All Suzanne St. Michelle wants is an over-the-top, eggnog-induced holiday with her best friend in Credence, Colorado. But when her hoity-toity parents insist she come home for Christmas in New York, she blurts out that her sexy landlord is actually her boyfriend and she canāt leave himāJoshy loves Christmas. The more twinkle lights the better.
Rancher Joshua Grady does not love Christmas. Or company, or chatty women. Unfortunately for him, the chattiest woman ever has rented the cottage on his ranch, invited her rich, art-scene parents, and now insists he play āfake rancher boyfriendā in a production of the Hokiest Christmas Ever. And somehowā¦she gets him to agree.
Apparently, heāll do anything to get his quiet life back. At least thereās mistletoe every two feetāand kissing Suzy is surprisingly easy. But in the midst of acres of tinsel, far too many tacky Christmas sweaters, and a tree that can be seen from space, heās starting to want what he lost when he was a kidāa family. Too bad itās with a woman heading back to New York before the ball dropsā¦
Title: | The Trouble with Christmas |
Author: | Amy Andrews |
Series: | Credence, Colorado (Book 2) |
Pages: | 418 |
Genre(s): | Contemporary |
Trope(s): | Christmas Romance Fake Relationship Opposites Attract Small Town Romance |
Point of View: | |
Location: | Credence, Colorado, US |
HEA: | āļø |
Release Date: | 24th September, 2019 |
Will get your tinsel in a tangle
No-one combines the feels and the funny quite like Amy Andrews; as such sheās fast becoming one of my favourite authors.
And then she wrote a Christmas book.
This is the second book in the Credence, Colorado series. While the couple from the first book (CC and Wade from Nothing But Trouble) are mentioned in this one, they donāt make an appearance themselves. Although many of the townsfolk are back again – along with all their crazy ways! You definitely donāt need to have read the first book to read this one although itās such a good book I would obviously suggest that you do!
From their first meeting, Suzanne and Grady light sparks off each other. At first itās annoyance and anger. Then lust-fueled anger. Then just lust. And then the whole damn place ignites! The pair have a chemistry thatās so exciting to read. Normally I find I favour one character over another in a pairing, and want my favourite to āwinā while falling in love. I wanted them both to āwinā as they were just so darn perfect for each other – and they needed each other to make the other whole!
There was something so relatable about Suzanne. She was successful, sophisticated and worldly – yet she was missing something in her life. It was heartbreaking in its own way. She was honest about her feelings and emotions and just an all round nice person. I loved her.
Joshua Grady is my jam. Ovaries exploding all over the place! Heās a strong, silent rancher with a little bit of boy sass about him in that heās so damn grumpy. Mmm hmm hmm. But with all that surliness comes a past that is so tragic that it explains him and his behaviours. While we learn about the long-past incident and see how it’s affected Grady – Ms Andrewsā never goes too deep so as to drag the book down. But still deep enough to make an impact.
And I have to mention the funny in this book. But canāt do that without first mentioning the writing itself. Itās so flawlessly effortless (which probably takes mountains of work and effort!) and the writing just flows. You almost forget youāre reading as youāre sucked into Credence and this snowy wonderland. Thatās why the humour works so well as it just appears in the book organically. Meaning youāre just as often surprised by a big laugh as you are at finding a whole scene amusing or just plain hilarious! The paintings, the penis cookies, the wrecking ball decorations. It was awesome!
Christmas threw up in this book for sure – and thatās exactly what Suzy wanted. She goes full-on ridiculous with her Christmas theme and that just added a special touch to the book – not least because I myself love a tacky Christmas!
Along with the sparks comes a full dose of sexy between Grady and Suzy. Yum! And during a blizzard? Slow clap for Christmas effect!
This was a really fun book with a dose of the feels and a huge dump of Christmas cheer. Itās exactly what Iāve come to expect from Ms Andrews and cannot wait for this wonderful series to continue. 5 stars and Christmas lover or not, I would highly recommend this book.
Amy is an Aussie author of hot contemporary romance who believes in multiple orgasms, mighty wangs and happily ever afters. Sheās been penning them for over twenty years and has 70+ books to her name.
As well as unforgettable characters and great sex youāll also be treated to some laughs and a dollop of quirk because Amy doesnāt seem to know how to write a book without a bit of both. You might also cry a little because thereās nothing she loves more than a laughy-criey book!
She also loves sunsets and rainbows, unicorns and mermaids, booze and travel. And her home that overlooks the ocean. She may also happen to believe she was a Roman goddess in her past life because it’s the only thing that explains her adoration for all things Italy.
