Only for the Season

She’s a small-town baker with a grudge against billionaires. Too bad one just moved in upstairs – and treats her bakery like his personal office-slash-café.
The first time I met Jeremy Holland, he called Smuggler’s Hideaway Podunk. The next time? He was begging to rent the loft above my bakery.
I should’ve tossed a fruitcake at his smug billionaire face. But the holidays are expensive, and the rent helps keep the ovens on. So now I’ve got a tech mogul living above me – and waltzing through my kitchen like he owns the place.
Jeremy doesn’t seem to understand boundaries. Or coffee shop etiquette. Or that I’m not interested, no matter how good he smells or how unfairly sexy he looks in those low-slung jeans and rumpled T-shirts.
Too bad he forgot to play the part of an entitled billionaire and helped me build gingerbread houses and deliver cookies. He even helped hang the town’s Christmas lights. And now I’m starting to wonder what else those hands are good at.
The more he helps out – with his messy dirty blond hair, those laser-focused eyes, and that mouth made for trouble – the harder it is to remember why I hate billionaires in the first place. And I give in to temptation.
But we agreed. No strings. No promises. Just a little Christmas cheer.
This is Only for the Season.