A Kiss for Christmas Read online

  “Wait!” She yelped. “Don’t open the—”

  Too late. The front door swung wide open, knocking straight into her stool, and sending her careening into the prickly embrace of the Christmas tree.

  “Oww!” Ellie cried, clinging on for dear life.

  “Oh crap, sorry!” A man’s voice came, crisp with an English accent. “Hang on!”

  “I’m hanging!” she gulped, trying to keep her balance. The tree rocked perilously, seventy pounds of tinsel-bedecked branches swaying closer to disaster.

  Ellie felt strong arms wrap around her legs. “It’s OK, I’ve got you.”

  Before she could move, she found herself lifted down and set on the ground. “Thanks,” she said breathlessly, turning. “We were this close to a tree disaster—”

  The words faded on her lips. She was looking up at the sexiest man to ever step foot through the doors of the Sweetbriar Inn. Granted, the average age of their guests was about fifty-seven, but still. If they’d had a parade of male models striding through every other week, there would still be no competition.

  Dark hair, curling just a little too long over blue eyes, and cheekbones she could have willingly impaled herself on. He had two-day stubble and was wearing a battered navy peacoat, looking distractingly disheveled, with a leather duffel bag hoisted over his shoulder.

  In other words, dangerously good-looking. Emphasis on the danger.

  She had rules about getting involved with tourists or men who were so hot, they should have come with a warning, and the sum of it was pretty much: Don’t.

  “Hi,” Ellie managed, quickly stepping back and putting a safe distance between them. “Welcome. Thanks for that,” she added.

  “My pleasure. Although, that thing still might tip over of its own accord,” he noted, looking at the sheer weight of decorations. “You don’t go for the minimal look, then?”

  “There’s nothing minimal about the Starbright Festival,” she said, heading over to the desk and pulling herself together.

  “The what now?”

  Ellie looked up. “The festival. That’s why you’re here, right? To celebrate the joy of the holidays, in all its snow-capped spirit.”

  The man frowned. “Actually, I was after some peace and quiet. A friend of mine recommended the place. I thought it would be empty out of season.”

  He looked around the room, scowling a little as he took in the decorations she had spent the afternoon putting up.

  Great, a whole town full of cheery Christmas fans, and she got stuck with Scrooge.

  “Bad timing,” she tell him cheerfully. “Christmas is the busiest season for us. We’re fully booked.”

  “I have a reservation,” he said, moving closer. “Dash Everett.”

  Oh. Her last guest of the day. She checked the file. “Here you are. You’re in our most secluded cabin, on the other side of the lake. There’s nobody around, you’ll have all the peace and quiet you need,” she added pointedly.

  “Good.” Dash nodded, still looking put out. Ellie wondered what he wanted all the quiet for. Usually, the holidays were for getting together with friends and family, not travelling to some remote cabin in the middle of the woods.

  Still, she was glad. The cabin was far away, and if he didn’t want to be disturbed, that meant she wouldn’t see him—and his distractingly blue eyes—for the rest of the week.

  She grabbed his keys and a welcome pack, then paused. He was wearing jeans and a thin-looking sweater under his coat, and his boots looked brand-new, not the heavy-duty snow boots they all trampled around in come winter. “When you made the reservation, they did tell you how…rustic the cabin was?” she checked.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “No TV or phone, that’s fine. I need to write, not get distracted by any of this holiday bullshit.”

  A brooding, tormented writer. Great.

  “OK, just as long as you had fair warning.” Ellie pulled her jacket back on and lead him back outside. He followed.

  “What’s your name, by the way?” Dash asked.

  “Ellie. Ellie Lucas.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Ellie.” He held out his hand. It would have been rude to ignore it, so she reluctantly shook his outstretched hand. It was surprisingly warm, and curled around her fingers in a sure, steady grip.

  She looked up into his eyes, and forgot about the freezing temperatures.

  Now that’s heat.

