Boxed Set: The Baker & the Billionaire

by Nikki Steele

  Copyright © 2016 Nikki Steele

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book uses the American spelling of most common words.

  Edition 1.0.3

  About this Book

  This is an Erotic Romance. It contains strong, explicit, smoking hot sex scenes. It collects books 1-4 (the complete series) of the Baker and the Billionaire short erotic romance series.

  Contents

  About this Book

  Contents

  1. Frozen Dreams

  2. Frozen Lust

  3. Frozen Fire

  4. Frozen Heart

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Free Books!

  Bonus Recipes

  Book One

  Frozen Dreams

  Libby lives in the shadow of her sister, a skier and Olympic contender. Her sister is younger, athletic and attractive, whereas Libby struggles with food issues, is curvy, and uncoordinated where sports are concerned.

  On a journey to the slopes, she meets a handsome mysterious stranger, and they share a single wild, crazy, hot night together. The freedom of a one night stand lets her do things she would normally be too timid to do—because she thinks she’ll never see him again.

  But all is not as it seems on the slopes. Because the stranger is there to stay…

  Chapter 1

  If nothing else, I thought with a wry smile, I’ll get some great Instagram photos up here.

  I’d been traveling to my sister’s trials and competitions for years, but I had to admit—all of the reviews I’d read about this ski resort were gospel truth. The sky was bluer, the snow was whiter. The air was so crystal clear you could see for miles in every direction. The little cabins that dotted the landscape of the village in which we’d be staying, with other skiers trying out for the Olympic team, added a picturesque touch to the surroundings—like a painting come to life.

  Erica climbed from the car, pushing her sunglasses up onto her forehead. “I guess it’s okay,” she said, inspecting the cabin to which we’d been assigned.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s gorgeous, Eri,” I said. “The nicest place so far.”

  She shrugged, moving to unload her equipment from the top of the car. She’d been snarky the entire flight, getting her to agree with anything when she was like this was a major challenge. She left the rest of the bags for me.

  It had been my choice. Sometimes I had to remind myself of that—when I was tired and cranky and over the attitude. It had been my choice to leave the bakery where I had worked for four years. It had been my choice to become a full-time personal assistant to my athlete sister.

  It had been my mother’s suggestion; Erica had a good chance of making the Olympic team, and didn’t have time to worry about scheduling, or laundry, or things like cooking. Mom had done a lot of it previously, but she was getting older now—she wasn’t as energetic as she used to be. So here I was, full-time assistant to a potential Olympic champion.

  I took the bags into the cabin. There was a large living room immediately off the front door, with an open kitchen and dining area leading from there. It looked like the bedrooms were upstairs.

  At the back of the cabin was a large, comfortable room with a fireplace that was already roaring. Huge double doors opened out onto a deck and then a hot tub, with snow-capped mountains behind.

  That hot tub looked inviting. Maybe I’d have a soak later, if I had time.

  I struggled against a flash of resentment. As long as it didn’t conflict with the dreams of my sister. ‘Her success is our success,’ Mom always said.

  Nothing I did ever measured up to Erica. I was Valedictorian of my high school class. But Erica was State Ski Champion. I was certified as a baker and pastry chef. But Erica made it to Nationals the year I completed Culinary Arts school. Had I not gotten an after-school job as soon as I was old enough to work, I wouldn’t have had the money to do anything! My parents had saved their pennies for more important things, like Erica’s lessons.

  I’d read somewhere that this often happened with Olympic potentials—the entire family sacrificing themselves for them. Despite Erica’s faults, we all loved her. I’d do anything to see her succeed.

  “Libby, I’m gonna go over to the Lodge,” Erica announced, breaking into my reverie.

  I started. “Meeting with the trainers early?” Preliminary sessions started tomorrow morning.

  “Yeah, never too early to catch Stephen’s eye.”

  Her comment made me break into an unexpected chuckle. “Still going on about that?” Erica had read an article on the flight over about Stephen Petersen, the mysterious owner of the resort we were staying at. He was a major benefactor for the winter ski program, a world class skier in his own right, and the only non-institute member of the panel that would judge Olympic hopefuls.

  “Just remember you can’t kiss him, okay?” I teased. The mother of an athlete last year had been caught in a broom closet with a minor sponsor. Her daughter had been summarily dismissed on grounds of undue influence.

  “I guess there is a danger he’ll find me attractive,” she said, musing. “Perhaps I should bring you with me, as a counterbalance.”

  I frowned. Erica sounded serious. Did she ever think before she spoke?

  She turned and looked toward the kitchen. “I noticed a sign for a grocery store back down the road. Wanna get us stocked up?”

  “When we’re unpacked,” I said with a tight smile. I caught both our reflections in the glass of the window. How could two sisters be so different? She was beautiful, with an athletic build and long, long legs. I on the other hand, did not. I sighed and walked our bags up to our separate bedrooms.

