Snow and Seduction: A Steamy Reverse Harem Winter Collection

by Amanda Rose

  “Almost?” Jack says.

  “I wish my sister were here,” I say with a sigh. “I've never spent a Christmas without her.”

  “Oh yeah, forgot to tell you because it was supposed to be a surprise. Lucia flew in really early this morning.”

  That's when I hear the bedroom door open.

  It's Lucia; I know it is. And I haven’t even heard her voice yet. No one else would just barge into my bedroom. I scramble to make sure everyone is decent, throwing blankets over any exposed bits.

  “Get up, food's ready. I made all your favorites. I even made my homemade cinnamon rolls you love.” She finally rounds the corner and sees me lying in bed with my new fiancés and her eyes get huge. “This does not look like an emergency to me. In fact,” she eyes my new gifts, “getting frosted by five hot billionaires sounds like a very merry Christmas to me.”

  I don't even bother to argue with her because she's right.

  No wonder Christmas is my favorite season … anything is possible.

  Anything.

  Amanda Rose

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  Description

  Tamara James had planned to spend a week on snow-covered Stronsay island by herself, getting her novel finished and drinking copious amounts of hot chocolate.

  She’s about to head home for the holidays, when a storm rolls in and traps her on the tiny island. With no place to stay, and freezing temperatures outside, Tamara finds herself on the doorstep of three gorgeous strangers.

  Noah, Blake, and Spencer are nothing like what Tamara was looking for in her peaceful getaway, but they are everything she needs to keep her warm this winter.

  For whoever invented hot chocolate. You, my friend, are a beautiful human.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Taking a deep breath, I utter the words that I know will start another lecture. “I'm not going to be able to make it home for the holidays,” I say softly down the phone. I can almost hear the pin drop down the other end of the line.

  “Why not, Tamara?” my mother asks patronisingly.

  “I'm stuck on Stronsay.”

  “What do you mean you're stuck?”

  “I mean, the ferry isn't running because of the severe weather. The only other way off the island is by private plane,” I answer her calmly.

  “Surely you can find a way, Tamara. I just think you're not trying hard enough, you've still got three days to get here,” she says. I roll my eyes. Not trying hard enough, I think those may be her favourite words.

  “Yes, but the ferry isn't running, Mother, and there honestly isn't another way off the island. I'm sorry,” I answer through gritted teeth. Sorry, not sorry more like. I can't help but feel relieved that I am trapped on Stronsay for a few more days.

  “This never would have happened had you not gone off gallivanting on an island by yourself so close to Christmas,” she remarks.

  “I'm not off gallivanting, Mother. I've been working,” I reply.

  “Sweetheart, you know that hobby of yours isn't a career. We've talked about this, you need to find yourself something more stable. A job at a good company. We didn't waste all that money sending you to university for you to waste your life on creative pursuits,” she says. Her next favourite thing to say—bringing up the fact she helped pay for my university fees, with Carlton's money of course.

  “Yes, I am well aware that is what you think would be best mother,” I reply dryly.

  “I'll let your father know you won't be coming,” she informs me, clearly abandoning her lecture for now. Maybe it's time for yoga?

  “Okay,” I mutter. My father is dead, and the father she is talking about is actually my step-dad. Who happens to be as far from a father figure as someone can be, but he made great mince pies. Those I will be sad to miss out on. The family? Not so much. “I'll catch the next ferry as soon as they are running again,” I add. Or maybe I'll drag it out for a few more days. The island was beautiful, and currently carpeted in a layer of dazzling white. The place was almost magical, and I haven’t felt so relaxed in such a long time.

  “Take care,” she says coldly, and then hangs up without warning as she always does. No “I love you” or “goodbye.” My mother is a few things, but warm and loving? They don’t make it onto her preferred qualities list. My mother values four things more than anything else. Money, intelligence, connections, and finally, the willingness to use all of those things regardless of anything else to succeed. I am my mother's most bitter disappointment, but frankly, she is mine.

