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About It’s a Wonderful Lie by Wren Michaels
Title: It’s a Wonderful Lie
Author: Wren Michaels
Series: Heaven on Earth #1
Genre: Contemporary Christmas Romance
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.
Excerpt from It’s a Wonderful Lie
© 2021
Wren Michaels
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.”
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About Wren Michaels
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.
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