Evie Mitchell Paperback Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell Paperback Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell Paperback Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell Paperback Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell book Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell book Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell book Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell book Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)
Evie Mitchell book Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)

Muffin Top / The Mrs. Clause (Paperback SIGNED)

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Two books in one paperback! 

Honey
For years my momma's been at me to lose some extra pounds. To shape up, slim down and look like the pageant queen she'd always wished me to be. But everyone knows the best part of the muffin is the top—and baby, I'm delicious as I am.
I hadn't planned on running into my high school crush at a Halloween party while dressed as a cupcake. One glance and I was ready for my high school crush to take a bite.
Pity Sheriff Tristan Rodriguez avoided baked goods like the plague...

Tristan
Returning to the small town I'd left behind hadn't exactly been in my life plan.
Also not on the plan? Becoming the town's most eligible bachelor. I now had more offers for baked goods and home cooked dinners than I'd ever need.I hadn't been tempted to taste even one until I ran into my high school crush, Honey Jameson. The curvy siren looked good enough to eat.
Now she's on my mind and all I can think about is how to get one little lick. But the thing is, after one taste? I want to devour her whole.

Warning: This marshmallow-y piece of cotton candy sexiness involves a good boy ready to go bad, a curvy woman loving her body, and a fulfilling of some high school wet dreams. Get thee a good guy (or a bad one), maybe a rich chocolate muffin or three and settle in—this second-chance story will literally burn your sheets.

The Mrs. Clause
Collins
My name is Collins Knight, or at least it was, once upon a time. I've been married to Nicholas Del Laurentis for nearly a decade, yet we've spent half that time residing in different houses, different countries, ignoring the reality of our arranged marriage.

That was until I decided I wanted a baby. Nick won't divorce me so I'm left with no other option. It's time to invoke the Mrs. Clause of our marriage contract.

Nick
My wife has no idea what she's asking. A baby? Oh, I can help with that. But she's opened the door now, and I'm not about to let her close it again.
This Christmas it's time to unwrap my favourite gift - one piece of clothing at a time.

Warning: Dearest reader, this arranged marriage novella is filled with jingling bells, unusual uses for candy canes, surprise gifts and a jolly St Nick who knows how to handle his chimney. So, get thee a Santa Baby and settle in - this sexy holiday romance will leave you hovering under the mistletoe. 

Gunnar

"Fuck." I tossed the wrench back into my toolbox, cursing the previous owner of this crap heap. "Double fuck." 

I pulled my phone from my pocket, hitting my younger brother's number. 

"Talk to me," Erik said, answering my call. 

"It's fucked three ways to Sunday." I ran a grime-covered hand through my hair. "Blown gasket, oil pissing everywhere, there's rust in the crankshaft. It's a fucking mess." 

"Damn." I could practically hear his brain scrambling to fix the problem. "I guess you're gonna get a few days of forced leave after all."

Since my father had handed over the reins to our business five years ago, I hadn't taken a vacation. The company, its employees, and profits had to come first. The plans Erik and I made rested on our ability to deliver. As the eldest son and CEO, it was up to me to ensure we remained a success.   

"If I didn't know better, I'd assume you planned this." I nudged the door to the engine room open with my foot, stepping into the doorway to watch the storm rage across the bow. 

"I wish I had. I'd have ensured it sunk off the coast of a deserted island and forced you to take a real break for once."

I snorted as lightning lit up the marina, an immediate crack following the flash. 

The storm had come on fast, the rough waves fucking with the already dodgy engine. I'd read the clouds early and steered for the closest port, a small marina in Capricorn Cove. The fucking thing had shit itself just as I'd docked.

"Sounds like a decent swirl," Erik said as thunder rumbled across the ocean and out to sea.  

"She's a big'un, that's for sure." The boat rocked under my feet as waves battered her hull. Well used to the motion, I leaned into it, automatically adjusting to the flow. "I'm gonna hunker down here for the night. I'll assess the damage tomorrow and send you a parts order."

"Probably the best option. I'll mark this as holiday leave. Don't worry; Mac and Ian are more than capable of covering you."

I swore softly. "Sorry, bro."

"Don't sweat it. We'll add it to the client's bill. Just please, do me a favor. Try to relax a little?"

I snorted. "No promises."  

Thunder interrupted his following comment. 

"What was that?" I asked, pressing the phone closer to my ear. 

"I said, where exactly are you?"

I glanced down toward the main marina, where an old, battered sign that had seen much, much better days sat peeling in the rain. 

"Capricorn Cove." 

"Sounds nice."

"I don't know about that." Another flash of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the mix of small fishing boats, millionaire yachts, and weekend dinghies. 

"How about you call it a night? You eaten?"

