Lady Jane Everard cannot abide the new Earl of Hadley. The unmannered Scot is a menace to genteel ladies everywhere, what with his booming laugh and swishing kilt and endless supply of ‘ochs’ and ‘ayes.’ Jane wishes Lord Hadley would behave as an earl should and adhere to English rules of polite conduct.
Andrew Langston, the new Earl of Hadley, knows that the English aristocracy think poorly of his lowly Scottish upbringing. This is hardly new. History is littered with the English assuming the worst about Scotland. By living up to their lowest expectations, he is simply fulfilling his civic duty as a Scotsman.
Jane sees Andrew as an unmannered eejit. Andrew considers Jane to be a haughty English lady. But, as the saying goes, . . . opposites attract.
And what if beneath his boisterous behavior and her chilly reserve, Andrew and Jane are not nearly as different as they suppose? Can Scotland and England reach a harmonious union at last?
Andrew spread his hands wide. “It’s a problem for all us Scottish men, tae be honest. Our cross tae bear.”
Lady Jane opened her mouth. Shut it. And then shook her head. “I am sure you are both quite delusional.”
“Nae, the lasses cannae help themselves,” Andrew said.
“Aye. A man strolls by in a kilt, and the lasses go all shoogly in the legs.” Kieran sagged in his chair, mimicking the motion of a lady swooning.
“That is simply ridiculous.” Lady Jane shook her head.
“’Tis the Lord’s own truth, Lady Jane.” Andrew pressed a hand over his heart.
“Aye,” Kieran chimed in. “They dinnae call a kilt the passion pleats for nothing.”
“Passion pleats?!” Peter hooted, slapping his knee.
“Dinnae mock a fine kilt, Peter. The kilt swish is no’ tae be underestimated.”
“The kilt swish?” Lady Jane’s tone dripped with scorn.
“It’s a well-known fact that the lasses appreciate watching a man’s passion pleats swish as he walks.”
“Particularly from the backside,” Kieran helpfully clarified.
“Aye, allow me to show ye.” Andrew stepped away from the table, walked to the door with extra swagger in his step, turned, and strode back to the table. His kilt swinging like a bell back and forth with every step.
He spread his hands wide. See what I mean.
She shook her head. I’m not convinced.
Andrew motioned to Kieran. He stood with a grin.
“Watch carefully,” Andrew said.
Side-by-side, he and Kieran walked to the door, shoulders back, head high. Andrew’s kilt bumped his knees as it swung. He could practically feel the intensity of Lady Jane’s eyes drilling him between the shoulder blades.
Turning around, Andrew held Lady Jane’s gaze as he walked back. She tried to maintain a demur posture, but Andrew knew she had been looking.
Rare was the woman who could resist a braw Scot in a kilt.
Lady Jane pressed her lips together, clearly not wishing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Andrew was having none of it.
He wanted Fiery Jane.
Folding his arms across his chest, he angled forward. “Now, I dinnae want to argue with ye, Lady Jane, but I have noticed ye eyeing the kilt swish a time or two. Not just tonight.”
“I have done no such thing, Lord Hadley.” Lady Jane’s brows drew down, while a hot flush crept up her neck, challenging her denial. “Precisely how much whisky have you imbibed this evening?”
“I willnae allow you tae change the subject, Lady Jane.”
“I am hardly changing the subject.” Lady Jane surged to her feet. “I am merely pointing out that you are wrong, my lord—”
“I’m no’ wrong.”
“—and furthermore, calling a kilt the passion pleats is the most absurd phrase—”
“Accurate. Ye mean the most accurate phrase.”
“I most certainly do not!” Lady Jane hurled the words at him.
As they spoke, Andrew found himself leaning toward her, fists pressed against the tabletop, his entire body angled. For her part, Lady Jane motioned widely, all pretense of decorum forgotten—gray eyes flashing, chest heaving, auburn curls framing her fine-boned face.
Fiery Jane, at last! Utterly freed and snapping with life.
She was magnificent.
It had taken nearly ten days of constant harassment, but Andrew had finally broken through her reserve.
Nichole Van is a writer, photographer, designer and generally disorganized crazy person. Though originally from Utah, she currently lives on the coast of Scotland with three similarly crazy children and one sane, very patient husband who puts up with all of them. In her free time, she enjoys long walks along the Scottish lochs and braes. She does not, however, enjoy haggis.
Title: A Christmas Love Song Author: Andee Reilly Genre: Contemporary Christmas Romance
He gave her a song. She gave him Christmas.
Once a huge pop star, Jake Wilder hasn’t written a hit song in over ten years. Stuck playing small-time venues where only his most dedicated fans remember him, a comeback seems improbable. But even those gigs are quickly drying up, and if Jake doesn’t do something soon, he’ll slide into permanent has-been oblivion. In a twist of fate, a record executive with a soft spot for retro artists, holds a competition in search of pop musicians to write a new Christmas classic.
