Fairy on the Christmas Tree

By Lark Westerly

Frances never uses her left hand for anything but brushing her hair. That changes when she breaks up with her lover on Christmas Eve and drops the phone in boiling custard. An equal opportunity elf restores her faith in life when he sells her a fairy doll for her Christmas tree.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Dec 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781487409531

Book preview

A phone in the custard and a fairy in her bed...

Frances never uses her left hand for anything but brushing her hair. That changes when she breaks up with her lover on Christmas Eve and drops the phone in boiling custard. An equal opportunity elf restores her faith in life when he sells her a fairy doll for her Christmas tree.

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Fairy on the Christmas Tree

Copyright © 2016 Lark Westerly

ISBN: 978-1-4874-0953-1

Cover art by Angela Waters

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

Smashwords Edition

Fairy on the Christmas Tree

By

Lark Westerly

Dedication

To those who restore our faith in the goodness of the world, whether they be human, animal or other

Chapter One: Chocolate and Custard

Fran? Did you pay the balance on the cruise today?

Frances considered Casey’s as the cordon bleu of voices. She had been seduced by that dark chocolate voice when they’d met at her office party back in June. Casey had been there as the guest of a guest and the words, Hello, Frances, in that melted chocolate tone wooed her in an instant. Melted Belgian chocolate, she specified, pooling in her navel and running down her thighs in glorious glutinous rivulets made for the licking. Mmmm. Chocolate.

Fran? The cruise?

Frances tucked her head sideways to hold the phone so she could go on stirring the custard on the stove. Frances was so incurably right-handed she seldom used her left for anything except—oddly enough—brushing her hair which was long, luxuriant and red as a hearth-fire with licks of yellow and cream. Most people meeting Frances for the first time assumed it was a creative salon effect, but it wasn’t. It was simply Frances’s left-hand-brushed hair.

Apart from its hairbrush duties, her left hand was there, she considered,