"Not yet."

"Gunnar, it's after ten." 

I glanced at my watch, silently cursing. 

"Go wash up and get some food. Call me if you need anything?" 

"Okay, Mom." 

Erik chuckled down the line. "You fucker. Stay safe, okay?" 

I blew out a breath. "Yeah, I'll try. Later."

"Later, Gunner."    

I rinsed off the grease and grit, then donned a thick raincoat, turning up the collar as I searched for food. 

Noting the time, I assumed my chances in a small town like Capricorn Cove wouldn't be good. But even a small town might have a motel or a late-night pizza joint.

I walked past a tattered For Sale sign hanging over the marina and boarded-up buildings before finding a path that led onto the main street. My initial impression of a run-down ghost town proved unfounded as I rounded the corner, surprised to find the street bustling with activity.

"Must be tourist season." 

One bar caught my eye, the lights welcoming and the smell of smoked meat entirely too tempting when my damn stomach was already eating itself. 

A surprisingly classy sign identified it as The Bronze Horseman; the words hung above the door in a flourish of steel and light. Glass windows lined the well-lit and decorative entry, the car park a quarter full even at such a late hour. A couple walked out as I pushed the door open, bright-eyed and laughing as they rushed out into the storm, heading for their car. 

The heavy wood door slammed behind me, muffling the thunder that rolled in a near-constant echo. I paused, taking in my surroundings. 

Tasteful décor filled with rich woods, leathers, and bronze was offset by navy blue and hunter green highlights. It felt high-end but welcoming, a mix of homely and comfortable but luxurious. 

A surprising contrast to the shit hole of a marina I'd just left behind. 

A glance showed locals and tourists filled the booths and tables, the difference between the two easy to tell based on tan lines. The small groups chatted quietly or listened to the band on the far stage as they wrapped up their number. 

A long bar dominated one wall of the restaurant; stools neatly tucked under the generous wood top. Two men were sitting at the far end closest to the gigantic fireplace; their heads bent together as they talked over a shared meal. Not in the mood for company, I slid onto a stool at the opposite end, snatching a menu from the closest stack, my eyebrows raising at the multitude of delicious options. 

Maybe my luck had turned.

"What can I get you, Viking? Kitchen's open until midnight."

The words were delivered in the huskiest, sexiest voice I'd ever heard. My cock hardened, and I hadn't even seen the face that delivered that sucker punch.

I looked up to find full pouty lips, long lashes ringing satin brown eyes, soft, full cheeks, and big cascading brunette curls. My dick, already impossibly hard, pressed insistently against my fly.

Holy shit. 

My gaze dropped, taking in her overly generous cleavage playing peek-a-boo with the v of her shirt.

Fuck.

The woman tilted her head, nodding at the menu in my hands. "See anything you like?"

"You." The word slipped free before I could stop it.

She laughed, sending that mass of hair shimmering. "I don't remember us adding me on there." She leaned forward, her shirt dipping to grant me a tantalizing glimpse of her lacy bra. "But for you? I'd consider making an exception." She winked, and I felt it deep in my gut.

Who'd have thought I'd be thanking the sea Gods for a busted engine?

"I'm Ella Bronze." She absently brushed a thick chunk of hair back. "And you are?"

"Gunnar Larsson."

Her cheeks flushed, a smile lighting her face. "Oh, I was right. You really are a Viking."

She's stunning.

At this rate, I'd be coming from one fucking smile. I grunted, shifting in my seat and grasping for any diversion. "What would you recommend?" 

Ella leaned back over the bar, her tits pressing against the wood as she reached out to tap one of the menu items.

"Get the fully loaded burger. It's my favorite." She straightened, turning her back to me to bend over and pull a bottle from one of the beer fridges.

I want to bite her ass. 

Big, curvy, and framed by thick thighs that I wanted clasped around my head while I licked her sweet cunt until she creamed on my tongue; she looked like fucking perfection. 

I'd never had this kind of visceral reaction to someone before. 

"Here." She popped the cap, sliding the beer across the bar. "On the house."

"Thanks." I eyed the label. 

"Don't you trust me?" 

"Of course." I sent her a wink. "Just like to know what I'm putting in my mouth." Tipping the bottle back, I took a long drag, the cider tart but refreshing as it burst across my tongue. 

"Good?” she asked.

"Fucking perfect," I growled.

A wickedly seductive smile decorated her incredible lips. We both knew I hadn't been talking about the beer. One of the men down the far end called her name, interrupting our moment.

"Be right back," she promised.

I watched her sashay away, taking another long pull from the bottle. If I played my cards right, maybe I'd leave here with more than one hunger satisfied.

I lifted the beer again, drinking deep.

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