Bringing Sexy Back to Christmas Romance
Here's a little somethin' somethin' from my Christmas romance, KISSING MR. MISTLETOE. The book's hero, Trace Montgomery is back on tour for the holidays and I thought you'd get a kick out of reading an excerpt.
(In this scene, Monique Jacobson and her daughter, Adele are decorating a gigantic bunny sculpture out in Santino Vineyards. Monique is up on a ladder as they try to turn the statue into Rudolph.)
Adele didn’t wait for further instruction and hurled the plastic nose cover into the air. Spinning, the snout missed Monique’s outstretched hand and continued its path of projection several feet over her head and to the right.
Rudolf’s schnozzle caught the light and sparkling in the sun, made its descent. Monique shifted her weight to grab it. Almost there. She reached up and over feeling the ladder sway and rock beneath her.
Quickly seizing her perch with both hands, the sole of her boot slipped sideways on the metal step. Instead of regaining her balance, Monique skidded down one rung, and then another with her left foot and then another and another, until she found herself rappelling backward down the ladder, desperately grappling to hang on to whatever she could and praying for a soft landing.
She missed the last step and hit the ground, landing flat on her back.
“Oh no!” Adele scampered to her and laid her soft chubby hands on Monique’s cheeks. Snuggling close, her sweet breath touched her skin. Adele inspected her eyes from an inch away. “Are you hurt bad?”
“I’m okay, baby.” Reaching behind her back, Monique found the rock digging into her spine. She plucked it out of the dirt and flung it.
“You shouldn’t be climbing on top of something you can’t handle.”
Every cell of Monique’s body froze. Her heart paused mid-thump. The familiar drawl of the deep, sexy, voice coming from above propelled her back in time at warp speed to six years ago. But it couldn’t be him. Not in a million years. She wrapped one arm tightly around Adele, and shielding her eyes from the glare with the other, looked up. *Shit.*
Trace Montgomery towered over her. He folded his arms over his chest making his smooth, muscled biceps bulge under his navy T-shirt. Wearing jeans that fit him as precisely as a fireman carries a hose, and with his swagger apparently still intact, he leaned back on the heel of his boot and tilted his face, rubbing his jaw. His unmistakable green eyes sparkled down at her.
“W-what are you doing here?”
“You’re hardly in a position to be asking questions.” He reached with a powerful hand and lifted her up off the ground, along with Adele.
After removing a twig wedged between her legs and butt cheek, Monique attempted to get her bearings. Her brain stuttered, stopped and skipped over the right words to say. Her libido, however, operated flawlessly. Tingles charged from her neck to her toes and she broke into a sweat. Steadying her gaze on his preposterously handsome face, a result of mixed genetic magic, her heart beat out of her skin. Trace opened his arms for a hug. Before she could think, he wrapped them around her and squeezed, smelling like—well, smelling like Trace, a combination of clean, fresh and help me now, Jesus.
Until next time,
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