  That’s just how things were. I’d gotten used to it a long time ago. Maybe it would be worth it if Erica made it to the Olympics. She probably would. She always won.

  Her winning streak wasn’t limited to skiing, either. I thought about that, ruefully, while I unpacked our clothes. I tried not to let it get to me these days; it had happened years before.

  Maybe she hadn’t really stolen him, per se. I’d been in love with Brian since the 6th grade, but we’d never been anything more than close friends. I was just one of the guys, as far as he was concerned… at least, I had been until halfway through senior year. Then something shifted between us. He started spending more time at our house, watching movies with me, finding excuses to study together. We even started going out, just the two of us, rather than in a group as we always had.

  Finally, one night after we’d gone for a burger and a movie, he kissed me goodnight after walking me to my front door. It was the sweetest, most heart-melting moment of my life. Like seven years of waiting and wanting, finally culminating in an exclamation point.

  Erica was a junior at the time. Brian had always seen her as my kid sister. I never considered her a threat— after all, she was my sister, and she’d known I had a crush on him.

  But he took her to the Senior Prom, and I stayed home. I was never sure what happened between them, exactly. All I knew was that she had never shown so much as a passing interest in him; in fact, she had called him a nerd more times than I could remember. But within two weeks of the first and only kiss Brian and I shared, the two of them were dating. I had to watch as he picked her up at the house to take her out. I wasn’t even allowed to hide in my bedroom while the two of them had their pictures taken in our living room before they left for the Prom. I still remembered how he had deliberately avoided my eyes.


  Mom had said it was because Erica was jealous of me. I found that hard to believe, though Mom usually had a good handle on things like that. Erica always had the best of everything and I got the seconds. At least that was how it felt.

  But that was years ago. And I knew she sure hadn’t loved him; they broke up a month after Prom and she never talked about him again.

  I looked around the large, luxurious bathroom while putting away our makeup and toiletries. I’d heard this Stephen Petersen guy was some hot-shot billionaire who’d had the cabins custom-built for the athletics trials. I looked out the window; gazing again at the hot tub. I didn’t care what sort of hotshot he was. As far as I was concerned, he was a genius.

  My eyes refocused on my reflection in the glass as I wandered to a mirror to touch up my makeup. I might not have been thin and toned like my sister, but I did make it a point to keep up my appearance. I applied tinted mascara that made my hazel eyes pop, sheer gloss to give my lips shine, then ran a brush through my dark brown, shoulder-length hair.

  The rest of me I couldn’t do much about. It wasn’t easy sometimes around my sister to remember that wearing a size 14 wasn’t a crime.

  After I got everything put away, I looked over the thick packet of materials that had been left for us on the kitchen table. There was a detailed schedule of everything that was to take place over the next several days, including the qualifying time trials and competitions. There were also a few social events, where the athletes could theoretically let loose and relax after hours of intense training and competition.

  If I knew my sister, she wouldn’t be interested in the social events. That was one thing I had to give her credit for—her single-mindedness. When she wasn’t training or competing, she was making sure to get plenty of sleep and meditating on the win. She would sometimes spend hours just envisioning the perfect run until she could go through it in her head as if she was actually skiing it.

  I bit my lip—it looked as though I would have some free time, if all went according to schedule. That hot tub was already calling to me.

  Then I sighed. Work came first. The kitchen needed to be stocked, just as Erica had asked. And if there was one thing I was good at, I reminded myself as I got in the car, it was doing what I was told.

  Chapter 2

  I had my grocery list all prepared; Erica was, if nothing else, a creature of habit. She knew what worked for her in terms of her best performance and highest energy levels, and she went with it.

  Sometimes we’d try something new, like the latest ‘superfood’ making the rounds online. I remembered when kale and quinoa first became a thing—it had become my mission in life to create new recipes with one or both of those foods. It wasn’t easy finding ways to make them exciting, day after day. But that was the sort of thing I excelled at, after all.

  Mom and Dad had thought it made all the sense in the world for me to combine my talent for cooking and my sister’s need for a personal chef. At first I couldn’t understand why she was physically incapable of prepping her own meals; frankly, sometimes I still wondered what the big deal was. But then she’d never been expected to do much of anything besides ski, from as soon as it was discovered that she loved it and showed an aptitude.

  I wandered through the store, marveling at the array of healthy, organic, gluten-free and non-GMO items on the shelves. Compared to the amount of work I had to do to find these same foods back home, this store was amazing! We were finally catching up to the rest of the world back in our hometown, but it was taking time—the opening of a new salad place last year had been front page news.

  I didn’t notice the other cart until I smashed into it. I looked up, but the sharp retort died on my lips—the man I had run into was absolutely gorgeous.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, then flashed me a dazzling smile.

  I stood there, unable to make a sound, gawking like an idiot.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I blinked rapidly to clear my head. Then I smiled at him and averted my eyes; it was a reflex, from years of being too shy to look a cute boy in the face. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Thanks. And sorry about that.” I stepped back to move the cart to the side and allow him past. I was sure I must have mumbled my words; I probably sounded like Chewbacca, or something—everything smushed together.

