Holly’s First Noel, by Faye Robertson

To celebrate the release of Holly’s First Noel, Faye is giving away copies of White Hot Christmas, another of her holiday titles.

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Enjoy a snippet of Holly’s First Noel to whet your appetite!

Holly stared at him. Surely she’d heard wrong. “What?” she asked stupidly. Why did he always make her feel as if he was head of Mensa and she was the forerunner for the role of village idiot?

Noel finished off his coffee and pushed his cup away. “It’s a big house. There are four bedrooms and two living rooms. It’s in the middle of beautiful countryside and it’s guaranteed to snow.”

She blinked at him. It didn’t make sense. He wanted to get away for Christmas—why would he ask her to go with him? Unless… Jeez. She had just talked about stockings and liking lots of sex. What guy wouldn’t get ideas after that sort of conversation?

“It’s not a come on,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “You don’t have to speak to me at all if you don’t want. You can spend the whole weekend in your room, or come and watch DVDs with me and get drunk. I don’t mind. You look like you need a break, that’s all.” He frowned at her smile. “It’s not a proposal or anything.”

She smiled. “You’re very sweet.”

“I’m really not. I’ll be inebriated most of the time. I’ll probably be obnoxious and insult you and fall into a coma on the sofa.” He picked up his glasses and put them on as she laughed. “Anyway, the offer’s there. We’d better get back now. Are you all right to take period six?”

She stood, surprised as he retrieved her coat, and held it up for her to slip her arms into. “Yes, I’ll be fine thanks. Wow, you really are an old-fashioned gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the way I was brought up.” He held out his arm.

“Allow me to escort you back to school, Miss Jones.”

Laughing, she said, “If we’re going to spend Christmas together, you’re going to have to stop calling me that.”

He looked surprised as he opened the door and popped his umbrella, gesturing for her to go out first. “You’re coming to Scotland with me?”

She placed her hand in the crook of his arm as she ducked out of the insistent rain. “Might as well. We can have a ‘Who’s going to be most miserable on Christmas Day’ competition.”

“I’ll win,” he said. “I win every year.”

“I’m sure I can give you a run for your money.”

“Well, I can drink more than you can.”

“Hah! Don’t bet on it. I’ve been known to drink copious amounts of Chardonnay at certain times of the month.”

He snorted. “Malt whisky’s what you need, girl. That’ll put hairs on your chest.”

“My breasts are perfectly nice hairless, thank you very much.”

His lips curved. “Well thank you for filling my head with that image just as I go into a lesson on voltage and electrical currents.”

“It’s the last day of term,” she said. “Put a DVD on for God’s sake like everyone else.”

He glanced down at her. His glasses had misted up as they came out into the cold air, so he looked over the top of them at her. Why did that give her the shivers? “Holly, I’ll say it one last time and then I won’t say it again. I didn’t ask you to Scotland for any other reason than that I thought you could do with somewhere quiet to go.”

“Shucks,” she said. “And there’s me hoping it was for the sex.”

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Faye Robertson lives in the sub-tropical Northland of New Zealand with her wonderful husband and gorgeous teenage son. She writes fun, flirty, and sexy contemporary romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines, and hunky but approachable heroes. She’s won several romance writing competitions and is a member of the Romance Writers of New Zealand. She would much rather immerse herself in reading or writing romance than do the dusting and ironing, which is why it’s not a great idea to pop round if you have any allergies. She also writes romance under the name Serenity Woods.