Every Sunday I share Six Sentences from one of my books or current WIP
This week we’re celebrating Christmas in July with the daughter of Saint Nicholas and the son of Krampus in my book Son of Krampus.
It was adorable for her to turn her head and watch this erudite man sliding around in his socks. Then she’d spot the tuft of black chest hair poking through the undone buttons of his shirt, or the wildness in his eyes when he’d helped guide Nicholas through a wind eddy, and adorable transformed to something primal. No matter how well he cleaned up, and God did he ever, when Nadire looked at him all civility vanished from her brain and she’d swear he was a fertility god.
Not cupid, who became the exact version of an insipid asshole one doomed to spend immortality as an infant would. There was nothing civilized about Emeric when his cheeks were flushed, his eyes hooded, and his shoulders squared as if he intended to fling her over his shoulder. He was a god of sex as much as one of justice.