  Ellie pulled away, unsettled. “The cabin’s this way,” she told him briskly, jabbing her head towards the frozen lake. “You better leave your car here in the lot. We haven’t plowed the lane, and you’ll just wind up getting that thing stuck without snow chains on your tires.”

  “How do you know which car is mine?” Dash asked, surprised. “I could be the guy in that Jeep.”

  Ellie gave him a look. He chuckled. “OK, maybe not,” he continued. “But in my defense, I just flew in from LA. We don’t really get snow over there unless it’s the synthetic shopping mall kind.”

  Los Angeles. Ellie pictured palm trees and golden sands, and pipes that didn’t freeze every December. If she lived out there, she would never leave, but there was no accounting for taste. Besides, she reminded herself. He was just visiting. Icy cold temperatures and snow banks seemed plenty exotic when you had a return ticket out in a couple of days.

  Anything was charming when you knew you could leave it behind.

  Feeling a hollow swell in her chest, she picked up Dash’s duffel and started trudging along the path around the lake. He hurried after her. “I can take that.” He tried to grab his bag.

  “It’s fine.” she tugged it back.

  “Really, I can’t let you do that.”

  “All part of the service,” Ellie said, gritting her teeth stubbornly.

  Standoff.

  “Are you really going to make me fight you for it?” Dash laughed, looking too damn charming, and with that sexy accent to boot.

  She felt a sudden flash of rebellion and let go of the strap. He was thrown by the sudden change in pressure and stumbled back, flailing for a second before he fell on his ass in the snow.

  Not so charming now.

  “Whoops!” she tried not to smile. “You need to be careful on this ice!”

  But Dash didn’t miss a beat. He got to his feet and casually brushed the snow off his pants. “I’m guessing you don’t offer laundry service,” he said wryly – still looking unruffled and way too hot.

  “You guess correct.” Ellie headed on down the path, leaving him to pick up his bag and follow.

  The cabin was set back in a grove of bare-branched trees, with a small deck overlooking the lake. In summer, it was their honeymoon spot for amorous couples who wanted to be left alone, but now, it looked kind of foreboding under the layer of snow and ice. Still, he said he wanted seclusion.

  Ellie unlocked the door, and stepped aside for Dash. He peered inside. “This is where I’m staying?” His voice sounded dubious.

  “Like I said, rustic.”

  He chuckled. “I think I’ve seen more luxurious prison camps.”

  Ellie frowned. Sure, it wasn’t the Four Seasons, but guests loved how charming their cabins were, how her parents picked out every little detail over the years, adding personal mementos and artwork from around the Cape. She glared. “If it doesn’t meet your high standards, I can give you some other motels to check.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “This will be fine.”

  Inside, the wooden cabin was cute, but without real heating it felt ten degrees cooler than outside. Dash gave a visible shiver, and Ellie felt just a little bit guilty.

  “You’ve got wood there for the stove, and extra blankets.” She told him.

  “Thanks.” Dash slowly looked around.

  Ellie paused in the doorway, and gave him one last chance. “Are you sure you can hack it?”

  Chapter 2

  When a beautiful woman was questioning your manhood, there was only one thing to do.

  Lie.


  “Of course.” Dash dropped his bag on the bare wooden floor and tried not to shiver. “Looks terrific, just what I need.”

  Ellie gave him an odd look, then shrugged. “We serve cookies and eggnog between five and six in the main house. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Dash wanted to invite her to stay and keep him warm, but he was guessing that would earn him another withering glare—or, more likely, a trip face-down into the snow. “I’ve got everything I need right here,” he said instead. He opened his bag and placed his laptop and a bottle of Jack Daniels on the table. “I can feel the muse calling already.”

  She nodded, but from the quirk of amusement on her full lips, she wasn’t buying it. Ellie pulled her scarf tighter around her flyaway blonde hair and headed for the door. “Welcome to Sweetbriar Cove!”