Longing to become a serious and respected journalist, Mackenzie Stone scoffs at her latest assignment to write a profile about a washed-up pop singer. She would prefer to cover hard news rather than light stories assigned by her editor who seems unwilling to give her a chance. Determined to write a noteworthy story and at the same time prove herself, it’s up to Mackenzie to help inspire Jake to compose a Christmas classic.
As Jake struggles to overcome his anxieties and write a great song, Mackenzie digs for a story of substance. Together they find love while also discovering the true meaning of Christmas.
Being on stage was as natural as breathing. When audiences rejected Jake for the next one-hit wonder, he had been devastated. He’d lost his purpose, a dragon slayer without a dragon to slay. That was when the stage fright took hold.
He glanced outside to clear his mind. Every time he started composing, bad memories crushed the good ones. Frustrated and annoyed, he let the unpolluted white field of snow become a metaphor for the clean slate that could be his mind.
Jake stretched his legs to get the creative juices flowing. From his pocket, he unfolded a piece of paper. It was probably a note he was supposed to give to Bodhi. To his surprise, the scribbles turned out to be a melody Jake had written in the middle of the night. Having woken from a dream hearing music, he wrote it down and stuck it into his pants pocket so he’d find it the next day. He’d completely forgotten about it.
Not half bad. He hummed the tune and tapped it out on the piano. His mind scrolled through the Christmas song canon like a jukebox filliping through its record selections. Settling on “Silent Night,” he played the world’s most popular Christmas song. He remembered his piano teacher told him in Austria, the song’s birthplace, “Silent Night” was only played on Christmas Eve to preserve its sacredness.
Next, he played “White Christmas,” hearing the words. “Just like the ones I used to know,” he whispered the lyrics. The song was sad, melancholic, and full of longing. Did he want to create that sort of mood?
Then there was Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You,” a fun, pop song about the love and happiness Christmas could bring. He had a terrible experience in that particular department and pushed the thought aside before he gave up completely.
Jake accidently kicked the pedal. The old discouraging feeling of defeat snaked through his body. A throbbing big toe and a bad attitude does not a Christmas song make.
He needed fresh air and found a jacket, heavier than the vegan leather one Mackenzie made fun of and a pair of gloves. Careful not to lock himself out, he unlatched the door and went outside.
Andee Reilly was born and raised in Los Angeles. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of California, Riverside, Palm Desert. After many years of teaching writing and literature at California State University, Channel Islands, Andee moved to Maui to pursue her dream of teaching at the University of Hawaii, writing full-time, and surfing the beautiful waves of Hawaii. To learn more, visit www.andeereilly.com
Derrick Bright’s baseball career may be over, but his brother’s is just starting—until a scandal threatens to end things. PR specialist Anne McGrath hasn’t spoken to Derrick since he left her eleven years ago. But she agrees to help for his brother’s sake. Escaping the press in Pacific Cove allows them to reconnect. Will she accept Derrick’s vow and make his Christmas dreams finally come true?
“I didn’t even know you were participating in the auction until I saw the program tonight. Before I could find you myself, a friend introduced me to Todd, and Todd asked if I’d be willing to meet you…” Derrick’s mouth pulled up on one side like he was trying not to smile. He was all boyish innocence and every bit as appealing as Anne remembered as he added, “He, uh, he actually asked me if I’d flirt with you a little.”
Anne choked out a surprised laugh. “Thank you for sparing us both that awkwardness.”
Grinning, he assured her, “It wouldn’t be awkward for me.” His gaze traveled down and settled on a spot. “You have a little smudge of something on your dress. Let me guess—ice cream?”
She frowned. A combination of embarrassment and discomfort blazed through her. How dare he draw on their former intimacy like this?
Glancing down, she tugged clumsily on her wrap and thought up a lie. “No, it’s, um…oil.”
“Oil?” he repeated skeptically.
“Yep.” She shrugged and stared him down. “Moonlighting on the oil rig.”
He started to smile, to call her out, but then seemed to pick up on her back-off signal. He cleared his throat and composed his features. “How have you been, Anne?”
“For all eleven of the years it’s been since I’ve seen you?” She heard the clear edge in her voice. There was a chance she hadn’t gotten over this quite as well as she’d believed. But you know what? What he’d done had been really…hurtful, and perhaps she was still a tad angry. Now that she thought about it, there was no rule stating she had to make this reunion easy on him.
USA Today and national bestselling author Carol Ross grew up in small-town America right between the Pacific Ocean and the Cascade Mountains, in a place where you can go deep sea fishing in the morning and then hit the ski slopes the same afternoon. The daughter of free-range parents, she developed a love of adventure and the outdoors at a very early age. She’s grateful for the “research material” that every questionable decision, adrenaline-charged misstep, and near-death experience has provided.
