Christmas Wishes: A Christmas Romance Anthology Read online

  Christmas Wishes

  A Christmas Themed Romance Anthology

  Michelle Fernandez,

  Sam Destiny,

  Muriel Garcia,

  JJ. Pits,

  KM Lowe,

  Andra Dill,

  Hanleigh Bradley,

  Brie Paisley,

  Stacy McWilliams

  CREATIVE ANTHOLOGIES

  Creative Anthologies Copyright © 2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Warning: This anthology contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.

  COPYRIGHT for the individual stories belong to the authors named. These stories are a work of fiction.

  Stories written by -

  Michelle Fernandez

  Sam Destiny

  Muriel Garcia

  JJ. Pits

  KM Lowe

  Andra Dill

  Stacy McWilliams

  Hanleigh Bradley

  Brie Paisley

  Contents

  Mistletoe Moment - Michelle Fernandez

  1. Tiffany

  2. Michael

  3. Tiffany

  4. Michael

  5. Tiffany

  6. Michael

  7. Tiffany

  About the Author

  Other books by Michelle Fernandez

  Blue Christmas - Sam Destiny

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Unexpected Christmas - Muriel Garcia

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About the Author

  Also By

  A Christmas To Remember - JJ. Pits

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  A Christmas Stranger - KM Lowe

  1. Damon

  2. Ilythia

  3. Damon

  4. Ilythia

  5. Damon

  6. Ilythia

  7. Damon

  Epilogue

  Contact KM Lowe

  Her Surprise Christmas Gift - Andra Dill

  Chapter 1

  Home For The Holidays - Stacy McWilliams

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Dr Xmas - Hanleigh Bradley

  1. I’m Not the Guy for You

  2. What More Could I Want?

  3. I Want Everything

  4. Poker Face

  5. Don’t Do It Yourself

  6. Unwanted Advances

  7. The Hangover from Hell

  8. Strings

  Epilogue

  A Surprise For Christmas - Brie Paisley

  1. Dax

  2. Blair

  3. Dax

  4. Blair

  5. Dax

  6. Blair

  7. Dax

  About The Publisher

  Mistletoe Moment - Michelle Fernandez

  Tiffany

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this. You know how I feel about this kind of stuff,” I say, glaring at Hannah, who is supposed to be my best friend. But at the very moment, I’m debating it.

  I stopped by her bakery in Manhattan to ask for a favor, and somehow, I’m the one who is getting bamboozled in attending her husband’s Christmas party for his company. I know what her scheme is . . . she’s been trying to set me up with any of Gage’s employees and has been for months.

  The bell jingles above the door, drawing my attention to the continuous stream of people coming and going since she opened her shop several months ago. Everyone who enters hightails it straight to the glass counter, showcasing all the deliciousness, making the temptation difficult to resist. Cupcakes, cookies, and eclairs decorated with the holiday sparkle.

  One of the reasons I came to pay a visit.

  The other reason is to see if the dark-haired, blue-eyed, mysterious man in the black wool coat will come grab another box of pastries. Every Thursday at the same time.

  But today, he didn’t show. From the moment I saw him, he’s been the star of my dreams and there was no way I will be telling Hannah about him.

  “I promise you will have a great time,” Hannah says, feigning innocence as she walks toward me with a red frosted cupcake on a saucer and a cup of her delicious hot cocoa. “People are dying to get in this party and you, my friend, have a personal invite. So, you can’t turn me down and I refuse to take no for an answer.”

  I roll my eyes as a Christmas song hums through the speaker above me. “I hate you.” And I hate this time of year.

  Carson, my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend, broke it off with me via text on Christmas Eve last year while I waited for him under the mistletoe. Not only was I humiliated, it’s all his fault that he’s tainted what is supposed to be the most joyous holiday of the year.

  Ever since then, I dread the season and all its festivities. The classic red and green colors, the emblematic of Santa’s face on every television commercial, and the traditional mistletoe that hangs over every doorway.

  That mistletoe is my demise and another reason I don’t talk about men because I vowed to just focus on me and the family business.

  “You can never hate me, Tiff. I’m too loveable. And I make a pretty damn good cupcake.” Hannah is right. I can never hate her, and I do love her desserts.

  Damn her!

  She’s the reason why I have to work out five days a week and skate around the ice rink a few dozen times.

  “Loving your desserts is a given. Loving you is debatable,” I tease.

  She sits in the chair across from me and rests the sweet goodness on the small round table. A dust of silver sprinkles covers the red frosting and I can’t wait to take a bite.