  I rub at my temples staring out at the rough, choppy waters off the coast for a minute, just taking in the way they crash against edges of the island, beautiful and violent.

  I jump back into my car eager to escape the frigid air of the December afternoon. I crank up the heat and try to decide what to do. It’s a small island and the hotel I stayed in was the only one, and to be honest it was more of a bed and breakfast.

  I turn the keys in the ignition and decide to head back over to the bed and breakfast, hopefully they'll still have a room available I could rent. I was the only one staying there the past few days, so I doubt they're booked up now, and I can't exactly sleep in my car the next few days, especially not in these temperatures. I drive the short distance back to the hotel, thankful for the island being a small one. Driving across it really takes no time at all, even with the crappy roads.

  After only a couple minutes, I pull up outside the cute, cottage-style place, and jump out from my car, leaving it idling to keep the heat up just in case. It's not as if there's anyone around to steal it. And if they did, where would they take it anyway? I chuckle at the mental image of someone trying to airlift my crappy car away from the island. Somehow, I didn't quite think it was worth the bother. I pat my little beat-up, red Corsa affectionately on the bonnet as I walk past it. It may not be fancy or pretty, but I'd paid for it myself. To me, that made it the best little, beat-up car in the world. It was something that was mine, something I'd worked for.

  I walk across the small car park to the main building where the reception desk is located. I push against the main door, but it doesn't budge. Damn it! I look more closely at the door and notice a sign. Closed till the New Year. They can't be serious? Where am I meant to go? I look around, trying to see if there's any life in any of the three buildings that make up the little cottage B&B, but no such luck. The place really looks completely deserted. I stomp back to my car, more frustrated at myself than anything. Maybe my mother is right, this was a stupid idea. I try to bat away the negative thought, but it just hovers around in my head as it always does. The niggling self-doubt can be crushing at times. I remind myself how much I'd gotten done on my little retreat. I've almost finished my novel. I've read several books that I've been dying to read, and best of all, I'd drunk my body weight in hot chocolate. The lady who owned the place even put the little marshmallows in, it was heaven in a mug.

  I jump back into my car and pull my phone back out. Maybe there is another hotel somewhere? I bring up google, thankful my phone seems to still be connected with the hotels Wi-Fi. I search through several sites, and even bring up a map of the island and try to spot hotels of any kind. No such luck. I'm about to tuck my phone away when I notice a sofa surfing kind of website on the search results. I'm not thrilled at the idea of staying with strangers, but what option do I have? Clicking open the site, I see there is only one option to stay with on the island. I click to open it up. Reasonably priced, the room they offer looks great and tidy, but there's only the option to call. No online availability for bookings. I sigh and click to phone the number, tapping my fingers absently on the steering wheel.

  “This is Blake. I can't come to the phone right now, please leave a message.” Great, answering machine. I hang up without leaving a message. I click back onto the website and notice the address is listed on there. After a moment of silently debating it, I drop my phone onto the passenger seat and clip my
seat belt back on. I can always knock and ask. What's the harm? It's not like I have much choice, I reason with myself. I take off down the rough road for the other side of the island. It's less than a half an hour drive from where I am now. I swallow and steel my nerves, heading for the address on my phone, glad I'd taken the time to familiarise myself with the island during my stay. At least, I won’t get lost.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I pull up outside of the house listed on the sofasurfz’s website and stare at the beautiful work of architecture in front of me. My real dad would have loved this. I step out from the car and lean against it, just appreciating the unique design that I'm faced with. He loved anything that dared to be different, dared to standout against everything else. This building certainly does that. Most of the island is a mix of farmhouses and cottages, this modern structure is anything but. Sleek lines, tinted-glass windows, and a mix of white and black for colour. The house is in an L shape, with a perfectly curved roof over the portion of the house that juts out making the kick on the L. The roof on the main part of the house is smooth, completely flat. I can see what looks like a rooftop garden up there, but it's mostly covered in snow at present.

