Temporary Angel: A We Three Kings Christmas Story

By Elizabeth Coldwell

FROM POPULAR ROMANCE AUTHOR ELIZABETH COLDWELL

A We Three Kings story

Taking on her best friend's identity brings three men into her life—but can she keep them for longer than Christmas?

Jess Morgan dreams of having the self-confidence and adventurous sex life her best friend, burlesque dancer Angel Golightly, enjoys.

When a freak accident lays Angel low over Christmas, Jess steps into her shoes and accepts an engagement to perform at an intimate gathering at the home of wealthy hotelier Daniel McAndrew. What she doesn't know is that the only guests are Daniel's closest friends, Ray Stockhill and Etienne Barbeau. The three men long to find the perfect woman who they can share in bed and out, but no one has come close to fulfilling their fantasy until they meet Jess.

Over the course of an unforgettable Christmas, Jess has sex with Daniel, Ray and Etienne, singly and together, and grows increasingly close to all three of them, but she's aware that she's playing a dangerous game. What will happen if her real identity is exposed, and can she really have the harem of lovers she craves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Dec 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781839435560

Elizabeth Coldwell

Elizabeth Coldwell is a multi-published author and editor whose stories have appeared in a number of best-selling anthologies. She has written novels in a variety of different genres, from paranormal to BDSM and contemporary romance. She is the former editor of the UK edition of Forum magazine and the proud winner of an International Leather Award. When she is not busy writing, she is an avid supporter of Rotherham United Football Club and can be regularly found on the terraces at weekends, cheering her boys to victory (hopefully!).

Book preview

Totally Bound Publishing books by Elizabeth Coldwell

Single Books

Something Within Him

Neil and Obey

The Feel of Wings

Away from it All

Wagers of Sin

Everything to Him

More Than Vanilla

Night Voices

Steal Your Soul Away

Beyond His Control

Mr December

Anthologies

Treble: Three-Part Harmony

Sensory Limits: Cruise Control

Collections

Christsmas Crackers: The Christmas Box

Feral: Abyssinian Heat

Mi Amore: Missing in Milan

Paramour: Maestro

Rules of Summer: Tamed in Tuscany

We Three Kings

TEMPORARY ANGEL

ELIZABETH COLDWELL

Temporary Angel

ISBN # 978-1-83943-556-0

©Copyright Elizabeth Coldwell 2021

Cover Art by Claire Siemaszkiewicz ©Copyright December 2021

Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2021 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.

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We Three Kings

Taking on her best friend’s identity brings three men into her life—but can she keep them for longer than Christmas?

Jess Morgan dreams of having the self-confidence and adventurous sex life her best friend, burlesque dancer Angel Golightly, enjoys.

When a freak accident lays Angel low over Christmas, Jess steps into her shoes and accepts an engagement to perform at an intimate gathering at the home of wealthy hotelier Daniel McAndrew. What she doesn’t know is that the only guests are Daniel’s closest friends, Ray Stockhill and Etienne Barbeau. The three men long to find the perfect woman who they can share in bed and out, but no one has come close to fulfilling their fantasy until they meet Jess.

Over the course of an unforgettable Christmas, Jess has sex with Daniel, Ray and Etienne, singly and together, and grows increasingly close to all three of them, but she’s aware that she’s playing a dangerous game. What will happen if her real identity is exposed, and can she really have the harem of lovers she craves?

Dedication

For the other two members of Unholy Trinity

Trademark Acknowledgements

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Santa Baby: Joan Javits, Philip Springer, Tony Springer

Tinder: Match Group, LLC

The Tube: Transport for London

Microsoft: Microsoft

The Sunday Times: News Corp.

Thunderbirds: Gerry and Sylvia Anderson

Rolls-Royce: Rolls-Royce plc

Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town: J. Fred Coots and Haven Gillespie

Angel Eyes: Matt Dennis

Red Hot Chili Peppers: RHCP

Instagram: Facebook, Inc.

Fortnite: Epic Games

Xbox: Microsoft

Mission Impossible: Fallout: Skydance Media/Bad Robot Productions/TC Productions/Alibaba Pictures

Michelin Star: Michelin

Time Out: Time Out Group PLC

Chapter One

No one owned the stage like Angel Golightly. As the seductive opening strains of Santa Baby filled the theater and the curtains parted to reveal her dressed in a short fur-trimmed cloak and spike-heeled patent leather thigh boots, it seemed as if the whole audience sighed with lust. She strutted to the front of the stage, taking slow, deliberate steps in those impossibly tall heels, and did a little pirouette, allowing the cloak to fly up and offer a quick glimpse of her taut ass cheeks, bisected by a candy-pink thong.