  Dash watched through the window as she walked away, her slim frame bundled up in winter gear as she moved with surprising grace across the snow. There was a character, alright: a screwball heroine from a 40s movie, quick with the sassy looks and deft retorts. She disappeared into the blanket of white, and he finally took a look around the cabin.

  It was quaint, and definitely rustic: barely fifteen square feet, with a wooden bed in the corner piled with thick flannel sheets and blankets. There was a stack of logs beside the old wood-burning furnace, a tiny bathroom, and a sturdy-looking desk placed in front of the window, which looked out over the back deck and the snow-covered frozen lake.

  No Netflix, no iPod, no distractions. It was a million miles away from his bachelor pad in the Hollywood Hills, and exactly what he needed to get this script written.

  He sat down at the desk, opened his laptop, and stared at the screen.

  So what was he waiting for?

  Dash stared at the empty page. The cursor blinked, waiting for inspiration. It had been waiting all year now—three months overdue, with the studio, his agents, and manager breathing down his neck. He’d thought that if he could get away from the pressure, have a change of scene, the writer’s block would crumble and the words would start flowing again.

  Flowing. Just pouring out of him. Anytime soon?

  His cellphone rang, loud against the snow-muffled silence.

  Snow-muffled silence… That was a great description. Too bad this movie was supposed to take place by the beach.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not your agent calling,” the voice on the other end of the line was teasing. Blake Callahan, a friend – and the star of Dash’s last movie.

  “You think I would have picked up if it was?” Dash leaned back in the rickety old chair. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much, just on a break from filming. This director is driving me crazy,” Blake said. “You sure you don’t want to come back and replace him? I can pull strings.”

  “Yeah, you’re such a bigshot now.” Dash snorted. Their movie last year had been a break-out hit and catapulted Blake into the Hollywood A-list—while everyone was still waiting for Dash’s next big project.

  “How’s the retreat?” he asked. “Helped unblock you yet?”

  “I wish.” Dash looked out at the frosted trees and ice-white powder. “I just arrived, I hope I’ll get writing once I’m settled in.”

  “Sure you will.” Blake sounded encouraging. “I’ve got faith in you, buddy. Don’t over-think it. And remember to write my part extra-heroic, OK?”

  “I haven’t decided about that,” Dash joked. “I was thinking he could be brutally disfigured in the first scene, and spend the whole movie in prosthetics—”

  “Aww, man!” Blake laughed.

  “Hey, that’s Oscar-bait right there,” Dash grinned. “Just ask those actresses who wear a fake nose and wind up taking home the statue.”

  “In that case, sign me up.”

  Dash heard voices in the background, then Blake came again, “Sorry man, they need me back on set. You take care, OK? And relax. When I’m too stressed about a scene, I just need to get out of my own way. You’ve got the talent, you don’t need to worry.”

  “Thanks,” Dash replied, “Go kill it.”

  He hung up and stared back at the blinking cursor on the empty screen. He knew the basic plot, the small-town guy who got mixed up with the wrong girl, but every time he tried to start and get words down on the page, he froze up.

  Take it easy. Relax. Don’t over-think it.

  The advice piled up in his head, on the stack of other encouragement his team had been feeding him for months. But no matter what he did, this writer’s block just wouldn’t shift. He’d tried it all: meditation, writing boot-camp, even hypnosis from some gorgeous hippie out in Laurel Canyon, promising to liberate his muse. He’d spent a wild weekend liberating her body from those tie-dyed kaftans, but his muse had stayed locked shut.

  Now he was running out of time. If he didn’t turn in a first draft to the studio by New Year’s, the whole production schedule would be pushed way back. The crew, actors, producers—everyone was depending on him to deliver. He was supposed to be building a career, proving he wasn’t just a one-hit wonder.

  And he couldn’t write a bloody word.

  Alert: Battery Low.

  He grabbed his power cord from his bag and looked around for an outlet. But he couldn’t find one. And now that he was looking, he didn’t see a light-switch, either. Or a light. But he did find a stack of candles, along with a couple of boxes of matches.

  Then it hit him: the cabin had no electricity.