  I make my way to the large front door, and rap my ice-cold knuckles against the door. I shiver from the gust of wind that tumbles my long hair around me in disarray. I really hope that the room is available.

  The door opens, and I'm greeted by a man wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and glistening with a light sweat across his body. His extremely toned, hot as hell body. This was a pleasant change from most of the inhabitants I'd met on the island.

  “Can I help you?” he asks, running a hand through his short, thick, brown hair.

  “I hope so,” I reply, smiling, but it’s a little forced. Fuck it’s cold. He looks out at the crap weather, and me shivering on the spot for a moment, and then gestures for me to come inside out of the harsh wind. “Thanks,” I mumble as I step into the entry way of the house. I rub my hands together, trying to warm them up.

  “So, what can I do for you?” he asks, his warm, dark eyes set on me.

  “Well, I was staying at the bed and breakfast in Whitehall, but they've closed, and the ferry isn't running,” I begin.

  “I'm not sure what about that has brought you here,” he says, looking me up and down. “But, I can't say that you're not welcome,” he adds, jokingly. At least, I think he’s joking.

  “Well, I actually found you registered on Sofasurfz?” I say hesitantly, the inflection of question hitting the end of my sentence. He frowns, and then walks over to the stairs and shouts up them.

  “Oi, Blake, did you register us on Sofasurfz?” A few moments of silence, followed by footsteps and a head pokes down over the edge of the stairs.

  “Maybe? It sounds familiar, why?” he asks absently. The guy who'd opened the door gestures toward me, and Blake turns his eyes toward me. He looks across me with mild interest for a moment, before turning his attention back to his friend.

  “This one showed up, says she needs a place to stay,” he answers.

  “Did she book?” Blake replies.

  “Did you?” he asks me.

  “Err, not exactly,” I answer.

  “That would be a no,” he calls up.

  “Can't she stay in the hotel?”

  “It's closed, apparently,” he answers.

  “The ferry?” Blake asks.

  “Not running,” door guy answers, looking at me again.

  “Damn,” Blake says, walking down the stairs. I get a better look at him as he comes closer, dark hair, light eyes, and far too attractive to be stuck out on a small island in the middle of nowhere. He holds out a large hand for me to shake, I hesitantly take it. His hand is warm, but grips tight. “I guess you'll be staying with us, then,” he says with a smile.

  “Really? Thank you. I was so worried I'd have to crash in my car,” I ramble.

  “I’m Blake, what’s your name, darling?” he asks, cutting off my rambling.

  “Tamara, Tamara James,” I answer him.

  “Well Tamara, that’s Noah, and our friend Spencer will be back later on. But, we’ll worry about introducing you later. You’re shaking like a leaf, how about some hot chocolate? You can tell us what brought you out to Stronsay, I know it wasn’t the nightlife,” he jokes. Hot chocolate? He looks like a god and is offering me hot chocolate, I could almost kiss him.

  “I’d love a hot chocolate,” I answer, smiling brightly. Maybe being stuck on Stronsay wouldn’t be so bad after all?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Taking a sip of my hot chocolate, I try to ignore my phone buzzing on the table in front of me.

  “Are you not going to get that?” Blake asks me curiously.

  “Not a chance,” I reply. I inhale the deep aroma of the hot chocolate, very happy in my decision to ignore the call. Despite the fact that she keeps calling. What does she want now? Doesn't she have someone else to pester? My brother perhaps? It stops ringing finally, and after a minute, I breathe a sigh of relief. She's given up, for now. The phone starts ringing again, and I groan. Wishful thinking. I pick up the phone and debate answering it, before, instead, switching it off and putting it back on the table.

  “Avoiding someone?” Noah questions, as he walks into the room with a plate. He still hasn’t put a shirt on, and the smell of cookies isn’t the only thing making me drool.