I settled back in my seat to enjoy her routine, sipping my Santa’s Snowball cocktail and relishing the creamy bite of advocaat and lemonade. Everyone here knew Angel Golightly as the queen of the London burlesque scene, but to me she would always be Hannah Peterson, my best friend and confidante since sixth form college.

Her appearance was the highlight of the annual Silver Bauble Revue, designed to raise money for local homeless charities. It was held three days before Christmas at Morton’s Music Hall, one of the oldest remaining theaters in East London. The low, intimate space with room for no more than a couple of hundred patrons was the perfect venue for a raucous, bawdy show compered by tart-tongued drag queen Dusti Miller, and featuring the best dancers, up-and-coming comedians and burlesque performers the city had to offer. No matter who else took part, Angel always topped the bill.

She undid the single button keeping her cloak fastened and tossed the garment into the wings. Beneath it she wore a pink-and-white corset and white stockings fastened to a wide suspender belt. Moving to the slow beat of the music, Angel ran her hands over her exaggerated curves, prompting groans, wolf-whistles and the odd cry of Take it off! She put her fingers to her lips, painted blood-red in stark contrast to her flawless porcelain skin, and blew kisses to the audience. Then she turned and walked, hips swaying, over to where a big red-and-white striped candy cane had been set up.

Angel leaned against the side of the cane and threw her head back, exposing the long expanse of her neck. Every movement, every sensual gyration, had the crowd straining to see more. Finally, she turned away from them and unsnapped the fastenings running down the rear of the corset, each snap a promise of the moment more of her body would be revealed.

She removed the corset, holding it at arm’s length while still facing away from the audience, and let it drop to the wooden floorboards. When she turned around again, she had one arm clamped over her breasts, as if reluctant to let people see what they really craved. Like all great burlesque performers, Angel knew exactly how long to string out the anticipation, to keep everyone hanging on until they were almost crazy with their desire for more. At last, she pulled her arm away with a flourish to display her high, firm breasts, her nipples capped with silver tasseled pasties.

Before the crowd had fully digested the impact of seeing her half-naked, Angel climbed onto the candy cane and straddled it. She ran her hands through her hair, shook her tassels and lay back, arching her spine so her breasts were thrust up. Voices hollered for more as she rolled over and kicked her legs lazily in the air, every move choreographed to perfection.

As the final bars of the music died away, the lights went out. The spectators were silent for a moment before they broke out in wild cheering and applause. A single spotlight came on, haloing Angel as she took a bow, blew one last kiss then disappeared into the wings.

The house lights rose, signaling the end of the show. Dusti’s voice came over the speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for attending the review. The bar will remain open for another half an hour, and the Silver Bauble girls will be collecting donations. So please give generously, because remember, Father Christmas only comes once a year…but when he does, he doesn’t half fill your stockings!

I hung back as the audience made their way out of the auditorium. Hannah had invited me to join her in her dressing room, but I knew she would need a few minutes to herself to take off what was left of her costume and begin to come down from the thrill of performing.

As I passed through the bar, heading for the door that led to the warren of rooms backstage, a red-haired girl wearing a short Santa cloak very similar to Angel’s held a bucket out toward me. I dug in my coat pocket and fished out all the loose change I found there.

Here you go. Merry Christmas. I tossed the money into the bucket and carried on my way.

A burly, black-clad man stopped me at the door to the dressing rooms. The ladies’ room is back that way.

Yes, I know, but I’m a friend of Hannah’s. She asked me to join her after the show. If you need to speak to her to confirm, tell her it’s Jess.

He looked me up and down and nodded. Okay, go through.

After the warmth of the bar, with twinkling fairy lights strung across the mantels and candles lending a diffuse golden glow to the cozy space, the corridor seemed like another world. Narrow and a little musty smelling, lit by a single dim bulb, this part of the building clearly hadn’t received as much in the way of restoration as the auditorium and front of house area, but it had atmosphere. I thought of all the famous names who’d trodden the boards here back in Victorian times and could almost hear the bawdy old music hall songs ringing out.

Down the passageway I went, past doors with handwritten signs fixed to them bearing the names of Dusti Miller and the other performers in the revue, until I came to Hannah’s dressing room.

I pushed the door open a little way and went to step into the room, only to be greeted by a sight that