Home for Christmas : A Spicy and Sweet Older Woman Younger Man Holiday Romance, page 15
Home for Christmas: A Spicy and Sweet Older Woman Younger Man Holiday Romance
Gunther's Hollow Series
Lisa Freed
Copyright © 2023 Lisa Freed
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Editing by: Julie L Kramer
Cover design by: Poppy Premade
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
DEDICATION
For the women who get it right the second time.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
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Love age gap romances? Check out the books in my Love Unexpected Series including the book that started it all, Falling for the Older Guy
For some Instalove, read the YOURS or Loving Him series.
Enjoy curvy girl romances? Try the Sweet and Sassy Curvy Girls series.
Feel like some more paranormal fun? Try Claimed by the Bogeyman, The Dark Rider, or Halloween Craving
Eight years ago, my best friend’s younger brother stole a kiss under the mistletoe…
When tragedy brings me back to Gunther’s Hollow for Christmas, Benjamin’s there, looking far too handsome. I thought he forgot all about that stolen kiss. He hadn’t. He tells me he made a wish all those years ago and that despite our nine-year age difference, he wants me.
I have a confession… I want him too.
Can mistletoe wishes come true?
Home for Christmas is a steamy and sweet reverse age gap holiday romance with a best friend’s younger brother and the older woman who’s captured his heart. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a satisfying HEA.
PROLOGUE
EIGHT YEARS EARLIER
VALERIE
“Val, you’re under the mistletoe,” a husky male voice whispers in my ear, stirring the wisps of brown hair escaping my chignon. Heat creeps up my neck as my throat suddenly feels parched. A hum goes through my entire body, causing my nipples to tighten within the confines of the snug, strapless bra I’m wearing under my tight black party dress.
My stunned eyes dart up and sure enough, there’s a fresh sprig of the festive green weed with its small, white berries looming overhead.
Of course there is. What kind of Christmas Eve party would this be if there wasn’t one placed above the door? No doubt every single door is booby-trapped with these. Ruth Gunther, a direct descendant of the town’s founder, is all about all things Christmas and this is a detail she wouldn’t miss.
The annual party, held in the big Gunther farmhouse, is a mixture of country charm and big-city glitz. And somehow Ruth manages to pull it off. She’s wearing a bright red gown that probably cost more than I make in a year yet has paired it with red and green striped elf socks and a cheap Santa hat that I know for a fact is sold down at the local drugstore.
Her odd fashion choices are repeated by nearly all the guests. You have men in dusty jeans and well-worn T-shirts with snappy sport coats and expensive silk ties snug around their necks. Women in fancy cocktail dresses and jewels with ugly holiday sweaters thrown over them like the finest stoles. I’ve even seen a few older men in ancient tuxes, that smell strongly of cedar closets, shuffling around in cheap and worn bedroom slippers.
The annual party is just another thing that brings the town together because you don’t have to worry about an invitation, just living in town earns you an automatic invite.
I’ve lived here all my life, but at age twelve, I begged my parents to let me skip the party. Being an indulgent and fun-loving couple, they were more than happy to leave me home while they went off and mingled. This is the first time I’ve been here in about sixteen years. I wouldn’t have even come if my best friend, Dawn, hadn’t put a massive guilt trip on me since she was dying to attend and wanted someone other than her family to hang out with.
Funny how that works, because after an hour, Dawn ditched me. So here I am trying to sneak out and just my luck I get caught by some man wanting to take advantage of the mistletoe rule.
Normally I wouldn’t let the threat of bad luck for refusing the kiss influence me, but the way things have been going for me lately, I need all the good luck I can get. Plus, there’s something about his voice that makes me oddly willing.
I turn my head, needing to see the owner of the sexy voice that’s twisting my insides into knots, and only get a hazy glimpse of dark gray eyes before firm lips press to mine.
I freeze.
Those lips mold to mine as if they were made for me and me alone. A blast of desire turns my middle to molten fire as excitement and need have my eyelashes sweeping down and I kiss the owner of those lips back.
This was never meant to be a chaste kiss. There’s too much passion and hunger behind it as that mouth moves with purpose over mine, enticing a curl of want deep in my core. With a soft gasp, I part my lips and let him in.
Our tongues stroke and twine. The cool minty flavor of him is like a blast of ice after the hot chocolate I’ve been sipping all evening. It ramps up my already shockingly strong need for this mystery man that has stolen my very breath.
Pinned between our bodies, my hands are pressed to his hard chest and though I’m still gripping my silly little black clutch, I can feel the rapid thudding of his heart telling me he’s just as affected by this kiss as I am.
Every worry, concern, and fear that’s been plaguing me for weeks falls away as the magic of the moment sweeps me away. I’m simply a woman, fast approaching thirty, being kissed senseless like I’ve never been before.
