What would you do with a Scrooge?
Scrooging Christmas, a charming and romantic opposites attract holiday romance from author Sarah Ready is coming October 18th, and we have your first look!
Professional holiday decorator Natalie Fiorre loves tinsel, gingerbread, and the magic of Christmas. She believes there isn’t anything in the world that a dash of Christmas Spirit can’t fix—until she meets Gabe.
Perpetual Scrooge Gabe Cavanaugh loathes candy canes, jingle bells, and all things merry and bright. He believes Christmas is the worst time of year.
So when Miss Christmas and Mr. Scrooge meet, sparks fly.
When Gabe threatens to evict Natalie and her neighbors on Christmas she does what any right-minded Christmas-lover would do...
Natalie has two days to stop the evictions and help Gabe discover the magic of Christmas, but a lot can go wrong in two days, and in Romeo, the soul mate capital, there’s another kind of magic in the air.
A delightfully cheeky rom-com romp through the holidays, Scrooging Christmas is Book Seven in the Soul Mates in Romeo Romance Series by Sarah Ready.
Reserve your copy today for 99 pennies!
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Keep reading for your first look at Scrooging Christmas!
December 21, 11:12 p.m.
The Christmas carols are horridly, ear-numbingly loud. The sleigh bells, the trilling trumpet, and the joyful voices boomerang inside my skull and jolt me out of unconsciousness.
I lie still, my cheek scratching against cheap, prickly carpet, the scent of pine and gasoline sharp in my nose as I struggle to brush aside the veil of confusion.
Darkness coats my vision, thick, and absolute. There’s the taste of fresh falling snow in the air, mixed with the copper tang of blood on my dry lips.
So, there’s snowfall.
The icy darkness of the cramped trunk.
My knees are tucked against my chest. Hot needles prick at my calves just above my tied ankles. My wrists are bound behind my back.
I wriggle my numb fingers, rotate my hands. It’s not rope, handcuffs, or zip ties that hold me, it’s…Christmas lights?
I’m tied up with the green cordage of a hundred Christmas bulbs?
The plastic cord digs into my wrists and ankles, cutting off circulation as I struggle. The trunk is coffin-like, too tight to maneuver.
You’d think, if you were bent on stuffing a six-foot-two man inside a trunk, you’d find a car bigger than a roller skate. But I’m trussed up like a Christmas goose, stuck in an oven. Except this oven is a trunk and achingly cold. The sharp icicle teeth of December bite at my nose and cheeks.
The crunch of ice-filled potholes and snow grinding under the car tires is muted beneath the chirpy high-pitched chorus of Christmas cheer. The carols assault my ears, but I listen for the sounds beyond the singing.
The night is curiously quiet, there’s only the music, the grumble of the engine, the tires crunching over ice-coated snow, and the claustrophobic noise of my own breathing.
I’m not in Manhattan then. Not anywhere near my apartment.
The car jostles around a curve and I roll and slide into the trunk wall, crushing my face against the unyielding metal surface.
A package bumps into my back, brushing against my hands. Wrapping paper, a frilly bow, I run my fingers over the slick paper surface.
I’m in the trunk with a present.
My stomach rolls as we round another curve, bumping over a small hill. I’m on a country road, far, far from home, that much is clear.
I jerk about and try to dislodge my cell from my suit pocket. Thirty seconds in I realize my phone isn’t in my pocket. I can’t feel the thick bulge of my wallet either.
I draw in a deep breath of stagnant air and tell myself to think…think…think.
They have to be after money. A million? Two? More?
I grit my teeth, the bitter smell of Christmas pine and snow lingering in my nose.
I don’t remember anything after hailing the taxi. Is that it then? Did the taxi driver render me unconscious and shove me into their trunk?
I try to recall their appearance, to picture who is currently at the wheel, driving us farther and farther away from New York. But I can’t. When I rifle through my memories, looking for their face, I only see a blank empty space.
I kick at the area where the tail light is. Maybe if I knock it out I can signal another car. But the only thing that comes of my efforts is an aching ankle.
I hate Christmas.
I really, really hate Christmas.
And wouldn’t it be just the figgy pudding to top it all if I died out in the snowy, pine tree wilds, in the car of some Christmas carol loving maniac?
A curious calm settles over me, the pine needle smell tickling my nose, my heartbeat slowing to the lull of “Silent Night.”
The car slows, crawling along at five miles an hour, winding down, I assume, a long country drive, deep in some craggy, forgotten woods.
This is it then.
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About Sarah Ready
Author Sarah Ready writes contemporary romance and romantic comedy. Her books have been described as “euphoric”, “heartwarming” and “laugh out loud”. Her debut novel The Fall in Love Checklist was hailed as “the unicorn read of 2020”. She loves to write fast-paced, emotionally compelling romances about quirky, smart women and the men who love them.
Before writing romance full-time Sarah had lots of fun teaching at an Ivy League. Then she realized she could have even more fun writing romance. Her favorite things after writing are adventuring and travel. You’ll frequently find her using her degree at a dino dig site, crawling into a cave, snorkeling, or on horseback riding through the jungle – all fodder for her next book. She’s lived in Scotland, Norway, Portugal, Switzerland and NYC. She currently lives in the Caribbean with her water-obsessed pup and her awesome family.
You can visit her online at www.sarahready.com
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