by Amanda Rose
“And we brought spiked eggnog, some of your favorite Christmas movies, and a shit ton of marshmallows. So, you can’t say no to that,” Jasper said with a smile and his signature wink. He always had to throw in some humor.
I couldn’t stop staring at them. They bought the cabin for me. They brought everything with them to give me a Christmas like what I had with dad. They loved me and were fighting for me.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of the future anymore.
And damn it, I loved them for it all so much more.
“So, what do you say? Can we come in or is this just too much?” Tobi asked with a bit of worry in his tone.
I finally couldn’t take it anymore. A genuine smile lit up my face and a single tear streaked down my cheek as I gazed at my men. By their resounding smiles, they knew with that single look, that I was prepared for it all. I would do my damndest to tell them every day I loved them if that’s what it took to convince me that I could do this. I could love these men and not be afraid of it or question it.
I would just love them and let them love me.
“The more the merrier.” I replied.
K.B. Ladnier
Visit the Author's Facebook Page
Visit the Author's Reading Group
Visit the Author's Website
Visit the Author's Amazon Page
Check Out the Author's Pen Name
Description
Emily never expected to find herself on the streets of Edinburgh, looking for a place to stay. In the midst of winter, a park bench doesn't sound very inviting. When a mysterious stranger invites her into his home, she first suspects he has ulterior motives - especially when she finds out that he lives with two other guys. Is he really the good Samaritan he seems?
Trigger warning: contains scenes of sexual abuse
For everyone who’s not got a place to stay right now. This may be the end of this story, but it’s not the end of Emily and her guys. An extended, novel-length version of Streets of Winter will be published in early 2018 – subscribe to my newsletter to be the first to find out when it can be pre-ordered. This may have been the first contemporary story I’ve published, but it’s not the first reverse harem. If you liked Emily, I’m sure you’ll also adore my character Wyn and her four Guardians in Winter Princess, a paranormal reverse harem set in Scotland (you may notice a pattern there). Not out yet, but up for pre-order is my dystopian reverse harem Polar Destiny featuring some very sexy bear shifters (including a polar bear!). Another book that can be pre-ordered is From the Deeps, a paranormal reverse harem with kelpies, wraiths and a rather cute incubus that I’ve co-written with the amazing Laura Greenwood. And finally, another co-written story (this time with the lovely Arizona Tape) is Partridge in the P.E.A.R., a satirical sci-fi reverse harem, part of the 12 Days of Christmas anthology. If you prefer a list, here you go: Daughter of Winter Series (Paranormal RH) Winter Princess Winter Heiress (2018) Winter Queen (2018) Ruined Heart Series (Fantasy RH) Heart of Time Heart of Four (2018) The Drowning Series (Dystopian RH) Polar Destiny (2018) Anthologies Highland Butterflies - United in Love (FF romance) Partridge in the P.E.A.R - 12 Days of Christmas (sci-fi RH; 20th November) Alone - Unusual Fairy Tales (sci-fi RH; January 2018) Mother of Gods: A Winter Princess Prequel - Unusual Myths (January 2018) And a few words about me: Skye MacKinnon tells stories about science for a living - but at night she writes fiction, mainly fantasy. When she's not writing, she's out and about with her camera, or spends time with mythical creatures and the odd vampire living in her kindle. Usually, there's tea and cake involved. She lives in Scotland with her two overly spoilt house rabbits and a few hundred self-obsessed characters constantly asking her to tell their stories. One day she will. Promise.
CHAPTER ONE
Two polished leather shoes stop in front of me. I look up – and straight at the crotch of the guy bending down to me. I look away, trying to hide an embarrassed smile. This is as close to a guy as I’ve come in years. My ex was the jealous type. Which is why I only have three good friends left, all the others let themselves be bullied away. Good riddance. And male friends were taboo – she knew I was bisexual, not just into women like herself, so she saw them as a threat. When I spoke with a guy at a party… not pretty.
“Why are you here?” he asks, and I stare at him.
“What do you think? This piece of pavement feels particularly nice, so I decided to sit here for a few hours.”
He sits down next to me, hugging his long legs.
“You’re right, this is quite comfortable.”
I snort. This guy is crazy. If I could, I’d get up and walk away, but this spot has a roof and a steady stream of people. It’s too good to abandon because of a random weirdo.
“What do you want?” I snarl at him, trying to look as unfriendly as possible. Please leave, I’ve got enough craziness of my own to deal with.
“Nothing, just taking a break. Walking up the hill is exhausting.”
I give him a doubtful look. He’s fit, I can tell even though he’s wearing a thick leather jacket. Add a hundred pounds or so and I’d believe him, but no way is this guy out of breath from a little stroll up the hill. Edinburgh is full of hills, so if you live here, you get used to it.
“Please go away,” I try more politely this time.
“Why? You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“Ehm, what?”
“I asked why you’re here, and sorry, but this really isn’t comfortable.” He shifts and his shoulder touches mine in the process. I shiver. Human touch has become a rarity in my life.
“Are you like a street pastor?”
