Title- Sleigh Ride
Author- Trixie Pierce
Holiday Ride Trilogy book #2
CAN BE READ AS AS STANDALONE
~Synopsis ~
*Warning: Contains cute winter scenes, adorable critters, violence, blood, guns, plenty of cussing, sensual characters with a hard ass mentality,
explicit sex, and a warped sense of humor. Enjoy!*
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Winter Beauman left behind glitz, glamour, and the Manhattan skyline for a calmer existence in Wyoming. Taking up welding, she built a life around the new talent in the tiny town, with no need to be anyone but herself.
Mason St. Croix spent five years alone reconciling the death of his wife, when he decided it was time to finally rejoin the living. Commissioning a custom sleigh to take presents to many of the children in town puts him face to face with the beautiful, and talented, Winter … making his long dormant libido roar to life.
But someone in town doesn’t want Mason and Winter to be more than acquaintances, and are willing to kill to keep it that way.
Searching for answers reveals secrets best kept in the dark, ones that could tear them apart. Mason and Winter find they must accept the pain from the past, or lose the light of a happily ever after.
Buy links
Sleigh Ride
Sleigh Ride
Hard Ride (Novella)
Harvest Ride
(Book #1 in the Holiday Ride Trilogy)
(Book #1 in the Holiday Ride Trilogy)
Excerpt
Ignoring it, his clothes had dried, and he dressed quickly.
Making the bed, he walked into the living room to find Winter bundling into
several layers, a snow shovel leaning against the door. “I’m just in time,” he
smiled.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” she returned the smile
from under a knit cap and the dark blue parka’s hood. It made her light blue
eyes burn a deeper color, and accentuated the red lips against the paleness of
her skin.
Taking a deep breath, and glad his coat didn’t let her see
the way his dick liked her, he followed outside.
Snow flurries swirled around them like a river, but it was light and
the wind was easy. Unused to shoveling snow after buying a snowblower, he was
breathing hard a foot from the porch. Winter continued, whistling. She bent over, and he noticed she wore jeans, low riders
that gave him a glimpse of the dark blue g-string.
His breathing escalated for another reason altogether.
Images of removing the slip of underwear with his teeth, nibbling and licking
the skin, making her moan, caused his heart to beat hard enough to force him
backwards. The wall of snow kept him upright. He worked hard to get the image
out of his head, closing both eyes and counting to one hundred.
“Are you okay? Do you need a break, Mason? Mason? Are you
okay?” her voice grew stronger, more urgent.
He opened to find her only a foot away, a hand on his chest.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he croaked, “Yes, I, I …”
“Do you need to go inside?” She jerked off a glove and put a
warm hand against his cheek. “You’re really hot, maybe we should go inside.”
The feel of her palm against his skin unlocked a dam. He
shoved a hand into her hood, under the cap, grabbed a handful of the silky
blonde hair, and pulled her head back. He stared into her eyes, gauging. “I’m
going to kiss you, and kiss you hard, Winter. All you have to do is say yes.”
His voice dropped several octaves, came out deep and harsh, much like his
breathing.
“Yes,” she whispered, a puff of coffee laced breath gently
pushing against his face.
It was all he needed. He took her mouth, pushing hard,
forcing her to open to him. Taking advantage, he tasted her, the mocha laced
coffee, and the underlying sweetness that was all Winter. Throwing the shovel
to the side, he wrapped the other arm around her waist, jerking the soft body
against his. Her moan vibrated against his mouth, and the imprisoned beast
growled. Mine.
Using his tongue, he showed her exactly what he wanted, in
and out of her mouth, tasting every inch between thrusts, giving her little
room to breathe or decide to end it. He wanted her to know exactly what he
wanted, how he wanted it, and that she was going to enjoy every minute. Her
hips moved against him, and the beast he thought died with Beth roared to life.
Excerpt
Mason signed the
necessary paperwork, put in a report, and left. Outside the station, he hailed
a cab, and watched the familiar buildings pass slowly in the early morning
traffic. He’d seen the anger in Winter’s eyes, and knew what it looked like.
Damn his stupid instincts. She could obviously protect herself if needed. She
didn’t require a man to do it for her. She didn’t manipulate to get what she
wanted, nor had she ever demanded he watch over her every move.
Closing his eyes, the night
flashed on the inner screen. He had to get it together. He’d taken time off
work, saying it was a family emergency, and it was already getting close to
Thanksgiving. Not that he’d had big plans. His parents were dead, no siblings,
and he wasn’t going to spend the holidays with Beth’s family.
The cab came to an abrupt stop,
and he handed the cabby the fare plus a good tip. Getting out, he stepped onto
the sidewalk and stretched. Muscles protested, but nothing had been broken in
the fight. A lot of bruises formed, and he couldn’t see out of the one eye, but
otherwise, he was okay.
Stepping inside the hotel, he took
the elevator to his room, and once inside, stripped. A hot shower was in order,
and some serious soul searching. Part of him screamed to find and watch over
Winter. She was still in danger, and alone. Word was her parents were going
back to the Hamptons. The danger in Wyoming wasn’t likely to stay there.
A towel wrapped around his waist,
he hit the power button, and sat on the bed. The news was the same thing,
nothing good. There was a blip about a possible fight involving Winter Beauman,
but it hadn’t been verified. He flipped the channels until he found an old
sitcom. Leaving it, he noticed the red light blinking on his cellphone. Tapping
the screen, he listened to the voicemails, saving a couple, deleting the rest.
The final voicemail was from Emily, asking him to call.
He tapped her number in and
stopped. Staring at the screen, he wondered why he was calling. He’d been clear
about the boundaries. It was time to cut the cord. Deleting the numbers, he
tossed the phone on the bed, and grabbed a pair of sweats. Turning on the TV,
he settled into the recliner.
A noise woke him, and he opened
the one good eye. He could hear rustling at the door, and frowned. Walking on
the balls of his feet, keeping his footfalls quiet, he moved to stand on the
side of the door opposite the handle.
He ducked at the sound of the
shotgun cocking on the other side of the door, as the roar of a shot blew the
door in. He caught the door, slamming it against the person trying to get in.
He heard the groan of pain as it connected with the intruder’s face, and he
rolled into the small entrance. One foot kicked out, the heel connecting
solidly with the groin of the male.
“Call 911!” Mason yelled, the
intruder falling onto his legs. He punched hard, hitting the man’s temple. The
feel of the delicate bone crunching under his knuckles almost made him sick.
The body went limp.
Author Bio
Although she hates writing bio's in third person, Trixie does love fast cars, fast men, and an enduring fascination with internal combustion engines. Living in the Rockies, she's traveled enough to know the mountains are home. When not working, she can be found with her head under the hood, or buried in the pages of her next novel.
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