A Wish For A Christmas Bride (Seven Brides 0f Christmas Book 7) Read online

  A Wish For A Christmas Bride

  Vanna King

  Copyright 2018 © Vanna King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is for the hopeful romantics. I hope Santa will grant your fondest wishes this Christmas.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Introduction

  about the series

  The Seven Brides of Christmas Series is a collection of eight novellas penned by seven authors. Each story can stand alone, but it’s best to read them all for your optimum reading pleasure. All novellas have been slotted for release this December of 2018.

  The theme of this series is matchmaking. Needless to say, it has all the feels you’ll ever need for some snuggle reading under the covers this winter with fire crackling somewhere and a mug of hot coffee or chocolate and some cookies, too!

  It all starts with a matchmaking company called Elite Matchmaking Services, and a modern-day fairy godmother (though she’s only twenty-five) named Delilah…

  A Groom by Christmas by KL Fast & M.K. Moore

  A Bride for Christmas by M.K. Moore

  A Bride Under the Christmas Tree by Sylvia Kane

  Second Chance Christmas Bride by Shelby Reeves

  Winter’s Christmas Bride by KL Fast

  A Christmas Hero for the Bride by Elizabeth Princeton

  The Bride’s Christmas Miracle by Elisa Leigh

  A Wish for a Christmas Bride by Vanna King

  You are welcome to collect the entire series in paperbacks, too!

  MERRY CHRISTMAS!

  ABOUT THIS NOVEL

  Badly burned from a bitter divorce, Grayson Brandell vows to never let a woman hold his heart ever again. But he’s a realist and accepts the fact that he wants children of his own to inherit his hard-earned fortune. But his next marriage would be strictly for convenience only. He’s not looking for love or romance, just a wife who knows the rules — his rules — and abide by them to the letter.

  Hopeful romantic Camilia Johansen is still a virgin at twenty-three and has never had a serious relationship. No, she’s not a prude or a stuck-up. She’s just holding out for that special man she’s been asking Santa to give her as a present every Christmas for the past five years— The One.

  One fine day, a man looks at her from across the hall and she feels like going up in flames. The One has arrived. She spends one wild night with the stranger who feels all-too familiar from the get-go.

  But the morning-after brings about reality, and it bites, big time.

  They part ways in a not-so-charming manner.

  Come winter, fate brings them together again. They meet through a matchmaking agency.

  But Santa has some serious work cut out for him in getting these two a merry ending.

  Prologue

  THE WINE HAS SETTLED in my stomach, leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling, relaxing me from head to toe. I feel light as a feather, and the fluttering in my belly has turned into a full-blown throbbing at my center.

  Oh, boy. I can feel it! That is some serious throbbing.

  Tonight, I will finally heed my BFF’s advise. I will lose the V.

  I will explore my sexuality with the man I’m really attracted to. And guess what, I found him!

  My BFF advocates that a woman must have at least one epic sexual encounter in her lifetime. A woman will know a man is The One if he’d give out all the right stimulus and the woman reacts in a manner she never had before. Apparently, this type of chemistry will result in explosive sex.

  Well, it all happened with Gray. The moment I saw him, kaboom! Right stimulus, life-changing reaction from me.

  It’s like he hijacked my body. All of my senses seemed to have plugged into him, and now all I can think about, see, feel and smell is him. And there’s one more sense that badly needs to be satisfied, too. I want to taste him.

  I guess this is what those romance books have been blabbering about. At last, I’m feeling what I’ve only been reading.

  I have finally found The One, that special man whom I will surrender my precious virginity to. Boy, it had been a long wait, but so worth it.

  Gray is the embodiment of everything I’ve envisioned in my first lover. Gorgeous, utterly masculine but a perfect gentleman, and the way he makes me feel… Magic.

  I don’t consider myself sexy. Not in the manner magazines dictate. I have some extra pounds that I’ve been trying to shed for years, but they’re stubborn. Well, blame it on my love for cupcakes. But I do have nice parts in my body. I have boobs and ass, the stuff that men like, maybe. Gray is no exception to such fetishes, I can tell. He looks at me like he wants to devour me.

  And I do want to be devoured.

  My thoughts! Shameless! But I feel so good because he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman on the planet.

  He walks over to a console, does something and suddenly, the faint, sensual sound of a violin fills the air, making it thick with carnal tension.

  I can’t help myself, I start to sway. I raise my arms and dance like I do when I’m alone. I seem to have lost all my inhibitions. I feel so free.

  It’s as though I’m possessed by an otherworldly energy, and yet I’m still all me. Just a better version of me.

  Gray is walking toward me now, and I don’t step back. I meet him halfway.

  He envelopes me in his strong arms.

  My entire body crackles hotter at his touch. “Gray,” I sigh his name. Such a beautiful name.