He laughs. “Nah, I don’t do God.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t in the mood for a sermon about what a sinful girl I am, thank you very much. I’ve had a few of those kinds of people try and talk to me over the past weeks. When they offer that I can sleep in their churches for a night, I go with them, enduring their speeches, trying to get done with it as soon as possible. If they only want to talk about God, I tell them to fuck off. Works most of the time.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m homeless. So if you don’t want to throw something in my hat, please move on. You’re distracting.”
He chuckles. “I know, I can be very distracting.” His smile could make any lesser girl faint.
I snort. “Sorry, wrong word. I meant annoying. Now piss off.”
“You know you’re not very polite?”
“Why should I be? You’re invading my privacy.”
“If I throw something in your hat, will you come and get a coffee with me?”
Tempting, but that’s creepy. This guy is too friendly. And that usually means trouble. My trust in humanity has suffered a lot since my first night on the streets. Some people think that just because you’ve got breasts, you’re for sale. Or happy to be touched.
“I told you to piss off.”
“Come on, it’s cold out here and I really don’t want to sit on the cold pavement anymore. I’m in the mood for an americano and a piece of cake. Doesn’t that tempt you?”
“I don’t go with random men who I don’t know,” I reply, giving him an evil stare, which he apparently finds amusing.
“Then we better get to know each other.” He holds out a gloved hand. “My name is Ben, pleased to meet you.”
I don’t make any move to take his hand, but he keeps it there, outstretched.
“Go away, Ben,” I sigh, but he stays in the same position, grinning like he’s the funniest person in the world. The most desperate, maybe. He twitches his fingers, wiggling them one by one.
“Is it the glove that’s bothering you? I can take it off.”
I sigh again. Why doesn’t he get the message?
He takes off his glove and I cringe. His hand is covered in scars, big, fleshy ones. One disappears under the sleeve of his jumper, tempting me to follow it. A silent vulnerability has crept into his eyes, making me think twice about ref
using again.
I shake his hand. “I’m Em.”
“M, like the letter?”
“Em, like Emily.”
“Nice to meet you, Em. Now, how about that coffee?”
“I don’t drink coffee. I’m a tea person.”
“Tea it is.” He gets up and offers me his now gloved hand. I’m about to refuse when I realise I need the loo. Using the toilet in a café beats the public ones by miles. I take his hand and he pulls me up. I sway a little; after sitting in the cold for so long, my feet are frozen. He reaches out to steady me, but I evade him and jump up and down a little, causing him to smile. I stop and glare at him, until he tries to hide his grin.
“There’s this cute little coffee shop just around the corner, I go there to work a lot.” He points at his messenger bag, bulging with papers and a large laptop.
“What do you do?” I ask, not able to stifle my curiosity.
“This and that,” he replies mysteriously. “I can tell you about it in the café.”
“You’re very persistent, you know that, right?”
“Oh, my flatmates tell me every day.”
We start walking down the Royal Mile, trying to avoid the groups of tourists huddled together at street corners, listening to their shouting guides.
“You have flatmates?” He looks like he could afford his own place. And too old to live with others; probably early thirties.
“Yes, two. Alistair inherited a house and invited us to stay for a summer. It’s been four years now, and still working well.”
“Don’t you want to live on your own?” I loved having my own little flat before I moved in with Jess. Right now, I wish I had somewhere to stay, even just a room, as long as it was my own, and not shared with crowds of other homeless folks.
“It’s a large house, we can stay out of each other’s way if we want, but at the same time, if I want company, I don’t need to go far to find it. And this way I don’t have to spend a lot of money on rent that I could spend on other things.”
“Like what?”
“Right now, coffee.” He holds open the door of a small café that I almost didn’t notice. It’s in one of the narrow closes leading off the Royal Mile, one of the darker ones that I wouldn’t usually walk through at night. The café looks very inviting though. Candles flicker on the small iron wrought tables, comfy cushions cover the sofas and chairs dotted around the room. And the best thing: it’s warm.
“May I take your coat?” Ben asks, and I indulge him and let him take it off my shoulders. Apparently, he’s got some kind of good Samaritan complex.
He even pulls back my chair when I sit down. A real gentleman. And I still don’t know what he wants from me. That worries me.
He orders our drinks from an old lady standing behind a row of cakes and scones, and sits opposite me, staring straight into my eyes. I can’t help but stare back.
“Have you ever stolen something?” he asks suddenly.
“No.”
“Truth. Interesting.”
“Why is that interesting? Not everyone living on the streets is a criminal.”
“Obviously.” He leans forwards, his elbows pressed on the white table cloth, his index fingers touching his chin. I feel like an animal in the zoo, being stared at curiously. Or, maybe more like it, a gazelle being stared at by a lion.
“What do you want, Ben?” I sigh, evading his intense brown eyes.
“To get to know you.”
“You know, this is really creepy. I think I should go.” I move to get up, but the old woman bringing our drinks is in the way.
“Leaving already, dearie?” I look at her tray and see hot chocolate. And sit back down. If it had been tea, I might have been able to leave, but no chance. Hot chocolate is heaven in a mug. With whipped cream on top.
“No, just looking for the toilets.”
