WANT MORE STEAMY MONSTERromance? Keep reading for a sneak peek of The Orc’s Christmas Romance.
The Orc’s Christmas Romance
WELCOME BACK TO PINERidge, New York, a place where man and monster live in harmony... and even fall in love.
But not in Georgie’s case. The hulking green Orc chef of The Pine Loft coffee shop knows that a human woman could put up with an Orcora workaholic chef, but not both! That is, until he meets Claire, a determined culinary student who falls in love with his food and has no idea of his true identity.
Stubborn Claire refuses to stop pursuing the man who captures her heart with his food and his deep, sonorous voice, even if he refuses to show his face. Will her heart still belong to Georgie once she knows the truth?
Indulge in a steamy tale of monster romance that will delight fans ofThe Minotaur’s Valentine and Velvet Wings.
Each Pine Ridge story...
Is a standalone (although you’ll see some familiar faces across the books)
Has explicit consensual spice
Has a loving happily ever after
This story is 5/5 spicy peppers, has a plus-sized female heroine, a big, husky Orc grump who adores her, some crappy people who get put in their place, and a lot of mush.
Chapter One: How It Started
“Okay, theydomake you buy their knife roll and chef’s whites instead of a generic brand or bringing your own knives from home, but that’s not a problem. We can definitely afford it.” Claire Langdon spoke from behind her laptop, perched on the wide leather loveseat in her father’s office.
Luke Langdon of Double L Investing looked up from his quarterly projections with a deep frown on his thin face. “But you graduated with your business degree already.”
Claire laughed, an exhausted, mirthless sound. “Well, I had to, didn’t I? That was the deal. If I wanted to go to culinary school, you needed to see that I wouldn’t be just another ‘hopeless restaurant flop.’ I had to have the business brain to make it a success.” Claire shut her laptop and swiveled her wide hips and pumpkin-shaped rear out of the loveseat that threatened to swallow her.
“Half the people I fired last year had a degree. A master’s.” Her father bent his head over the manila folder in his hand again, scribbling something in red.
Claire silently counted to ten. Maybe you shouldn't have fired them, then, she wanted to snap. It didn’t pay to snap at her father, a wealthy investment portfolio consultant who handled millions every day and thought he was God’s banker. “That was the deal. I got a business degree.”
Don’t get mad. Don’t get emotional.Her father mocked emotions—which was one reason she would rather indulge in her preferred form of therapy—baking.
“Now prove that you actually learned something. Come and work for me for two years, and then we’ll see if you want to go play in the kitchen. Trust me, when you make a yearly salary that most restaurateurs will never see in theirlifetime, especially with Manhattan rents—you’ll be happy you listened to Daddy.” Langdon closed his folder and slid it into a dark, monogrammed leather briefcase. “I’ve got to run.”
Claire sprang up, refusing to move out of the doorway her father was approaching. “I don’t need to make it in Manhattan. And I don’t want to open a restaurant, I want to open a bakery. Maybe it’ll have tables for customers, but that won’t be the main income. I can do catering, high-end pastry, and dessert trays. I want to start small—and affordable.”
Her father’s eyes raked down her form, several inches shorter than his and quite a bit wider. “You mean trashy and cheap. You haven’t learned a thing from me. You’re in my office—dressed likethat. We call that dressing for failure.”
Claire looked down at her outfit. Her jeans hugged her double-XL curves, and her umber tunic-length sweater hung low enough to cover the thick pouch belly she was self-conscious about. Her brown chunky suede ankle boots were comfortable and ungodly expensive, the only concession she made to power dressing—and even they weren’t up to her father’s standard. “What do you want me to wear? A power suit just to pay a visit to your ‘temple’?” She waved a mocking hand around the charcoal and white office that was devoid of decorations or personal pictures.
It was a mistake to mess with her father, something she’d learned early on. But that hadn’t stopped her from continuing to plot and plan for the day when she’d be out from under his thumb and financially independent.
Today was supposed to be the start of that. Today was the day he was supposed to write the check to the Culinary Instituteof Manhattan, Main Campus. She’d already been accepted. She’d already played by her father’s rules.
Perhaps if she’d been subservient, or even a little more artful, her father would have negotiated. But with her show of defiance and her mockery of his glacial monument to money, his anger was calling the shots.
“This ‘temple’ has provided very nicely for you kids and your mother. It paid for your education and your brother’s education. You don’t hear Jay complaining.”
“Jay wouldn’t dare, even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to! You’ve taught him that as long as he has a lot of money and can afford to take his wife and kids on big, splashy vacations three times a year, he’s got it made.”
Her father didn’t smile. “He was the smart one. He learned.”
Claire swallowed. Jay was smart, but not smarter than her. He was more obedient, less independent—and happier. But, didn’t they say ignorance was bliss? “Daddy, face it. Investing money and banking don’t make me happy. Baking and cooking make me happy.”
Langdon snorted. “That idea that a job should make you happy is a fallacy. A job should make you wealthy and secure. Or at least comfortable. A job should give you standing in the community. Can you imagine what my clients would think if they found out you owned a cake stand?”