  “Cami.”

  I touch his face gently. “You can’t not believe in love. It’s a tragedy—”

  He kisses me.

  Holy mother of all kisses! It’s like electricity hitting water.

  I feel like being assaulted by an energy so overpowering I have no choice but to give in to it or disintegrate. His taste explodes in my mouth, spreading to my taste buds. And then like a drug, it invades my bloodstreams, awakening all my smallest nerve-endings.

  Now this is sizzling chemistry. Literally!

  Yup, definitely The One.

  Say goodbye to my V-card.

  Chapter 1

  Charleston, South Carolina

  CAMILIA

  I LOVE WEDDINGS. Yes, make that capital.

  I just love decorating churches and reception venues with all sorts of flowers. The little flower shop I co-own with my aunt is quite known around Charleston for creating the most exquisite bridal bouquets and centerpieces. Proof? We’re fully booked until next year.

  Arranging flowers is not just a job for me. It’s my passion. My art. I take it very seriously.

  I walk over to the bride and groom’s table to make sure all the arrangements are perfect. I hate it when the camera catches something that’s off. Photographs freeze memories forever. I want those memories to be perfect, at least on their
wedding day.

  I do hope and pray that the couple’s marriage lasts. I hope they’d always honor their vows to each other— to love and to hold, till death. I do this every time, pray for their happy ending. I’m such a sucker for romance. Just check my e-reader.

  “Cami, come on, everything looks great already,” my BFF, Ciara, the wedding planner, tells me.

  “Just making sure everything’s—”

  “Perfect,” she finishes for me drily. “Nothing and nobody is perfect, Cami. Great is great. This is great!”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re the wedding planner. You should be the perfectionist.”

  “I am, but my level of perfection is not even in your radar. You are OC, my dear. It’s clinical.”

  I sigh. “I just can’t help it. I want the couple to remember this day, the most beautiful day of their lives.”

  “Really? You think this is their most beautiful day?”

  “What else?”

  She cocks her head to the side. “Why am I asking my virgin florist?”

  “Shut it. Don’t start with that again.”

  “Girl, you should really get laid and find out for yourself. A wedding is not the most beautiful or the happiest day for a couple, or for a woman for that matter.”

  “So, after getting laid five hundred times, which day is your happiest?”

  “All five hundred.”

  “Oh, go away! I’m busy.” I stomp away from her to check the tables. The couple wanted white and pale pink roses. Roses are quite delicate and I don’t want a single wilting petal in sight at each table.

  “Guests will be arriving soon! You know where our table is?”

  “Yes, I know. Go away.”

  GRAY

  I hate weddings. They remind me of the very thing I detest the most in a relationship— restrictions. It’s easy to enter into a marriage contract, hard to get out. All this silly fanfare can be done in the city hall in under thirty minutes.

  Sure, I want to get married one day soon. That’s in my agenda. But not this way. All that I and my bride-to-be would need is a pen to sign on the dotted line. That’s it.

  Those rings? They are actually shackles. Those pretty flowers? They’re there to grace the funeral of the couple’s freedom. And those Shakespeare vows? They’re merely poetic lip service for the inevitable. Somewhere in the future one or both of them will break their vows, and they won’t even regret it or shed a damn tear.

  I should know. I was married once. It ended in a bitter divorce which the folks of Atlanta hadn’t forgotten in years. We were the golden couple of high society— though I’ve always hated that fancy word used by the rags to describe the wealthy as though all we do is sunbathe and socialize; I happen to work my ass off from sun up to sun down seven days a week— and you know when society dirt goes on a rampage, people sit back and gobble pop corn.

  It was nasty. She wanted everything, the avaricious piece of…never mind.

  I clench my fists on my lap as I watch the Reverend do his spiel, not really listening to what he’s saying. I’ve been here before, listened with all my heart to everything the Reverend was saying, swearing to my soul that I’d be the most loving, faithful husband to my wife from thereon while our mothers and female friends looked on, teary-eyed.

  I was a stupid fool.

  My bride happened to be Miss Atlanta, too, at that time and many thought I hit the fucking jackpot. Fuck, were they wrong. I had tens of millions back then and we didn’t have a prenup. True love. I once believed in that.

  You can guess what happened next.

  Had I known before what I know now, I’d have banged the shit out of her instead of honoring her wish for us not to have sex before marriage. She said she wanted sex to be sacred between us. Fuck, how in hell did I fall for that masterclass cock-teasing MO? I was a player before her, and man, did I play. I was young, loaded, good-looking. I was rolling from one bed to another like a rock star. Guess there was a first time for everything. It was my turn to get played.

  Of course, it will never happen again. It was a hard lesson well learned. My next marriage will be all on my terms.

  I will be 35 soon. Marriage is definitely in my urgent agenda. Time to start my own family. For real.