  “Yes, my mother. But more importantly, are those cookies?” I ask, staring at the warm, gooey-looking goodness on his plate. He smiles and holds the plate out to me. I quickly grab a cookie before he can pull it away.

  “Woah, try not to take my hand off, too, next time,” he teases, grabbing one for himself and taking a huge bite.

  “Sorry, I guess I'm hungry,” I reply sheepishly, and then take a bite myself. I almost moan from the taste. Hell, maybe I did moan a little from the bemused looks on Noah and Blake's faces. It's warm, but not hot. The chocolate chips melting in my mouth. It's delicious, and 100% homemade. “Did you make these?” I ask.

  “Yup, my grandma's recipe,” Noah answers.

  “Your grandmother is a genius,” I mumble around another bite of deliciousness.

  “Thank you, I'll tell her that her recipes are appreciated,” he says with a smile.

  “So, not to sound rude or anything, but what are you guys doing living out on the island? It's not exactly a buzzing spot, and you two don't sound local?” I ask.

  “We're not local,” Blake answers.

  “Yeah, this is Spencer's place. We're just staying here for the month to take some time out of our busy lives. Sometimes you've just got to take some time out, you know?” Noah says, taking a seat next to me.

  “Spencer just finished the place a few months ago, he'll probably sell up in another six months and be off designing a new home somewhere else. He's not local either, he just likes to find peaceful places,” Blake adds.

  “So, what are you doing here, Tamara?” Noah asks, looking intently at me.

  “Well, I came out here for a week to work in peace, and then I got stuck here. Not really much more to tell,” I answer.

  “What do you do for work?” Blake asks.

  “Um . . .,” I trail off, blushing. I always hate telling people my job, they always have something or other to say about it.

  “Come on, you can tell us. It can't be that bad, unless you're like a phone sex operator or something? Wait . . . you're not a phone sex operator, right? Because there's nothing wrong with that,” Noah says, rambling off. I laugh.

  “No, nothing like that. I'm a writer,” I answer.

  “What do you write?” Blake asks, seeming genuinely curious.

  “Err, romance?” I supply, cringing a little. Nobody ever thinks romance writing is really a career. Especially my mother.

  “The raunchy kind?” Noah questions teasingly.

  “It isn't sweet, that's for sure,” I quip. I shift on the sofa, placing my hot chocolate onto the table, before leaning back and
bringing my legs up onto the sofa to cross them.

  “Ever write anything with multiple guys in?” Blake asks, shocking me a little, but I recover quickly.

  “Deux valent mieux qu’un,” I reply in French, a smirk taking over my face. There, you have your answer, boys. You just can't understand it.

  “Et le troisième??” he replies flawlessly. I feel my cheeks heat. Is it me or did it just get really warm in here? I shrug my jacket off and force a laugh.

  “What did you just say? All I understood was two, one, and three?” Noah asks, a knowing look on his face. The smug bastard wants it spelled out!

  “It was really just a joke—”

  “Tamara, here, said she thinks two is better than one, so I asked her for her opinion on three,” Blake answers him, cutting me off without an inch of embarrassment painted on his face.

  “She didn't answer you, how rude,” Noah jokes.

  “Et ta réponse, beauté?” Blake asks.

  “Wouldn't you like to know,” I manage to get the words out, just. Slightly distracted by some not so innocent thoughts creeping into my head. I pick up my phone to distract myself, but it’s turned off from before. Damn it. I switch it back on.

  “I would,” he answers unabashedly. My phone lights up, and seven missed calls, four texts messages and one voicemail flash up on my phone’s lock screen.

  “Oh god,” I mutter, unlocking it with a swipe of my finger. I ignore the missed calls and voicemail and click on the texts instead.

  Mother: Tamara, answer your phone.

  Mother: It’s important, pick up.

  Mother: Are you ignoring me?

  Mother: I think your phone has died, please check your emails, as I have forwarded something important to you.