’t…who are you?” I took a tentative step closer. “You remind me of someone. But that can’t even…” I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. Pain in my wrist shot back another memory of being in the ER and a cute doctor. “My wrist. Pain. Pills. Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” The heat of embarrassment splattered over my cheeks.
“Did you sleep okay? You’ve been out for several hours. It’s nearly five o’clock.” The hot lumberjack nodded toward the clock above me.
“The—Theliel,” I whispered. I didn’t know where it came from, but the name burst from my lips.
“Yes?” He tilted his head.
“You’re him, aren’t you?” I braved the question as all the memories of the morning rushed back, this time in proper order.
That sexy brow lifted, and a smirk spread over his face. “I am. But you like to call me Theo.”
“No, I mean the one from my dreams!” The urge to run my hand along his incredibly marbled cheek overwhelmed me, but I pulled back my arm as I stepped closer to him, inspecting him.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m sure when the pain pills knocked you out, you probably recounted the events of the day in your head as you slept.” He shrugged.
“No—I mean, yes. But not just today. I mean every day. Every damn day of my life. You’re him. You’re the one who I see in my sleep. You’re the one who I can’t remember when I wake. It’s you. You’re here. I just don’t understand how.”
“You dream of me?” The box dropped from his hands and clunked to the floor. I prayed it wasn’t the one holding all my antique ornaments.
We both glanced at the box on the floor and dived to clean up the contents. Our hands touched and a spark lit our fingertips, but I chalked it up to static electricity. We pulled away and stared at each other, and for the first time, I really looked at his face. I remembered those blue eyes when he removed the tree from my face. But what I didn’t remember was how they sparkled in three different shades. I remembered the warmth of his hand along my head as he caught me when I fell. What I didn’t remember were the size of them: large, long, and so soft—not the hands of a laborer. I remembered the way his hair flowed around him, like he stepped out of a shampoo commercial. What I didn’t remember was that every single strand was a different shade of gold. Or that his skin almost glowed. Or that he smelled like coffee.
Oh, wait, I did remember that part, the part where I launched a latte at him. I thrust my hand to his chest and nearly knocked him over. “You should take that off.”
He blinked and stared at me as he tried to steady himself. “Wh-What?”
“The shirt. I’ll wash it for you. You shouldn’t have to wear a stained shirt for the rest of the day. Unless you’re leaving right away…I mean you don’t have to. If you want to stay, I’ll wash you…I mean your shirt. I’ll wash your shirt and you can wash yourself, if you want to shower.” I cleared my throat and released my grip on him.
“I’ll be fine.” He glanced down at his shirt. “Do you think I should? Shower that is. Do I smell bad? I didn’t even think about it. I don’t want you to have to go to any trouble.” The lost look in his eyes pierced my soul, like he’d never had anyone offer to help him before, and I ached to take care of him in any way I could. He’d already done so much for me, it warmed me inside to be able to do so for him.
“You don’t smell bad. You smell like sunshine and peppermint, and a little like coffee. But you might feel better if you cleaned up.” I slipped my hands under the hem of his shirt, and he sucked in a breath. I slid my fingertips along his chest as I pushed the material up his torso and over his head. I sat back, staring at his skin as smooth as silk, caramelized with a golden tan.
He stared back, his chest heaving powerful thrusts of air in and out of his lungs. I thought maybe he was asthmatic. I’d be happy to give him mouth to mouth.
“You smell like flowers and happiness,” he said on the wing of one of his heavy breaths.
“Really? I thought I probably smelled like desperation and rum.”
Wren hails from the frozen tundra of Wisconsin where beer and cheese are their own food groups. But a cowboy swept her off her feet and carried her to Texas, where she promptly lost all tolerance for cold and snow. Fueled by coffee, dreams, and men in kilts, Wren promises to bring you laughter, heart-fluttering romance, and action that keeps you on the edge of your seat.
Once upon a time… A lost prince was robbed of the magic of the holiday season. Ribbons, glitter, tree-trimming, and love all denied for hateful reasons. What once was lost is now wondrously found. And, naturally, holiday shenanigans will abound. New York City is blanketed in pure white snow, the perfect date night setting to make your heart grow. Beneath the twinkling lights, the scent of fresh pine mingles, and the warmth of chocolate-filled mugs chase away any grinchy-grinch tingles. Zip up your coat and tug on your hat because spending this holiday season with your favorite misfits is where it’s at. For even the grumpiest grump of the bunch will have to admit ‘tis the season to be a merry misfit.
Experience the magic of New York City at Christmas with Fletcher and the rest of the misfit family as they create family traditions and memories through special dates and holiday fun. Be prepared for lots of fluff, laughter, grumbling grumps, swoony romance, and surprises! Merry Misfits is a special House of Misfits holiday novella featuring the entire misfit family and is told in alternating POVs from some of your favorites. Merry Misfits is approximately 48,000 words and is book five in the series.
Hands sliding beneath my arms, he lifted me out of the wheelchair like I weighed nothing, holding me up so my paralyzed legs and feet dangled over the floor. His arms didn’t even tremble with the effort, and I knew it was because he’d been lifting weights.
“He touch you?” he asked, eyes all squinty.
“I’d have brained him!”
His lips twitched. “You okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s hardly the first person to ever say mean things to me.”
He jolted. “Who else was mean to you?”
I patted his shoulder. “No one.”
“I should have killed him.”
“You can’t kill people at Christmas.”
“So I can kill him after New Year’s?” I could see him already plotting in that villainous head of his.
“No. You promised.”
His whole face softened. “I know, sprite. Why do you think I went so easy on him?”
Cambria Hebert is an award winning, bestselling novelist of more than twenty books. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair.
Besides writing, Cambria loves a caramel latte, staying up late, sleeping in, and watching movies. She considers math human torture and has an irrational fear of chickens (yes, chickens). You can often find her running on the treadmill (she’d rather be eating a donut), painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails), or walking her chorkie (the real boss of the house).
Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. Her favorite genre to read and write is romantic suspense. A few of her most recognized titles are: The Hashtag Series, Text, Torch, and Tattoo.
Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC.