  I want three kids. Two boys to help me run the company in the future. One girl to represent the Grayson Brandell Foundation. And yeah, a pretty wife to take care of them and me. Sweet.

  There will be no messy divorce. I’ll make sure of that.

  The Reverend rambles on about fidelity and patience blah blah blah. I zone out, wishing he’d hurry the fuck up to the “You may kiss the bride” part.

  This church is too fancy for my liking. I hadn’t been in one in ages. That’s the drawback to owning your own company. You don’t get to have off days. I work on Sundays. And even if I don’t, a church is the last place you’ll find me in. And I’m on my way to taking my company public, which means I’d hardly get a wink in the coming years, except to recharge for an hour or two after fucking.

  You get the picture. No rest for the wicked.

  My next wife is going to be trained into that routine. Problem is, I don’t have a potential bride-to-be yet.

  I wonder, where did Jake find his wife, anyway? I haven’t heard him even date this woman before.

  Finally, Jake kisses his bride, and I already feel sorry for him. Poor fucker doesn’t even know the hell that awaits him. I hope he remembered to secure his fortune. Men with a serious case of boner for a particular woman tend to forget the fucking prenup. I’m a living testament to that colossal display of emasculated IQ.

  Bored, I clap with the crowd when the newlyweds face the congregation with the sappiest smiles on their faces. I’ll remember to be there when Jake finally needs a drinking buddy to listen to his sob story. I might recommend him my divorce lawyer, too. My bitch ex only managed to wreak minimal damage to my hard-earned fortune. Still, fifteen million dollars wasn’t peanuts seven years ago.

  The bile of that old bitterness rises to my throat again. I’d fucked the memories of that sorry excuse for a marriage like I was gunning for my very first million. I barely remember what she looked like, but I do remember what she did.

  She broke my fucking heart.

  Weddings do this to me, remind me of what I’d forgotten, or have a hard time forgetting.

  I really do hate weddings.

  I discreetly leave the church ahead of the others. I’ll just greet the couple at the reception and scram quickly from there.

  I got tons of work waiting for me back in Atlanta.

  Chapter 2

  GRAY

  SO, I’M EARLY.

  I peek inside the hotel’s ballroom and find out I’m the first guest to arrive at the reception.

  Maybe I should just leave and call Jake at the hotel I’m billeted in and tell him I was at the church, at least. He’ll be pissed, of course. I sigh and hesitantly enter the ballroom.

  Shit, this place is…I’m at a loss for words.

  My eyes catch a figure in a lavender dress bending over a table and I suddenly find the apt description for this place.

  Magnificent.

  I visually devour her figure from a few meters away. She’s built like a goddess from a classic painting. Full, fleshy, curvy. In all the places I want my woman to be full.

  She’s busy scrutinizing the flower arrangement in the middle of a huge table that she hasn’t even noticed me standing there, ogling the shit out of her like a pervert.

  Ass made for some hard lovin’. And judging from the profile view of her knockers, they sure fill out the front of her dress nicely, too. Mouthwateringly fuckable.

  Damn, a minute upon seeing her and I’m already thinking of fucking her right there on that table where she’s bending over like a cock-tease. Her silky mass of strawberry blonde hair flowing down her shoulders is conjuring images of her face between my legs—

  I need to distract my thoughts, kill this growing boner that will manifest lik
e a grenade about to blow in a matter of seconds. I’m not exactly undersexed, but I feel like I hadn’t had any in months.

  She suddenly looks in my direction. I’m zapped by the most beautiful pair of baby blues.

  I decide right then and there, she is going to be mine.

  She straightens up to her full height, which is not much. I’m six-feet-four and she just probably comes up to my shoulders despite her high heels. She’s got fine, peaches and cream complexion down to her pretty little feet.

  “Uhm, hello! Are you a guest of the couple?” she calls out to me.

  “Yes,“ I manage to croak as her sweet voice washes over me.

  “Friend of the groom or the bride?”

  “Groom.”

  I walk over to her. Up close, she looks like a porn star despite that demure dress, and I have the strangest urge to haul her over my shoulder and get out of there for one selfish reason: the male guests will be having the same thoughts I’m having now.

  What the hell am I thinking? I’ve never had these thoughts, not even for my ex. But her skinny ass would never look indecent in a bikini. This babe in front of me in a bikini would probably make a priest leave the fucking church.

  I’m going crazy. I’m glad she can’t read my mind. Or I wish she can.

  “I may be able to find you your table at the front, Mr…?”

  I don’t want to go to my table yet.

  “What’s wrong with the flowers?” I ask, evading her question. The Brandell name is like a password for the gold-diggers. Not that anybody would ever score from me again like my ex did. That was a financial blunder that even Bloomberg had mentioned once as a punchline, alluding to my lack of foresight as a businessman.