  “You need to put yourself out there. How else are you going to get back on the saddle if you’re cooped up all the time?”

  “I’m not cooped?” I say, scooping the buttery red cream with my finger and lick it off. “I work, too.”

  “All you do is work and go home . . . to be cooped,” she restates.

  “Who made you fairy godmother so you can continuously meddle in my love life?”

  “You don’t have a love life, remember?”

  “Ouch, you jerk!” I ball up a red napkin and toss it at her.

  “I just want you to be happy again. Like me.” Hannan reaches across the table and holds my hand. Gage Powell was the most eligible bachelor in New York. He’s gorgeous, charming, and she married him.

  “Not everyone can be as lucky as you.”

  “And not every guy is like douche-pants Carson. Ever since your breakup, your life has been about the ice rink. It’s not healthy.”

  “It’s my family business,” I state.

  “I understand all about running your own business. Look at me, but you need a life outside of that, too.” She points to the two workers behind the counter. “
Take Sarah and Leila for example. Because of them, I have the ability to enjoy life.”

  “I’m totally fine. See?” I raise my hands like the ice-skater I am, twirling them in the air as I fake a smile and bat my lashes behind my reading glasses. “Blissful, happy, and I absolutely love this time of year,” I lie with humor and sarcasm.

  “Yeah, right.” She draws out the words. “And, tell me, my sister from another mister, what Netflix series are you binging on nowadays?” she asks, trying to prove a point. “Is it Lucifer? No, don’t tell me Emily in Paris . . . or is it Hart of Dixie—”

  “I know where you’re going with this, Hans. Just because I’ve watched almost every series on Netflix, doesn’t mean I don’t have a love life. I like curling up and watching TV, that’s all.”

  “With a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, a bag of Twizzlers, and maybe a bottle of wine.”

  I stare at her with a few seconds of silence. She knows me too well.

  Hannah purses her lips. “I rest my case. Netflix binging equals no life, hence being cooped up . . . and no sex.”

  I look around at the other patrons, hoping they didn’t hear her. “Keep your voice down. I don’t think Central Park heard you. Besides, I have sex,” I whisper as a matter of fact.

  “Your vibrator doesn’t count,” she tosses back.

  “At least I’m getting my sexual satisfaction somewhere.”

  “The real thing is better.”

  “I beg to differ. At least Mister Biggs is faithful to me.”

  “Oh, honey. You’ve got to let it go.”

  “Easier said than done,” I tell her.

  “That’s why you have to come with me to Gage’s company party. Maybe you will find yourself a date for the annual Icicles Holiday Party next weekend.”

  The Icicles Holiday Party is our family Christmas party we have every year. Ever since I was a kid, it’s been tradition to have this event at our family-owned ice rink. It’s something the workers, all our friends, and family look forward to.

  Mom is amazing at decorating the entire rink, making it look like an icicle wonderland. Dad reserves the band. Chase, my younger brother, arranges the hockey games. Axel, my older brother and professional hockey player, somehow fits us in his hectic schedule and makes an appearance to sign autographs. And as for me, I’m responsible for the food and dessert.

  “I am not taking a date to the Icicles party,” I say, then take a bite of the moist cupcake.

  “And why not?”

  “Please, don’t start,” I chide with a mouthful, then swallow.

  “I’m not starting anything. As a matter of fact, I am actually putting an end to your drought and maybe you’ll get that mistletoe kiss you’ve always wanted.”

  “Mistletoes are stupid. Need I remind you, the last time a certain someone was supposed to meet me under the mistletoe ended in a disaster.”

  “Okay. Last Christmas sucked and Carson is a prick for what he did.” Her eyes go wide as if a thought hit her as she taps her chin with her finger. “You know . . . I’ve got the perfect guy who I have been dying for you to meet—”

  “No!” I shake my head. “You are not allowed to set me up on a blind date or double date again. You suck at it.”

  “I do not!”

  “Remember when you set me up with Drenching-Dave?”

  Harper makes a face. “Eww. Yes. But that wasn’t my fault. How was I to know he’d show up to your date straight from the gym?”

  “The entire night, he flexed his muscles. Like that was going to have me fall on my knees. Literally.”

  “He was a tool,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “And what about Forgot-my-wallet-Jack.”

  “That could have been an honest mistake,” she defends.

