A Touch of Frost: Frosty's Snowmen, #1

By Rhian Cahill

All it takes is one special Christmas Angel to melt Jack Frost's frozen heart.

 

Jack stopped believing in the magic of Christmas years ago. Home to mend fences and build bridges with those he left behind, he's determined to reconnect with his heritage—to find the man he used to be. And one special Christmas Angel will change everything in a way he never expected.

 

Elle love Santa's Village. The magic, the children, the joy. But this year an arrogant jerk by the name of Jack Frost threatens to ruin it all. Elle isn't about to let this modern-day Scrooge spoil things for anyone. Least of all her. But Jack isn't as frosty as he seems and there's no denying the sparks flying between them.

 

As the ice around Jack's heart cracks Elle discovers a man who might be worthy of hers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhian Cahill
• Release date: Nov 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781925375527

Rhian Cahill

Rhian Cahill is the alter ego of a former stay-at-home mother of four. With motherly duties rapidly dwindling Rhian is able to make use of the fertile imagination she used to keep herself sane for all those years of slavery. Having spent some years living overseas and visiting tropical climates has helped inspire some steamy stories. Multi-published in erotic romance and contemporary romance, Rhian, with the help of Mr. Muse, spends her days and nights writing. When not glued to the keyboard you'll find her book or knitting in hand avoiding any and all housework as much as possible.   To find out more, visit Rhian on her website and subscribe to her newsletter.  You can also follow Rhian on Facebook ,Instagram and Twitter. 

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Elle

U h-oh. Here comes Mr Frosty himself, Kandy murmurs, her gaze on something—or someone—over my shoulder.

I turn to see a large man bearing down on us. The scowl on his face is menacing enough, add in the over-six-foot-tall-possibly-three-foot-wide frame and the guy is downright alarming. Not someone I want around the growing crowd of children.

Returning my gaze to Kandy, I ask, Who’s that?

Jack Frost. She shakes her head. I wish he’d at least attempt a smile. He’s going to scare the kids at this rate.

My thoughts exactly, I mutter. Wait. Jack Frost? Isn’t Mr Frost in his sixties? I glance over my shoulder again. This guy definitely is not in his sixties.

If I had to guess, I’d say late forties. But then it could be the winkled forehead, crinkled skin fanning out from his eyes, and the deep grooves running beside his drawn-thin mouth that make him look older. The closer he gets, the more I’m inclined to think late thirties.

Hey, Jack, Kandy says, smiling as the frowning Jack stops next to us. You found us.

Where’s Chris? he asks without a hello to Kandy or acknowledging my presence.

That’s fine with me. Now that he’s closer—and not paying me any attention—I have a chance to study him.

He has deep blue eyes, the kind I’m sure would change with his moods, the kind a woman could lose hours staring into. His mouth, while still drawn into that tight thin line, is appealing in a way I find a little disconcerting. And his body—best not go there or I’ll be a quivering mass of hormonal goo.

He’s hot.

And I can’t remember the last time a guy made my girl-parts perk up and take heed. This one does without trying.

Shame he appears to be an arrogant jerk.

He’s out back. They’re running a last minute check on the slide, Kandy explains.

I didn’t think it was possible, but Jack’s scowl grows darker, more menacing. Why wasn’t that checked before now? He snaps his watch into view with a quick bend and twist of his arm. The doors open in ten minutes.

Kandy sighs. Yes, Jack. It’s just a precaution. There isn’t really—

Jack marches past us, his long legs carrying him toward the arena doors where security hold them closed, and will, until the sound of Santa’s bell rings through the complex.

Oh shit. Kandy mutters and takes off after him. Jack. Honestly. Everything’s fine. Chris has it under control.

I glance at the lines of parents and children waiting to enter the arena as I hurry to catch up with them. Opening day is a full house again this year. Tickets for today were sold out months ago.

Following a grumbling Jack through the door one of the security men holds open, we breach the thick wall of cold air that rushes down from the vent mounted above the entrance. I shiver as my lungs suck a freezing breath through my teeth, setting them on edge.

Shit. I don’t have my jacket.

It doesn’t matter how many times they put on Santa’s Village, I will never get used to how cold Frosty’s Snowmen manages to make the cavernous arena space.

I’m not an idiot. I know it needs to be cold to keep all the snow and ice from melting, but when the rest of the year the arena is filled with screaming fans and rock bands and a breath-stealing heat only a concert can produce, the three weeks Santa’s Village comes to visit are a mind-blowing—if pleasant break from the scorching summer heat—change of pace.

Soft rubber cushions my feet as we make our way along the fake street complete with white picket fences, snow covered bushes, and cobblestone paths leading to houses that look like gingerbread.

I love Santa’s Village. Love the whimsy. The joy. The laughter. And the cold. In spite of the shiver that rattles my bones, I love the cold too.

Jack. Kandy takes two steps to every one of his. For God’s sake, Jack!

We round the bend in the road, the huge ice slide coming into view, and I smile. Chris and the men and women who have spent the last two days working around the clock to get Santa’s Village up and ready for today’s opening are racing down the thirty meter slope of ice.

Chris! Jack’s booming voice echoes through the arena, drowning out the hum and whir of machinery, and the shouts of the men and women enjoying a well-earned moment of fun.

Uh-oh. Kandy stops. I don’t think I wanna see this. I can’t stand the sight of blood.

I’m not sure I’d be climbing to my feet and smiling the way Chris is, not with the glowering Jack charging the last few feet to the bottom of the slide like a raging bull.

Hey, J-man. Chris tosses his hessian mat onto the pile near the stairs. You made it.

What the hell are you doing? Jack bellows.

Chris glances past Jack to Kandy. Hey Kan, ready to go out front?

Kandy nods, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

Good. Chris faces