Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
I've been in love with my best friend, Nathan, forever. He's gorgeous, successful, and owns the hottest nightclub in town. Me? I'm just his shy, curvy friend who's never had the courage to tell him how I feel. When I hear about the bachelorette auction at his club, I decide to take a chance. Maybe, just maybe, he'll finally see me as more than a friend. What I don't expect is his reaction when he spots me on that stage...
I thought I had it all – good looks, a successful nightclub and more money than I'll ever be able to spend. But the truth is, I don't have the one thing that matters Veronica. My curvy, beautiful best friend who's been right in front of me all along. I've been too afraid to risk our friendship, but when I see her on stage at my club's bachelorette auction, something inside me snaps. The thought of another man touching her drives me over the edge. Before I know it, I'm storming the stage, throwing her over my shoulder, and claiming what has been mine all along.
When you’re on The Naughtier List, you don’t wait around for gifts — you take what you want.
These men are dark, dangerous, and done playing nice. This Christmas, they’re unwrapping exactly what they’ve been wishing the women of their dreams. Get ready for the steamiest holiday season yet as your favorite instalove authors deliver alpha heroes, forbidden desires, and happily-ever-afters hot enough to melt the snow
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
RONI
I grab my purse from the bottom drawer and do a quick pat-down: phone, wallet, emergency chocolate. Check, check, triple-check. I’m halfway out the door when my boss pops her head around the corner and gives me a look that screams “Don’t even think about it, Lewis.”
“Did you file the insurance paperwork for Mr. Hollister?” Dr. Chin asks, voice like nails on a pastel pink chalkboard.
My soul shrivels. I literally just want to escape this place before someone finds some other task for me to do before vacation. After today, I’ve got two whole weeks off, and I can’t wait to laze around doing nothing.
“Yep. On your desk!” I flash my most confident smile—the one I practiced in the bathroom mirror after that time I accidentally sent a meme of a screaming goat to our dental supplier.
She gives me a quick smile. “Very good. See you in two weeks.”
Before anything else can come up, I shoot out of there so fast I practically leave a cartoon dust cloud in the hallway.
Freedom. Sweet, precious freedom! My phone buzzes the second I hit the sidewalk, and, like the total disaster I am, I nearly drop everything trying to answer it. My priorities flash through my mind as I juggle my phone and purse. First, maintain vertical human posture in front of the orthodontics office. Second, read Nathan's text before he thinks I'm ignoring him. Third, rescue my emergency chocolate bar from the afternoon sun before it transforms into a sticky disaster.
Nate the Great
Just got out of a meeting. Still on for caffeine therapy?
Our schedules barely overlap. I clock in every Monday through Friday, the standard nine-to-five grind, while Nathan keeps the odd hours of a nightclub owner. Total opposites, right? To carve out a little time together, we meet up for coffee dates two or three times a week.
I’m not even going to pretend I don’t pay for it later—the late-night caffeine keeps me up and leaves me tossing around, staring at the ceiling. But honestly? Losing a couple of hours of sleep is nothing compared to the time I get with Nathan.
Me
You KNOW it. I’m already dreaming about the cinnamon rolls.
Nate the Great
See you in 10.
Cue the butterflies. Not the cute cartoon kind—the rabid, caffeine-addicted ones that chew up my insides every time I even think about Nathan Brennan in a suit. Or out of one. Jesus, brain, take it down a notch.
I hustle two blocks to the café and duck inside, instantly slammed in the face by the world’s best smell—a combination of coffee, cinnamon, and pure, unfiltered sugar. I’m barely inside before I see Nathan, and Sweet Baby Jesus, he’s impossible to miss.
He’s already at our usual table in the back, dark suit jacket stretched tight over those ridiculously broad shoulders, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other scrolling through emails like he’s trying to intimidate his phone into submission. His hair’s perfect. His jaw is perfect. Even his scowl is perfect. And I want to freaking jump his bones.
My ovaries are basically playing the world’s tiniest violin as I order my inner hussy to calm the heck down.
My heart hammers away as I walk toward him, hoping that maybe today’s the day he’ll finally glance up and see me as more than his reliable best friend. One day, I’ll stop being a total coward and say something, anything, about the way he makes my thighs clench just by existing, but today isn’t that day.
Nathan glances up the moment I slide into the seat across from him, and for one deranged second, I think maybe he caught me staring at his jawline. Or his shoulders. Or the way that tailored shirt is doing unspeakably sinful things to his stupidly perfect chest.
“You made good time.” His mouth twitches, just at the edge. No real smile and yet, somehow, it’s hotter than most guys’ full-on desperate grins. “You run the last block?” His brown eyes rake over me, the whole length of me, and I feel like I’m the only thing in the room. My blood pressure skyrockets.
I’ve spent the last six years telling myself not to let him see what he does to me. Don’t let him see you melt into a puddle from one look.
“It was a brisk power-walk,” I fire back, trying to sound sassy instead of breathless. “I skipped lunch, and I’m dying for a cinnamon roll.”
He shakes his head, dark brows drawing together in that way that makes him look both concerned and slightly dangerous. "You shouldn't be skipping lunch." He stands up in one fluid motion, all six-foot-something of him unfolding from the chair, and leans over so close I can smell his cologne—sandalwood and something expensive that probably costs more than my rent. His breath warms my ear as he whispers, "I'll get our coffee and cinnamon rolls." His fingertips brush my shoulder as he straightens, and I'm melted butter on hot toast, just from one look.