“Just around the corner, love.” I nod to her in thanks and follow her directions to a sliding door hiding a single same-sex toilet. I breathe out deeply when I’m finally on my own again, away from Ben. He’s strange. Good-looking, hot, almost, but very, very strange. I don’t get a read on him, and I’m usually good at reading people. He’s too friendly. Normally, when people are this friendly, they want something in return. He doesn’t look like the type who has to pay for sex. I mean, look at him. He’d just have to go up to a random girl to find one to take home, or two. So why is he talking to me? A dirty, unnoticeable street rat?
I take my sweet time, washing my face in the small sink and rubbing some soap on my armpits. Deodorant, Em style. My brown hair is sticky and filthy. I run my hands through it a few times, trying to get the knots out of it. I should probably cut it short, that’s more practical for the life I’m currently living. Conditioning my hair is not very high on my list of priorities. My bra is itchy and I’d love to wash it, but I don’t want to go back not wearing it. It feels safer with it on, somehow.
After another splash of water on my face to wash away the last of the grime, I return to Ben and my hot chocolate. The cream on top of it has started to melt a little, so it’s the first thing on my plan of attack. I scoop it up and devour it, savouring the taste of cocoa-covered cream.
Ben watches me with an amused twinkle in his eyes as I savour the chocolaty foam hiding beneath the cream. I have to come here again, this is the best hot chocolate I've had in years. Then I look at the price written on the large board above the counter and I decide not to. At least, not while I still live on the streets. Once I'm back on my own two feet and have a regular income again, I'll come here every day.
I try and pace myself, but suddenly, my mug is empty and Ben is trying to hide a laugh.
"Mary, could we have another hot chocolate, please? Add some marshmallows this time."
Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought at first. I stare at my empty mug, watching tiny brown air bubbles pop their final goodbye.
"Do you lie?" Ben suddenly asks and I lift my head to stare at him incredulously.
"Seriously? Why are you asking me stuff like that when you could be asking for my sob story?"
"You didn't answer me when I asked you about that earlier," he says softly.
"Yes, I lie. Not more than everyone else, though. I think."
"Are you a good liar?"
"I guess? It's not something to be proud of, so I've not given it much thought."
He nods. "Let's play a game. Give me three statements about yourself, two true and one lie, and I'll try and tell them apart."
"No, you start." I don’t want to be branded a liar by him.
"Feisty, I like it." He takes a sip from his Americano, which must now surely be cold. "I had a poodle called Mr Fluffy. My favourite colour is black. I have a license to carry a gun."
"The third one."
"Wrong. My favourite colour is pink."
I snort-gasp. "Seriously? That was a second lie."
"Is it?" He smiles mysteriously. "Your turn."
"Okay, let me think. I've never taken drugs. I used to do ballet." I flash my teeth. "I had a Labrador called Mrs Wiggle."
He laughs at the last one. Good. If they laugh, they are more likely to think it's a lie. His smile disappears and he begins to study me, his face suddenly serious.
"Interesting..." he mutters under his breath, but we get interrupted by the woman he called Mary, who's bringing me my second hot chocolate. This time, she's put a heap of tiny marshmallows on the saucer. Perfect. I don't like it when they get soggy.
"The last one," he says confidently.
"Wrong, she really was called that."
"Then the first."
I huff. "Just because I live on the streets doesn't mean that I take drugs, or steal, or lie. This is becoming quite insulting. I never did ballet, I'm not a girly girl nor have I ever been. I did kickboxing instead."
"Wow, that's unexpected. And useful."
"Useful for what?"
"Mary, could we have some cake?" he calls out instead of answering.
> She shuffles over to our little table. "Which one would you like, dearie?" He raises an eyebrow at being called that, but gives her an indulgent smile.
"The raspberry gateau you had last week was delicious. I don't suppose..."
She chuckles. "I've got some in the fridge. I save it for my special customers. And what would you like, darling?"
I look over at the display case filled with the most delicious cakes. "Something with chocolate?"
Ben laughs. "Do you eat anything besides chocolate?"
"Not if I don't have to," I shoot back, my eyes drawn to the large piece of chocolate cake Mary is now placing on a plate.
“Cream?” she asks and I don’t find words to reply to this amazing woman.
“Yes, she wants cream,” Ben answers her with a chuckle.
Mary takes a glass bowl covered with cling film out of the fridge and reveals a massive portion of whipped cream. Not the cheap bottle stuff, the good, fatty, calorific goodness. She puts a generous scoop on my giant piece of cake. I think I’m in heaven.
When Mary puts the plate in front of me, I'm experiencing a food orgasm. Ben looks like he's having fun watching me. But I don't let him deter me from my feast. While he is taking his sweet time with his gateau, my chocolate cake is disappearing at an alarming speed. I will have to brush my teeth extra carefully tonight. The thought of using the public toilets near the station almost drives away my appetite. At night, they are not a place you'd want to be. Smelly, creepy, dark.
"What else do you like besides chocolate?" Ben asks me when I'm finally slowing down a bit.
"Carrots. Spinach. Walnuts." I reply in between chewing on a piece of dark chocolate that found its way into the sponge.
"I didn't mean food, but that's good to know."
