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Snow is falling in Copper Ridge, Oregon—but the heat between a holiday-loving party planner and the town’s resident Scrooge is off the charts in this sweet and sizzling Christmas novella...
Holly Fulton is throwing a special Christmas Eve party for the foster parents who gave her so much. To finish the preparations in time, she needs to recruit her one-time foster brother, Ryan Masters. He may have a scowl that could curdle eggnog, but under that surly demeanor is a big heart. And amazing muscles. And a gorgeous chest. In fact, X-rated visions of Ryan have been dancing in Holly’s head for years, but she can’t risk complicating the only real family she’s ever known.
But maybe there’s a way for Holly to have her Christmas cake and eat it too. A no-strings affair, just until they’re done with the planning. Ryan is certainly willing. But from the first touch, it’s clear that this isn’t just a festive fling. It might just be a Christmas miracle in the making...
A Copper Ridge Christmas
Maisey Yates
Maisey Yates is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels, including the Copper Ridge series. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction (those half-naked men are for research, she swears). She lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, online shopping for shoes and probably not doing dishes. You can find Maisey on her website, www.maiseyyates.com, chatting on Twitter as @maiseyyates or on Facebook as Maisey Yates, Romance Author.
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Contents
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THERE WERE A few things Holly Fulton knew for certain. The first was that Ryan Masters would not be looking forward to Christmas. The second was that she needed him if she was going to pull off her plan for a perfect holiday party. And the third was that if she was approaching the metaphorical badger in his metaphorical den, she needed to bring bait. In this instance, bait was takeout cheeseburgers and curly fries from Ace’s Bar.
Holly wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t going to approach Ryan without a peace offering.
She walked across the dock, careful not to slip on any of the pools of water gathered in the old wood. The ocean lapped up against the sides, gray and chilly, a reflection of the winter sky that hung low around her, thick and heavy with mist.
Ryan’s boat was moored at the end of the dock, bobbing in the surf. It was slightly tarnished and a bit weathered, like the owner himself. But he would have to be rickety in private for the next couple of weeks, because she needed him to get it together long enough to pull off her plan.
She approached the boat, eyeing it for a moment. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was supposed to get his attention. Knock on the hull? She hadn’t come to visit Ryan on the boat before. Usually she caught up with him at Dan and Margie’s house, or during occasional get-togethers at Ace’s Bar. But they didn’t really hang out at each other’s homes.
Which stood to reason, really. They’d both been foster children to Margie and Dan years ago, and that was the connection that united them. So they rarely saw each other out of that context these days.
She frowned, leaned in and pounded her fist on the boat’s side. She knew his living quarters were belowdecks, and she imagined she was making enough noise to get his attention. Though, she realized belatedly, he might be asleep. A fisherman, Ryan had to be out on the ocean at an hour she had rarely ever seen the a.m. side of. It was still pretty early, but it was already dark, the cool December evenings swallowing the sun down into the sea earlier and earlier every day.
But if he was asleep, he would just have to deal with the interruption.
After waiting for a moment, she leaned forward and rapped her knuckles against the hard, unforgiving surface yet again.
She probably should have called first. But then, had she called first, he would know it was her, and he would probably pretend he wasn’t home.
She straightened, tapped her foot and crossed her arms. The bag, laden with greasy food, crinkled as she did.
It was really starting
