LOGINNOEL DIDN’T JUST KISS ME, HE TRAPPED ME. AND AS I STARE AT THE FILE, I REALIZE THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS JUST BECAME A COUNTDOWN TO MY OWN PERSONAL DISASTER. When Anahera Kallio agreed to take on a high-profile client during the holidays, she never expected it to be Noel Rautio—the scorching-hot hockey star who is her brother’s sworn enemy on the ice. One stolen kiss under the mistletoe was bad enough, but now he’s got her cornered with a secret recording and a devilish ultimatum: stick with his therapy sessions or watch her career go up in flames. As the 12 Days of Christmas tick by, every heated session pulls them deeper into forbidden territory. Noel’s walls are cracking, Anahera’s resolve is melting, and the line between professional and passionate blurs into chaos. But with loyalties to her brother, hidden scandals and a ticking clock threatening to expose everything, this holiday fling could shatter more than just the ice. Unless they rewrite the rules and turn disaster into desire. Will Anahera escape Noel’s trap…or surrender to the ultimate holiday score?
View MoreANAHERA My head is hosting a heavy-metal concert where the lead singer is screaming directly into my frontal lobe. I groan. My throat feels like I swallowed a handful of dry, sharp sand. Eyelids heavy like they’ve been glued shut with industrial adhesive…and what the fuck is wrong with my body?Slowly…very slowly, I crack my eyes open. Sunlight attempts to scrape them clean off my skull. And, wait…This isn’t my room. My room has worn out furniture and a pile of laundry in the corner that I’ve been ignoring for three days. This room? This room has high ceilings and minimalist grey walls and a window that probably offers a view of the entire city. And it’s not mine. So where the hell am I?I’m in a bed that feels like a cloud and my body feels like it had been ripped open, pieced apart and stitched together again. Where am I? I mean…w-what happened?Little by little, the memories start to assemble in my cloud-fogged brain. O’Malley’s. Tequila. A stranger who smelled like old gin.
NOELI should be at home sitting in my chamber and icing my wounded thigh, pretending that my career isn’t hanging by a thread the width of a piece of dental floss. Instead, I am sitting in the darkest corner of a wound down bar. In my hands is a glass of whiskey that cost less than my socks. Somewhere to my right, is the sister of my arch nemesis who is busy assassinating my character to a guy that looks like he hasn’t showered in decades. “There is no loophole for being a bitch!” Anahera yells, her voice cutting through the hum of the bar. I take a slow sip of the burning liquid. Bitch. Nice. Now add that to the list of pompous, ugly, arrogant. She’s really quite the resume for me. I watch her over the rim of my glass as she vibrates. Her hands are flying around, punctuating her sentences with enough force to send her partner flying.She looks frantic and beautiful and completely unhinged. Would I be mad if I say how much I like it?I shouldn’t be here. I came to take the edge
ANAHERA“Is that right, baby?” Noel asks quietly. “The ugly boy.”“Yes.”He laughs. It’s harsh this time. “That’s rich coming from you. You talk about ugliness? Maybe you should ask your brother about ugliness, Anahera. Ask Saint Dominik how he treated people who didn’t have a big brother to protect them. Ask him what he did to the kids who had holes in their sneakers.”I freeze. “What the hell are you even talking about?”“Ask him. Oh wait. You won’t. Because in your eyes, big bad Dominik is the hero, and I’m just the villain who dared to be better than him.“Defensive rage blinds me as I yell back, “Dominik is a good man! He has never been cruel. He works hard. He didn’t get handed everything on his silver platter like you. He worked for it. He protects people.”“He protects you,“ he corrects. This time his tone drips with venom. “There is a difference.”“I am not doing this. I refuse to work with you.”I turn around and march towards the door. My hands are shaking so badly. I can b
ANAHERA I stare at the dashboard. My reflection in the rearview mirror looks terrified. My hair has been pulled back into a severe, no-nonsense bun that says, ‘I am a professional, do not mess with me,’ but my eyes are too wide and frantic.Oh my God, I’m going to throw up at whats-his-name’s feet.My watch says 8:58am. That’s enough delaying the inevitable. If I arrive late, that would give him ammunition against me. Being late means being flustered and I refuse to be flustered. Grabbing my bag, I exit the car and march toward the entrance of the Obsidian Tower. It is one of those places where the doorman looks better dressed than I am. I give my name at the desk.“Penthouse B. The elevator needs a key card which I have activated for you.”Of course it has to be the penthouse. Because why would Noel Rautio live on a normal floor like a normal human being?The elevator ride is swift and silent, unlike my heart which is currently performing a drum solo against my ribs. When the doors






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