Oh, I’ve been kissed plenty in my lifetime, and rather skillfully at that, yet never with this soul-searing intensity.
Softly, his mouth leaves mine and my lips tingle with regret at the loss. My lashes are slow to flutter open and all I want is to reclaim his mouth and explore more of the blissful pleasure it brings. Which I fully expect to do once I know the identity of Mr. Mistletoe.
Opening my eyes, my mystery man’s face gradually comes into focus, his handsome features both familiar and yet alien to me since it’s been a year since I’ve seen him last. He’s changed since then, growing in height to easily over six feet and surpassing me by several inches, which has me lifting my chin slightly to meet his gaze. Those slate-gray eyes of his are softened with warmth, longing, and something that makes my chest tight.
His hand trembles as he reaches for my face and my breath locks in my throat as apprehension stretches between us.
Two things happen almost simultaneously; a loud, hooting catcall shatters the intimate cocoon we’ve been encased in that’s separated us from the busy Christmas Eve party that shows no signs of slowing down despite the hour growing late, and it hits me with all the power of a roundhouse punch that the man that had me completely spellbound by his unexpected kiss is my best friend Dawn’s younger brother, Benjamin Jackson.
Ben’s large hand hovers near my cheek, not quite touching me, but close enough that I can feel the warmth of it. A hand that only a short time ago, when I was lost to the magic of the kiss, I wanted desperately to have touch me.
Now horror fills me as I realize that the man who brought me to such dizzying heights of pleasure with a mere kiss is barely a man at only nineteen.
Hot shame washes over me at what I’ve done, and I can’t bear to stay here a minute longer. The need to get away pulses through me, urging me to run. I heed that urge and stumble back from Ben, barely noticing the way his gray eyes flash like an approaching storm cloud or how the softness that filled his face after our kiss and gave him an almost angelic beauty hardens into a blank mask of masculine perfection.
“Val.”
At my name, a shiver goes through me. The husky undertones in his voice remain, but now something gruff and anguished is layered in it, perfectly echoing the darkness currently swirling through me. The hand reaching for me remains suspended for an instant, his long fingers flat and outstretched, silently beseeching me to return to the comfort of his arms.
A flare of temptation shoots through me, briefly burning away the embarrassment that pulls at me and demands I turn tail and run. I felt so wonderful in his arms, his mouth moving over mine with a rightness that I ache to feel again.
Loud laughter rings out above the festive Christmas music and my spine curves in at the harsh, intrusive sound of it.
Ben’s eyes are pinned to
me and once more I want to get lost in them despite everything and forget the world around us.
“Benny, you trying to get a sugar momma?” A boisterous and obviously drunken voice calls, followed by more male laughter as others hear and join in. “Can’t believe you went for it! Way to go, man!”
Stiffening, hurt roars through me. I spy several guys, no doubt all pals of Ben’s, laughing and smirking while they stare at us. It’s obvious the kiss was some kind of cruel joke at my expense that Ben and his buddies were all in on.
I straighten and collect what’s left of my dignity, watching as Ben’s hand falls to his side and some of the light leaves his expressive eyes.
Unable to stand here another minute longer, I do what I should have done when that voice whispered in my ear, “Val, you’re under the mistletoe.” I flee out into the crisp December night, the cool air blanketing my exposed skin in goosebumps as I race to my car.
Most of the town is here, but many chose to walk here, so thankfully it isn’t hard to find my beat-up little Civic. Fumbling in my clutch for the keys, I curse as I drop them. Falling to my knees on the rough gravel, I search frantically for them. My fingers close on the worn key fob just as heavy footsteps thunder behind me.
Curling my hands around the keys, I shudder out a sigh of relief at the click of the doors opening, feeling better even as my legs shake when I rise to a stand.
“Val!” Ben shouts from somewhere behind me.
I toss a glare over my shoulder and wrench open the door, scrambling inside to the protective safety my car offers. I’m not afraid of Ben. He’s Dawn’s goofy baby brother, annoying and a long-time pest, forever bugging us when we were growing up.
No, I’m not afraid of him at all. I’m terrified at the feelings he stirred in me with that kiss and what they mean.
Yanking the door closed, I waste no time starting the engine and peeling out of here, relieved to be putting the party and Ben far behind me.
And in another two weeks, I’ll be putting everything here in Gunther’s Hollow behind me. I’ve been on the fence about taking a job in the city, afraid to leave the only home I’ve ever known, but there’s nothing here for me.
Small town life is stifling, the same boring people, the same lack of opportunities, and I need more.
I need the rush of excitement and the thrill of belonging, of being part of something and having something to be proud of. And I’ll never find that here.
Driving to the dinky apartment I’ve been living in for the past four years, I sit in the car long after I’ve arrived, blindly staring out into the starless night while listening to my car’s engine tick as it cools down. The warmth from the heater slowly ebbs away and a shiver rocks through me. I left my jacket at the party. Hopefully Dawn will grab it for me.
