Never play games with Santa…!
Weston bloody Kincaid. The billionaire who wore £7000 suits like he was doing them a favor.
When he wasn’t filling out his doctor’s scrubs like they were tailormade for him.
Exactly the kind of man who needed to be taken down a notch.
Definitely not the kind you want to spend any extended period of time with.
Absolutely not stuck with him in a remote cabin, during the holiday season.
Totally completely not snowed in together over Christmas… help! He’s arrogant, obnoxious, over the top cruel… ugh!
He’s also swoony, and so hot. Omigod! No, I really don’t like him, not one bit *cough*
Especially not that smirk of his that drives me a bit bonkers. I’d arrived at the cabin to take a break from my career as a pastry chef.
He came to recover from an accident. Double booked, imagine that! *thank YOU God*
No, wait, I spoke too soon. I loathe his grumpy disposition.
He hates my guts. I love baking. The man abhors desserts. What the hell? Forced to share a bedroom *gulp* we barely tolerate each other.
Then the electricity is disrupted. By candlelight, the antagonism between us crackles even brighter.
It’s him, me, and a whole lotta chocolate cake I’d baked to get me through the festive season.
Things go steadily downhill.
Until he dares me…