  “It’s no problem,” he said, and I glanced up to see that smile again. I had never seen a million-dollar smile in real life. But I knew instinctively that he had one.

  I fought to keep from sighing. He had eyes the color of shamrocks and just the smallest amount of brown stubble across his chiseled jaw. With his knit hat and scarf, he looked like a model from an ad for outdoor gear. I wondered vaguely if he might have actually been a model—he was that handsome.

  I smiled a little and ducked my head again. Leave it to me to slam my cart into the Bold and the Beautiful. I felt like a clumsy oaf, but at least he’d been kind about it.

  I went back to examining the different shelves. Erica would be happy to find that the store was stocked with her favorite coconut water, whey powder, and raw honey. I started checking items off of my list: Tons of produce for juicing and smoothies, steel-cut oats, eggs, quinoa, soba noodles, soy milk, chia seeds, and organic chicken breasts.

  I saw that they had a bakery, and I couldn’t help but wander over to see what they were selling there, too. I tried to eat as healthily as possible, but unlike my sister I did sometimes indulge. They had chocolate croissants; I couldn’t resist—I reached in and took one, then dropped it in a little paper bag.

  “You have good taste,” I heard from over my shoulder. “When that pastry flakes in your mouth—I’m telling you, it’s erotic.”

  I jumped like I’d been electrocuted, hiding the croissant behind my back. Shame and guilt flooded through me—a knee-jerk reaction, the byproduct of a childhood spent binge-eating and sneaking food.

  It was my friend from a few aisles over. Had he been making fun of me, trying to make me feel bad? No. Not everybody thought the same way as those old bullies in the schoolyard. In fact, it looked like he’d just been trying to make conversation.

  Sheepishly, I pulled the bag from behind my back and placed it in the trolley. “Um, hi,” I said sheepishly. “Do you come here often?” I immediately blushed. Nice work on the cheesy line, Libby. This was why I rarely spoke to men. Stupid things always poured out of my mouth.

  If he thought I sounded cheesy, he didn’t let on. “I’m staying nearby,” he said. “I usually buy at least one or two and keep them in my freezer, in case I feel the urge.” He reached past me to grab two croissants for himself, and put them in his own little bag.

  I felt a little better once I saw that.

  “Do you live here?” he asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around town before.”

  I felt myself blushing. As if he would remember, even if he had seen me. “No, I’m just here for a couple of days. My sister is a skier,” I told him. “I’m doing the grocery shopping for her.”

  He glanced over the items in the cart, and smiled. “You’re a good sister,” he said. His eyes met mine, and I blushed again as he nodded then continued on his way. My knees were weak. I felt sort of ridiculous.

  The cashier asked if I had my own bags when I paid for my groceries. She lifted an eyebrow in that funny way only people who worked at upscale supermarkets could do when I said no—implying without words the terrible things I was doing to the environment.

  In my embarrassment I purchased three then overstuffed them, my shame issues spiraling out of control. When I walked out of the store and stepped off the curb, of course the one in my left hand ripped open.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said out loud, watching the contents bounce across the asphalt. After the travel, and Erica’s nonsense, and then the memories brought up in the store, this was the last thing I felt like going through. I just wanted to sit on the ground, right there in a puddle of melted snow, and cry.

  “Do you need so
me help?”

  I looked in the direction from which the voice had come; despair written all over my face. And there he was, once again. My friend from the store.

  His face softened. “You’re not having the best day, are you?”

  I shook my head and began to gather the groceries before me. Before I knew it, he was at my side, pulling one of his own empty reusable bags from his cart to help me.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked, picking up all of my bags. I almost burst into tears on the spot. I had so needed some kindness in that moment, and here was a perfect stranger handing it to me.

  “I’ll show you,” I said. We walked together to my rental. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “It’s really no problem,” he assured me, loading my bags into the trunk when we arrived. “In fact, it was my pleasure.”

  I had to laugh. “I guess I’m jaded. You’d think that growing up in a small town would make me used to the kindness of others. But that’s not the case.”

  “You come from a small town where people are mean?” he asked. I laughed again; he had a funny way of putting things.

  “Sort of, yes,” I said. “Sometimes people in small towns are very insulated. Don’t let TV and movies tell you different.” I looked at him sideways. “Sorry for spoiling the illusion, if you thought otherwise.”

  He threw his head back and laughed; I loved the sound of it. “Yes, that’s right up there with finding out there’s no Santa Claus. Thanks a lot; maybe I’ll mind my own business from now on.” His easy, warm smile nearly blinded me.

  “Well… thanks again for your help.” I had no idea what else to say.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied. “I’m glad I was here.” Then he turned and walked away.

  I watched him go, my heart all fluttery. I had been rescued by a kind, intelligent and gorgeous man—a real Prince Charming. And my knees were strangely weak again. Was this what it was like to swoon?