Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Celia Alvarez is engaged to one of the wealthiest men in the country—so why is she slaving away in the kitchen, making Thanksgiving Dinner for his entire family all by herself? Her future in-laws seem to think she’s either the cook or the maid and none of them has offered to lift a finger to help. Just as Celia is wishing for a change, Fate provides one. The doorbell rings and two huge Kindred warriors are standing there, claiming the she is their mate.
Certain that there must be some mistake, Celia agrees to go with Holds Tightly and Fights Fiercely to the Mother Ship until the situation can be cleared up. She likes Hold at once, but she and Fierce are instant enemies. How could she possibly be with these guys for life? She’s certain a relationship between the three of them is impossible and promises herself to keep her distance and to not cheat on her fiancé, Peter.
However, when the three of them are sent on a mission to collect a special glowing moss to decorate the Mother Ship for the Holidays, everything changes. A destabilized wormhole damages their ship and dumps them out into a galaxy light years from home. In order to get the ship fixed, they have to agree to join a sex cult and shortly after that, Celia’s plans to keep herself off the Naughty List this Holiday Season go right out the window.
Can Celia, Hold, and Fierce escape the cult and get home in time for the Holidays? Will Celia’s wedding go ahead as scheduled…or will the time she spent with the two huge Kindred warriors change her life forever? You’ll have to read this Enemies-to-Lovers, Touch her and Die, Only one Bed, MFM, Hot Holiday romp to find out.
After all, Hold and Fierce just might turn out to be the best Christmas gift Celia has ever…Unwrapped.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
CELIA
“Cece dear, how is that turkey coming on? Please don’t forget to baste it—nobody likes a dry turkey! And don’t forget to glaze the ham.”
Celia Alvarez counted silently to ten and fixed a smile on her face before turning to look at her Mother-in-Law-to-be.
“The turkey is doing just fine, Mother Frances,” she said brightly. “But you can check it yourself if you’d like to be sure. Or you could peel the potatoes while I check it instead. Or make the cranberry sauce. Or start on the piecrust or the green bean casserole. Or—”
“Oh, no-no—I’m sure you’ve got everything in hand, Cece. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your flow,” her Mother-in-Law-to-be said, waving a hand to dismiss Celia’s indirect plea for help.
Celia gritted her teeth. It was her Mother-in-Law-to-be—“Mother Frances” as she had asked Celia call her—that had insisted on this enormous Thanksgiving spread in the first place. She wanted to have the entire family over to talk about the wedding, which was happening in just over a month on Christmas Eve. But though there were no less than twenty-five people talking and laughing and mingling in the large mansion on Bayshore Boulevard—which was her fiancé, Peter’s current main residence—not a single one of them had offered to help in any way.
It was probably because they’d all been raised rich, Celia speculated to herself as she began on the gourmet cranberry relish that Mother Frances insisted on since canned cranberry sauce wasn’t good enough. Peter came from the upper crust—high society and generational wealth that had been passed down since the days of the Robber Barons. His great-great-grandfather had owned a bunch of railroads or something like that, though now his family was more into aeronautics and shipping.
Such people usually had a private chef and a hoard of servants to take care of them, but Peter had just bought the mansion on Bayshore a few months before and hadn’t gotten around to hiring staff for it yet. So it was up to Celia to prepare this enormous meal all by herself.
People wandered in from time to time to help themselves to more wine and cheese from the charcuterie board that Celia had set up on the kitchen island, but none of them said, “Hey, you look busy—is there anything I can do to help?” Mostly they just ignored her—except for Mother Frances, of course—who came in periodically to order her around—or “supervise” as she called it—and tell Celia what she was doing wrong.
“Have you started the dough for the yeast rolls yet?” her future Mother-in-Law asked, raising one critical and perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow. She was wearing an immaculate white silk lounging suit which made her look both elegant and unapproachable. “It has to rise at least twice to be any good. That’s what my chef, Armand, told me anyway, when I got the recipe from him.”
Dios! Celia wished that Armand was there now instead of back at Mother Frances’s penthouse in New York. Maybe he would actually be some help instead of just standing there criticizing without lifting a finger!
“It’s on its second rise right now,” she told her future Mother-in-Law. “I’ll work with it some more when I get a chance. But right now I’ve really got my hands full!”
“Oh—of course you do! And we all can’t wait to see what you produce! I’m sure it will be so interesting,” Mother Frances exclaimed—which was her version of a compliment. “By the way dear—I got you a job,” she added, smiling at Celia.
“You did?” Celia swallowed her resentment and looked up hopefully.
“Yes! My dear friend Penelope Penobscot of the Boston Penobscots—she just bought a second condo in Palm Beach and she needs someone to decorate for her. So of course I thought of you right away!”
Celia’s heart jumped in her chest. This kind of client was what her little Interior Design firm, Elegant Interiors, needed to really start taking off!
“Well thank you, Mother Frances,” she said, giving her future Mother-in-Law a genuine smile. “If you’ll give me her email address, I’ll send her a contract and a list of prices.”
“Oh, no-no-no!” Mother Frances put a fluttering hand to the pearls at her throat, as though Celia had suggested some kind of sacrilege. “No, Penelope is a dear friend—you can’t charge her anything!”
“But…I’m running a business,” Celia protested. “I can’t afford to just give away my work for free!”
“Give what away for free?” Peter, her fiancé asked, coming into the vast kitchen. He was wearing a casual outfit—an Egyptian linen shirt with the cuffs rolled up, a pair of hand-tailored slacks, and Italian driving loafers that cost more than the car Celia was currently driving.
He was only about an inch taller than her but the loafers had built up heels that turned his 5’8 to 5’9 and 1/2 at least. He plucked a grape from the fruit salad Celia had begun assembling and popped it into his mouth before coming up to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.