Excerpt:
Grady barely felt the chill as he stripped off his freezing, sodden shirt in the equally freezing concrete shell of the mudroom. The silence was distracting. Too distracting, and he could think of little else. The last three mornings, heād gone about his chores serenaded by chanting monks. Which was strange butā¦whatever. It didnāt bother him or the animals, and it gave his ranch hands something to laugh about.
Except now there was no music. And that was bothering him, because he suddenly realized he was thinking about herāsomething heād been trying not to do. Had her power gone out? Was she sick? Had she fallen in the cottage and smacked her head on the stone floor? Had some kind of seizure? Was she unconscious? Had she decided to up and leave?
Yeah, rightā¦he should be so lucky.
Grady shook his head, growling to himself as he flicked off the running faucet and plunged his hands into the steaming-hot sink of water, washing off the caked-on muck from his hands and arms and chest courtesy of a calf that had gotten itself bogged in a freezing quagmire caused by recent rain and melting almost-frozen ground.
Heād managed to rope it out with the help of two of his hands, its plaintive mooing and the distress of its mother keeping everyone focused on the job but somehow, when they were almost there, heād managed to lose his balance and fall into the frigid mud.
His hands had laughed their asses off as theyād dragged his out of the muck.
The hot water felt good on his chilled skin as he picked up the cake of soap and lathered his arms and chest and neck. He needed a real shower, of course, but heād learned a long time ago to wash up before he went inside. The plumbing in the mudroom was way more forgiving than the more delicate pipes inside the cabin.
Thankfully his jeans werenāt as mucky. Ordinarily heād have stripped them off in the mudroom, too, and walked from the barn to the cabin in his underwearāisolated living did have its advantagesābut he wasnāt about to do that with Suzanne St. Michelle nearby.
And greatā¦just great. He was thinking about her again.
He obviously wasnāt getting laid enough. Just how long had it been since heād been with a woman? Well over a year ago. Probably closer to two. Because that had to be it, that had to be the reason he couldnāt stop thinking about the curvy New Yorker even though sheād stayed on her turf exactly as he had demanded.
Reaching with one hand for the fresh towel that hung over the hook above the sink, he pulled the plug with the other, then proceeded to towel dry. At least up until he heard a faint gasp and spun around to find the woman on his mind standing just inside the doorway, her curves hidden in a huge red coat, that green knitted cap pulled down low over her forehead and ears.
His hands paused mid drying the back of his neck. The room wasnāt big, maybe five feet by five feet, which meant she was way closer to him than he was comfortable with, given his state of undress.
āOhā¦Iāmā¦sorry.ā Her breath misted into the frigid air as her voice faltered. āI didnāt know you were in here.ā
Her eyes fell to his chest, zeroed in on the nickel-size scar just beneath his right collarbone courtesy of some shrapnel, before straying to his pecs and abs for what seemed like forever, the awkward silence stretching. Normally Grady wouldnāt bother filling it because silences were where he felt most comfortable and the other person generally rushed in to fill them up. But Suzanne wasnāt bothering, either.
At least not with her mouth anyway.
Her eyes were a different story. They were having an entire conversation as they roved all over his chest. She was looking at him like he was a slice of one of Annieās pies, and Christ if that wasnāt like a bullet straight to his dick. The kind of friendly fire he could do without.
Fucking hell. He didnāt want to be pie. Not this womanās. Not any womanās. He wanted to beā¦tofu. Nobody lusted after tofu.
āHad some trouble with a calf.ā Grady felt like an explanation might help the situation, but he still felt like an idiot making small talk.
āWas it being born?ā She pulled her gaze from his abs to his eyes. āDid you have to stick your hand up inside and drag it out? I saw that on a documentary once and couldnāt believe how messy it was. And how calm the mother was. I mean, Iām not sure Iād be okay to just stand there while someone stuck their entire arm up my hoo-ha, right?ā
She hesitated for a moment like sheād done the first day theyād met, like she wasnāt sure this was a topic for polite conversation. But her mouth had already committed, so she jutted her chin and went for it.
āI know it has to be done and, letās face it, a calf is much bigger than a manās armāā
Her gaze dropped to his arms via the scar, his chest, and his belly button. She was looking at him like pie again. Annieās pecan pie with melted butter. Sweet and savory all at once. An orgasm for the tongue.
Not tofu. Plain, tasteless, orgasmless Tofu.
