Lucy Felthouse is here to tell us about When Christmas is Cancelled, her second chance, age gap, BDSM Christmas romance.
Read on for details....
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OUT NOW—When Christmas is
Cancelled by Lucy Felthouse
When
Christmas is Cancelled is
the latest release from romance author, Lucy Felthouse. It is available in
eBook and paperback from Amazon, and will be in Kindle Unlimited for 90 days
only. After then it will come out of Kindle Unlimited and go onto other
retailers, so if you wish to read it as part of your KU subscription, add it to
your shelf ASAP.
Blurb:
When Rosie does a good deed on Christmas Day, she's not
expecting to come face to face with her very own ghost of Christmas past.
Rosie Kilbride's festive plans are derailed when her mother
calls on Christmas Eve to postpone their family get together due to illness.
Left with a surplus of food and no one to eat it with, Rosie contacts Ingrid, a
local café owner, to find out if she still needs volunteers for the charity
Christmas meal she's organising. Ingrid jumps at the chance, and on Christmas
morning Rosie heads out, anticipating a busy but pleasant day doing something
nice for others, followed by a meal of leftovers with her fellow volunteers.
Unfortunately, on being introduced to the café's kitchen
staff, she discovers the head chef is none other than Luke Adams, the man who
broke her heart into a million tiny pieces ten years ago. And she's got to work
with him. Despite her inner turmoil, there's no way she'll let Ingrid and the
diners down, so she's determined to grin and bear it. It's just a few hours,
after all.
When the day is almost done, tiredness and hunger kick in, and emotions start to run high. Can Rosie get away unscathed, or will she be forced to deal with Luke and all the feelings his presence has dredged up?
When Christmas is Cancelled is a standalone M/F steamy contemporary
romance with second chance, age gap and BDSM themes.
As was usual for their part of middle England, there was no
white Christmas. Just a sky full of gloomy grey clouds, which were letting
loose a weak, persistent drizzle. Preferable to p***ing it down, I
suppose. She made her way into town, her mood lifting at the sight of
the festive lights strung on the homes and businesses, the cheery decorations
and Santa Stop Here signs stuck into people’s front lawns and
flowerbeds. Excitement would no doubt be reigning in those homes, as young
children pounced on their piles of presents and began an unwrapping frenzy,
while exhausted, bemused parents clutched mugs of strong coffee and watched on
from the sidelines.
Of course, not everyone was so fortunate, which was why
Ingrid’s scheme was such a good one. A desperately needed one, in some cases.
People ended up by themselves on Christmas Day for a multitude of reasons—she
was a testament to that fact. Some might even prefer it. But for those who
didn’t, those who would cherish—possibly even be desperate for—the
company as much as the food, today’s event might well be the highlight of their
festive season. The only bright spot in an otherwise dull, lonely few days.
She smiled. Her own Christmas plans might have gone t*ts up,
but being even a tiny cog in a machine that would make a collection of
deserving people happy was something to feel good about. She’d also been able
to answer her mother’s anxious question about where she was going truthfully:
“To Ingrid’s. She’s already got a big group in, so one more wasn’t a problem.
Should be a damn good spread.”
She’d scurried off then, hoping if her mother’s virus-addled
brain allowed her to actually remember what Ingrid had been doing on Christmas
Day for the last few years—and she definitely knew, as she’d donated money each
time—it’d be too late to pass comment.
Granted, she’d be helping to serve forty people their meals
before getting so much as a crumb of a roast potato herself, but that was a
small price to pay.
Conscious she was already a little behind schedule, thanks
to her mother’s wittering, she put her right foot down a smidgen harder. Soon,
she pulled up outside the front door of the café. The town, unsurprisingly, was
completely deserted, so she didn’t worry about anyone complaining about her
parking. It was only temporary, while she unloaded all her goodies. She gave a
couple of light bips on her car horn before killing the engine, taking off her
seatbelt and getting out of the vehicle. She closed the door, then zipped her
coat and pulled up the hood against the cold and wet. By the time she was
around at the boot, opening it to reveal tinfoil-covered trays and plastic
containers galore, Ingrid appeared beside her, looking every inch the festive
host, in her sparkling boots, glittery leggings, snowman-festooned knitted
jumper, reindeer earrings, and headband with a sprig of mistletoe hanging off
it.
“Morning,” Ingrid said with a warm smile, before wrapping
her in a hug. “Merry Christmas. I’m really sorry about your mum and dad not
being well, but I’m definitely not sorry you’re here. We were already
stretched, and now one of my waitresses has phoned, saying she’s poorly and
can’t come. So your extra pair of hands is very much needed—and appreciated.”
