Tank and Gunner worked like dogs for ten years to build Bristol Hotels into a successful business. They were supposed to enjoy a relaxing holiday stay at one of their top resorts. But it seems that Fate - or possibly Santa - has come a-calling. Transplanted Southerner Aiden Jones was looking forward to spending Christmas in Montana with her best friend Jenna. She almost made it - until the snowstorm hit... moreTank and Gunner worked like dogs for ten years to build Bristol Hotels into a successful business. They were supposed to enjoy a relaxing holiday stay at one of their top resorts. But it seems that Fate - or possibly Santa - has come a-calling. Transplanted Southerner Aiden Jones was looking forward to spending Christmas in Montana with her best friend Jenna. She almost made it - until the snowstorm hit. Now she's stuck for goodness knows how long at some expensive resort in the middle of nowhere. Looks like one sweet, sassy Southerner is headed straight to the top of their Christmas wish list. ***** Warning : This book packs some serious heat! Hot enough to warm your frosty toes. Snuggle up with some hot chocolate and prepare to melt for this sweet holiday menage romance. Not responsible if the smoke alarm goes off. Rated "Oh my goodness" for explicit language. For mature readers, 18 and older. **** Excerpt from the book : Gunner was peering at the laser printer under the desk, rocking it back and forth as though to shake some sense into it. The stubbornly silent, not printing laser printer seemed to have nothing wrong with it. "Why won't you work, you stupid pile of sh-" "Hey, man, watch your language! We've got a customer," Tank hissed, smacking the top of Gunner's head. Gunner straightened up, rubbing his head. "Dammit, Tank, I've told you to quit smacking me." Then he noticed Tank's gobsmacked expression and turned to see what he was looking at. He was looking at a girl. She had long, curly dark hair. It was so long he immediately thought how it would feel wrapped around his - uh, wait, how old was she? Did he need to wash his mind out with soap? She was a pretty little thing, at least what he could see of her. Soulful eyes - big and dark. Interesting face, stubborn chin. Right now, she looked like a hopeful kid at Christmas, waiting for Santa to confirm she'd get her number one toy. "Um, hello?" she asked. She probably thinks we're idiots . Gunner thought. We're just staring at her. "Hi," Gunner forced himself to take the lead. Tank was usually the one who talked to people, but he was apparently frozen in place. "Ah...Welcome to Whispering Pines. Do you have a reservation for Christmas?" "Oh, no." Her face drooped. "Do I have to have one? Only I just can't drive any more tonight, it's so terrible out there. Don't y'all have a room? If not, I could...I don't know, sleep in the lobby maybe?" She looked up at Gunner from under her lashes with a hopeful smile. Her lips were pink and sweetly curved, a little pouty right now. Her voice...it was soft and sweet, with a slight bit of Southern. He could listen to her all day. It wasn't one of those TV-parodies of a hick accent. She spoke with just a slight lengthening of the syllables, a honeyed slowness. Hearing her voice apparently jarred Tank out of his stupor. "Oh, no, honey, don't worry. We have a room. Can I see your ID? We'll get you settled in a great room. I love your accent, where are you from?" Tank said all this in a single breath. Gunner wasn't surprised to see her blink rapidly, trying to process the flow of words. less
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