āEven yours,ā she continued, forcing her gaze back to his face, and it took Grady a moment to pick up the thread of her ramblings. She shuddered. āBut no thank you. I mean, seriously, females of all species really do get a raw deal. I bet you if the males had to push out disproportionately bigger babies through the passage provided for the process, theyād have invented some kind of handy zipper system a long time ago. Some dude would have patented the bejesus out of it.ā
She stopped abruptly, snapping her lips closed as if her mouth had finally received the frantic shut the fuck up messages from her brain. Her cheeks looked pink, but then so did her nose, so it was probably just the nippy December weather.
Grady stared at her, not only at the amount of words sheād spoken but at the content of her monologue. āWeā¦ā He spoke because it felt like his turn, but he didnāt even know what to do about cows with zippers. āWe donāt calve in winter.ā
āOh, right.ā She nodded briskly, her cheeks definitely growing pinker now. āThat makes sense. Who wants to be cold and in pain, right?ā
She gave a funny little half smile that ended quickly and awkwardly. Then they just stood and stared at each other for several beats longer than was normal or even comfortable, their warm breaths misting into the air.
Tucking her hands into the pockets of her red coat, she said, āI hope itās okay to have a look around?ā
Grady gave a brief, terse nod. āJust donāt go too far or go near the animals.ā Last thing he needed was to rescue some damn fool city slicker whoād wandered off and gotten herself lost.
She nodded absently as her gaze drifted again, licking over his chest, lingering on the scar. He should be freezing, half-naked in a room that was little more than an icebox, but with her looking at him like she was trying to commit every line and chest hair to memory, he only felt hot.
Really fucking hot. Melted butter on pecan pie hot.
āI hopeāā Her voice sounded a little uneven, and she cleared her throat. āI hope my music hasnāt been disturbing you the last few days.ā
He wasnāt sure why she was making small talkāalthough it was preferable to incessant observations about cow hoo-has and zippers. Nor was he sure why he was standing ramrod straight in front of her, thinking about pie when he should be grabbing the spare shirt he kept in the cupboard above the washbasin and getting decent.
But up had been down since the moment sheād arrived.
āItās fine,ā he dismissed. It hadnāt been the music that had been disturbing him, that was for sure.
She nodded again, glancing around the room briefly before settling her eyes back on his chest. āWellā¦I guess Iāllā¦ā She didnāt finish the sentence as her gaze once again zeroed in on the scar, and her lips rolled together in contemplation. āDo you mindā?ā She stepped forward and raised her hand tentatively.
When he didnāt move because he was paralyzed by the realization she was actually going to touch him, she became bolder, stepping in closer again as her fingers made contact. She was so close now, he could smell her. Coffee and snickerdoodles? And something sharp, maybe chemical. Paint, he supposed.
āIs it a bullet wound?ā
Grady flinched as she touched the scar, her fingers like icicles as they sunk into the small indentation. He closed his eyes as heat bloomed from the center, spreading like a ripple, burning like a furnace down the length of his body.
Blood pulsed hard and thick, everywhere. Damn it, she might as well be wrapping that cold hand around the throbbing hardness pressing into the zipper of his fly. It was probably forty degrees in this concrete box, but it felt like a sauna, and it was an easy 120 inside his boxers.
He swallowed. āItās fromā¦shrapnel.ā
He had no idea why he wasnāt stepping back. He should step back. He should have said, Yes, I do mind, told her it was none of her business. He should be finding a shirt.
Find a fucking shirt, idiot.
āDid it hurt?ā
Surprised by the question, he glanced down to find the bulky knit of her hat a whisker away from brushing the underside of his chin. āLike a bastard.ā
She looked up and they were closeāher mouth was closeāher fingers a balm to the old wound that still made his shoulder ache on cold winter mornings. His heart thumped like a jungle drum and god almighty, it was hot enough in here to grow bananas.
āWas it bad? Did you bleed a lot?ā
His throat was dry as the concrete beneath his feet. āIt bled some.ā Then, finally getting his shit together, he took a step back, and her hand slid away.
If his distancing bothered her, she didnāt show it, just simply said, āThank you for your service.ā
Grady didnāt know what to say. He never knew what to say to this standard platitude. He appreciated the sentiment, but heād just been doing his job. So he nodded, his pulse reverberating like a dinner gong in his ears, as she slowly backed out of the room and disappeared from sight.
Reaching for the sink, Grady gripped the curved edge in both his hands and hunched over, dropping his head down between his shoulder blades and taking some deep steadying breaths.
January could not come soon enough.
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