She returned her friend’s embrace, then let go and stepped
back. “Merry Christmas, Ingrid. I’m glad to be here. Sorry I’m a bit late. I’ve
just dropped some food parcels off at Mum and Dad’s, along with their presents,
so they’re all set for a couple of days. Poor things are still feeling rough as
anything. Food wise, whatever was left that I couldn’t safely freeze, or was
way too much for me to eat alone over the next few days, I brought. So there’s
a lovely joint of beef, potatoes, vegetables, a chocolate roulade, and a bunch
of mince pies and jam tarts. The last three are homemade—not shop bought.”
Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “You made chocolate roulade, mince
pies and jam tarts? You surely didn’t need all that just for
the three of you? I know folks like to stuff their faces at Christmas, but come
on…”
“All right, all right,” Rosie said with a laugh, holding her
hands up. “You got me. I’d already started on the roulade when I got the call
from my parents to say they were ill, and was going to make a batch of mince
pies, since they’re my dad’s favourite. But in the disappointment of having my
plans derailed, I drowned my sorrows in baking. Happy now?”
Ingrid responded by reaching into the car boot and scooping
up two big containers. She licked her lips exaggeratedly and wiggled her
eyebrows. “Bl**dy ecstatic. I love mince pies.” With that, she
turned neatly on her heel and hurried inside.
Chuckling to herself, Rosie followed suit. The warm, cosy
café was already a hive of activity with the tables being set, Christmas
crackers added to each place setting, and people whizzing here, there and
everywhere. The place had been decorated for the festive season to within an
inch of its life since early December, but Rosie spotted at least a handful
more decorations she didn’t recognise from when she’d popped in a couple of
weeks earlier to drop off hers and her customers’ donations for the very meal she
was now helping with—as well as treating herself to coffee and a slice of cake.
She was normally a more regular patron, even if it was just a takeaway, but the
run up to Christmas had been hectic in the shop, so she hadn’t had the chance
to pop in.
“Leave them there, hon,” Ingrid said, pointing to the
counter, where she’d already deposited the two boxes she’d carried in. “We’ll
get everything in pronto, so you can park your car, then I’ll introduce you to
everyone and get you all set up in your role for the day.”
“No worries,” she replied, setting her load down and
following Ingrid back out the door to her car.
It wasn’t long before she slammed her boot closed and gave
Ingrid a wave as she slid into the driver’s seat and drove to the car park at
the end of the road. Her vehicle safely parked and securely locked, she hurried
back to the café—picking up her pace and hunching deeper into her coat as the
drizzle turned heavier.
She burst through the front door to the sound of Christmas
music blaring out. Some of the other helpers were singing and dancing as they
worked. It looked as though the party had already started—and the guests
weren’t even expected to show up for another couple of hours.
“Ah, there you are,” Ingrid said, appearing from nowhere.
“Let’s get your coat and bag hung up out the back. I thought given you enjoy
baking, you’d be particularly useful in the kitchen, if that’s all right with
you? Unless you’d prefer to be at front of house?”
“No, if you need me in the kitchen, I’m totally fine with
that. Use me however you see fit.”
Her belongings stowed, and her own funky headband—a tiny,
jaunty elf hat with an even tinier jingle bell affixed to its pointy
end—settled in place, she straightened her oversized jumper, a knitted affair
with gingerbread men and candy canes all over it, as she followed Ingrid. After
being introduced to the wait staff she didn’t know—the others worked in the
café normally, so they were already acquainted—she and Ingrid made their way
towards the kitchen.
Ingrid pushed open the ‘in’ door to reveal a bunch of people
already working hard, despite the fact there weren’t yet any diners. The
clatter of trays, the rhythmic tapping of vegetables being chopped, and the
whir of food processors filled the air—as did intense heat and the delicious
scent of roasting meat.
“I’ve left the organisation in here entirely to my head chef
for the day, since he knows what he’s doing. He’s the best there is. He works
in some fancy place in the city, but somehow managed to wangle today off to
help us out. Let’s go and introduce you, and he can decide where he needs you
the most, okay?”
Rosie nodded, then tailed Ingrid as she made a bee-line for
a man in a white chef’s jacket, and black and white checkered trousers. Rather
than the tall, white hat one would usually expect a head chef to be wearing, he
had on a Santa hat. He was tall, dark-haired, and had his broad back to them as
he worked away at something on one of the stainless-steel surfaces.
“Hey, Chef,” Ingrid said as they drew close, “got your last
pair of hands here. She’s good in the kitchen and ready to work.”
The man stopped what he was doing, wiped his hands on a tea
towel and turned to them with a smile, which quickly faded as recognition
kicked in.
“Rosie,” Ingrid said, indicating her head chef, “this is—”
“Luke Adams,” she interrupted, staring in disbelief at the
man who’d broken her heart into a million pieces a decade ago. The very same
heart which was now skipping like a rabbit on speed and sending heat rushing
into her cheeks. F**k. Merry f**king Christmas to me.
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About Lucy:
Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, Curve Appeal, Not That Kind of Witch and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 175 publications to her name. Find out more about her and her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/linktree
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