  Dash groaned. Never mind her disappearing act, right now his muse was somewhere laughing her ass off.

  He collected his computer stuff and headed for the door. Outside, the breeze was crisp and cold, and the snow crunched underfoot as he made his way back around the lake to the lodge. He had to admit, the place was beautiful. Back in LA, December was much like any other month of the year, warm and beachy. But here, the snowy woods surrounding the property looked like something out of a holiday card, with bushes of red holly berries, and frozen cobwebs crystalized in the morning sun.

  If only nature came with a power socket.

  He reached the main house and stepped inside. Immediately, he was hit with a warm rush of lights, music, and cozy central heating. Ellie was behind the main desk, cheerfully singing along to holiday songs on the radio as she clicked at her computer screen.

  Dash stamped the snow off his boots and watched her for a moment, the Christmas lights gleaming off her hair. In an ugly knit holiday sweater and jeans, she couldn’t have been trying any less, but she still looked effortlessly beautiful. There was something about the wry smile on her lips that made him curious.

  What was her story?

  She looked up and noticed him. “Changed your mind about that cabin?”

  “No! I just need to charge my things.”

  “Sure,” she said, sounding reluctant. “I can put them back here.” She reached out, and Dash passed her the stack. Laptop, phone, iPad… Ellie smirked. “I guess you’re not out here to detox from modern life then.”

  “What’s everyone got against technology?” He countered. “It does great things. Like help you order pizza at two in the morning, or avoid traffic on the 405.”

  “Well, Eddie’s Pie Shop shuts at seven, five on Sundays,” Ellie replied. “And the most traffic you’ll see around here is when old Mr. Granger decides to take his tractor for a spin.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  Dash lingered by the desk. He didn’t want to head back out to that empty cabin just yet—not when there were far more beautiful and interesting things to look at right here. With central heating.

  Ellie had paperwork strewn around the desk, financial documents and receipts by the looks of it. “Getting the books in order?”

  “Oh, these are for Mackenzie, over at the gallery,” she replied. “You think I’d let this kind of mess pile up here?” She gestured behind her, to a bookcase of perfectly-organized files, right down to the color-coding.

  “So you’re that ki
nd of person,” he teased, trying to get a rise.

  “What kind?”

  “An ‘everything in its place’-er. I’m guessing you even color-code your sock drawer.”

  Ellie arched an eyebrow. “And let me guess, you’re the kind of guy that leaves a dozen notes scribbled on scrap pieces of paper that you can never decipher.”

  He blinked. “How did you—?”

  She reached over and plucked a post-it that was hanging off his jacket. “‘Rising tension. Violet. Transmission,’” she read aloud with a grin.

  Busted.

  “I know exactly what that means,” Dash protested, snatching it back. He squinted at the scribbles and tried to remember what he’d been thinking. “There needs to be rising tension in the third act, so Violet—she’s one of the main characters—her transmission could get busted, stranding her alone on a dark street with the bad guys coming.” He set it down triumphantly. Not bad bullshitting, but then again, he had the experience. He’d made it through pitch meetings pulling story ideas from thin air, but Ellie was a tougher audience than those fawning Hollywood execs.

  “Sounds like a real page-turner,” she said sweetly. “You better get back to that book.”

  “Script,” he corrected her. “I’m a screen-writer. And director,” he added.

  “Movie then,” she amended, unconcerned. “Look, your laptop has a twenty percent charge now. That’s good for at least a couple of hours.”

  “Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me,” he challenged her with a grin.

  “Never,” Ellie shot back with an innocent smile. “The Sweetbriar Inn and Holiday Suites is famed for our friendliness and small-town charm. Just check our Yelp reviews.”

  Dash laughed.

  “So tell me more about you,” he leaned on his elbows, wanting to know more about this spitfire. “Has your family run this place long?”

  Ellie just arched an eyebrow. “Why don’t you take a hike?”

  He blinked, taken aback. “Hey, where’s that small-town charm you were just talking about?”