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. He drank water and ate the complimentary chips the restaurant served, while he watched me eat my chicken enchilada and margarita. At the end of the dinner, he said he forgot his wallet. Cheap bastard.” I point my finger at her. “Oh, and let’s not forget about Kevin who talked about his mother the entire time.”

  Hannah groans under her breath. “Point taken, Tiff-a-ny,” she draws out. “You win. I’m horrible with the matchmaking thing.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Can’t hurt me for trying.”

  “Actually, I can.”

  “Fine. At least come to Gage’s party with me.”

  “I will only go if you promise no setups and if your handsome husband and any of his friends would like to be part of the holiday hockey game this year? We’re missing a couple of players.”

  “You’ll come to Gage’s party if I get you the players?”

  “Yep. That was the reason I came by today.” I take another bite of the dessert. “And of course, sink my teeth in this baby.”

  “What happened to the other players?”

  “Well, Charlie and Donny came down with the flu. And don’t get me started on my cousin, Mister Jonathon Hawkins himself, who says he can’t make it home for the holidays. Now that he works for that private security company, it’s been hard for him to visit us.”

  “Isn’t the game next weekend?” she asks before she sips her hot cocoa.

  I shrug. “I’m crunched for time and people. So, can you ask Gage if he can ask some of his friends?”

  “If Gage is able to get the guys you need for the game, you will come with me to his company party this Saturday?”

  “It’s this Saturday? Like three days away, Saturday?”

  “Yup.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear, Hannah.”

  “You just let me take care of that for you. Be at my house Saturday morning.”

  After I left Harper’s bakery, I decided to get in some last-minute Christmas shopping done on Fifth Avenue. I may not like the holiday, but I’m not a total scrooge.

  I’m dodging shoppers as they hustle pass me with arms full of shopping bags. I enter a boutique where the most adorable jewelry box rests on the shelf.

  Grabbing the small case, I open the lid, and a tiny figurine skater with a pink tulle skirt twirls to the melody. It takes me back when I was six years old.

  I’ve always wanted one of these. Hannah had one and I envied her. She tried to give me hers, but I refused because it was a gift from her grandmother, and it wouldn’t be right if I took it.

  “Are you going to buy that?” a low gruff voice says behind me, breaking me from my trance.

  “Excuse me?” I ask, and when I turn around, the most hypnotizing blue eyes meet mine. It’s the blue-eyed mystery man I saw a couple of weeks ago at Hannah’s bakery. I never did ask my best friend if she knew this man. And yet, he’s here. In front of me.

  His dark brown hair is almost black, in a messy-cute spike, as if he styled it like that on purpose. His strong jawline is covered with a dusting of stubble, making his megawatt smile attractive.

  “Hello?” He waves his hand in front of my face, breaking me from my daze. “Are you going to buy that?”

  “Huh? Buy . . . what? Oh this?” is what comes out of my mouth, not realizing how long I have been staring at him like a pathetic adolescent teenager.

  My god he’s beautiful.

  “I don’t have all day. If you’re not going to buy it, then hand it over,” he pipes out.

  Unfortunately, the lack of his manners overpowers his handsome looks, and all hope is lost.

  What ever happened to all the nice men in New York? I believe Hannah got the last one.

  “Oh, here.” I hand it to him. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve always wanted one ever since I was a little girl. I was an ice-skater and—”

  “I hate to cut you off, but I’ve got somewhere I need to be. I’m sorry you didn’t get one. But I really need this. It appears this is the last one here and I’ve been looking everywhere for one.”

  “Is it for your daughter?” I probe, picturing his all-American life. A wife, 2.5 kids, a dog, and white picket fence around his house. Why else would
he need to buy this jewelry box?

  “Nope. Don’t have any kids.”

  “For your girlfriend or wife, perhaps?”

  “Nope. Not married,” he says, examining the jewelry box.

  “Are you a collector of jewelry boxes?”

  He chuckles. “What is this? Twenty questions.”

  “Jeez. Sorry, I was just asking,” I huff. “Rude much?”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose with his gloved hand as he takes in a breath, then looks into my eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve had a stressful day and I didn’t mean to be impolite.”

  “The holidays can do that,” I say.

  “You can say that again.”

  “It is last-minute Christmas shopping?”

  “You can say that,” he says as his eyes move from my white knitted beanie to the black frames of my glasses.

  My heart thumps in my chest, butterflies take flight when he flashes a smile, and I’m completely speechless.

  “My boss is having me go on a ridiculous scavenger hunt and this is on my to-do list, and I’ve been looking everywhere for something like this.”