Palming the tears off my cool cheeks, for a moment I can still feel Ben’s lips on mine.
I slam my hands down on the steering wheel. This is ridiculous! I’m the butt of a joke and here I am boo-hooing over it. I’m twenty-eight years old, too old to be this upset over a joke.
Time to get over myself and push whatever I might have felt in Ben’s arms away. I was simply caught up in the moment. It would have been that way with any guy.
I’ve never even thought of Ben in a romantic way before, so I should stop freaking out about it. Besides, hopefully Dawn didn’t even notice. She was too busy flirting with the new owner of the corner barbershop, Isaac, anyway.
A sigh leaves me, and my breath hangs in the air in a misty white cloud. It’s freezing and past time to get my sorry self in the house to warm up. Plus, Christmas is tomorrow, and I have a lot of packing to do if I’m going to take that job.
My life is going to get better, I know it.
CHAPTER ONE
EIGHT YEARS LATER
VALERIE
Could my life get any worse?
With each painful thump of my overstuffed suitcase against my leg as I trudge down the four flights of stairs that thought circles in my tired brain.
Dead-end, thankless job? Check.
Divorced with no good prospects on the horizon? Check.
Drained and pretty much dead on my feet at three AM? Check and mate.
Someone stick a fork in me, because I’m beyond done.
I’m also huffing loudly when I finally make it to the ground floor of the apartment building I’ve been living in since my ex-husband, that no-good, lying rat Greg, decided he would much rather bed-hop with a clear conscience than stay married to me. Not that I wanted to remain married to the cheating louse anyway once I found out what was going on. Sadly, since we were renting our home and I couldn’t even dream of affording it by myself, I found myself single and homeless the same day I also became jobless.
Guess working for my husband’s family wasn’t such a hot idea on my part. Especially not when his father fired me an hour before I was served with divorce papers.
I scowl over at the nonworking elevator with its handwritten “out of service” notice that’s been taped to it the entire four months I’ve been living here, as if it’s the cause of all my bad luck. But sadly, nope, all the blame for my current situation rests squarely on my weary shoulders.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I roll my tight shoulders and let out a low groan. Three AM is way too early, but the flight was the cheapest one I could find, which is a blessing because my finances are as much of a joke as my life is.
At thirty-six, this is not how I envisioned my life. A memory sticks in my head of listening to the song Dancing Queen as a teenager and thinking I’d be young and pretty forever. If only I had known better, I would have enjoyed my twenties more. I found a gray hair last week, and it was on my chin, not my head.
Yeah, youth is fleeting for sure. And me standing here contemplating how miserable my thirties are isn’t helping.
With a sigh, I grab the worn handle of my battered suitcase and head for the door, hoping my ride to the airport will be here soon.
Later, squished between two large men on the airplane, I rest my head back and close my tired eyes. At least I won’t be alone for Christmas.
Not that I was last year, but it certainly felt like it when Greg and I fought the entire drive to his grandparents’ house out in upstate New York and for most of the visit, I was treated like an unwanted guest by his entire family. I even missed my best friend Dawn’s tearful call, letting me know her husband Isaac’s cancer was back, and all because that jerk Greg spitefully tossed my phone out on the interstate after accusing me of caring about it more than him.
A bitter grin curves up my lips. That might have been the only thing Greg was ever correct about. I did care for my phone more than him. My phone was much better company and never cheated on me.
My grin fades as guilt takes over.
I should have left Greg long before he finally pulled the plug on our marriage. I have a lot of guilt for how I tried to keep my husband happy and the things I should have done but didn’t because of him. And I could blame him all I want, but in the end, it was me who made those foolish decisions.
I wasn’t there for Dawn like I should have been. Sure, I called and sent flowers and inspirational cards, but it’s not the same. All her neighbors send flowers and cards, and I was supposed to be her best friend! I didn’t visit because Greg whined about being unable to be without me, and how the business would suffer if I was out of town for a week or so at a time. And like a fool, I listened to him, thinking he really loved me and valued what I was bringing to the family business and that the calls and cards to Dawn were enough, not realizing just how dire things really were.
And now Isaac is dead, and I was hundreds of miles away when my friend needed me the most. This will be her first Christmas without him, and there’s no way I’m going to let her face it alone. It won’t make up for before, but I hope it’s a start.
Tugging my suitcase behind me, I’m heading toward the car rentals when a bright red posterboard sign edged with silver tinsel and my name in bold green catches my attention and I slow to a stop. A stray elbow bumps into my side as I stand and stare. I pay no attention to that or the irritated huff from the woman who has to quickly shuffle around me, nor any of the other people veering around my unmoving form. All my attention is on the man holding the sign and grinning broadly.
