12 Days of Christmas featuring A Special Holiday Scene of Ana & Elijah from Welcome to Sugartown by Carmen Jenner (excerpt and giveaways

Ana Belle never wanted anything more than to hang up her apron, jump on her Vespa and ride off into the sunset, leaving Sugartown in the dust. 

Elijah Cade never wanted anything more than a hot meal, a side of hot arse and a soft place to lay his head at night where he could forget about his past. 

But you know what they say about wanting: you always want what you can’t have. 

Nineteen year-old virgin Ana is about to discover that’s not quite true because a six foot three, hotter than hell, tattooed, Aussie sex god just rode into town. He’s had a taste of her pie and he wants more– no really, Ana bakes pies for a living, get your mind out of the gutter. 

She’d be willing to hand over everything tied up in a big red bow, there’s just one problem; Elijah has secrets dirtier than last week’s underwear. Secrets that won’t just break Ana’s heart, but put her life at risk, too. When those secrets come to light, their relationship is pushed to breaking point. 

Add to that a psychotic nympho best friend, an overbearing father, a cuter than humanly possible kid brother, a wanton womanizing cousin, the ex from hell, and more pies than you could poke a … err … stick … at. 

And you thought small towns were boring. 

Welcome to Sugartown. 

*Content Warning. Intended for a mature 18+ audience. Contains explicit sex, oodles of profanity and a crap-tonne of AWKWARD.

“Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin Hood is gay, Wonder Woman lost her titties flying Jackson’s way—”

“Hey, Jackarse, if you don’t quit singing that freaking song I’m going to ram this candy cane right up your arse.” Holly yells above the ear-raping horror that is Jack’s singing and waves her big, fuck off candy cane in the air.

“Kinky.” Jack replies and goes about humming the tune just to fuck with her as he swigs back a mouthful of beer. Holly looks about ready to shank his stupid arse.

It never fails to amaze me just how fucked up those two are. I mean, Jesus, how screwed up can one relationship get?

Oh … right.

Dave the publican chuckles to himself from across the room. Apparently he and Bob have become close over this last year with everything that’s happened. I’ve certainly received enough phone calls from Dave to come pick Bob’s drunk arse up in the middle of the night before he tossed him out on the street. Dave’s pretty cool, he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy. He sure as shit saw me hitting the bottle hard at the bar when Ana and I broke up and he was good enough about it to ignore the fact that on several occasions I’d reached my limit and needed to be thrown out. 

Ana comes and drapes herself over my lap and then rests her head on my shoulder—and sadly no, she’s not naked on account of her dad occupying the recliner beside us. Dude’s sitting in my favourite chair. I think about the night I made her come all over that seat and feel a smug sense of satisfaction before I remember Bob has this uncanny ability to tell what I’m thinking at the shittiest of times. Like last night as Ana bent over placing presents in front of the tree in that cute little sexy Santa nightie I bought for her and the skirt rode up to that spot just below her arse cheeks and I cleared my throat and pretended like I didn’t have a boner the size of the north pole, Bob had simply looked at me and uttered four words, “That’s my daughter kid.”

“Yeah, and I wanna fuck her every which way from Sunday,” had been my reply. Okay, I didn’t really say that. I might enjoy living on the edge but I aint got a bloody death wish.

I glance at the swallow necklace I gave her last year and run my fingertips over the matching set of tats on her wrists before softly kissing each of them. She stares up at me with that look that says she wants me to bend her over the dresser and show her the true meaning of giving.

I am one fucking lucky bastard.

While Bob nurses his eighth beer and Holly tears Jack a new one for singing that stupid fucking song again, Sammy rifles through the mountain of wrapping paper under the tree, searching for even more shit than he already got. We all kinda spoiled him this year, I know presents don’t count for shit when you have the kinda year he had, but I don’t know, I guess we all thought he deserved to have a good one.

I think the Christmas lollies must be kicking in because from outta nowhere he shoots up from beneath the tree and runs tearing from the room with a shout of, “I bet therths more prethenth hiding thomewhere.”

“You’d think he wouldda had enough with the bloody truckload of money I spent on him.”

“You did great, Dad.” Ana says and smiles over at Bob. He looks like he’s aged ten years in just one, and I’m reminded that it’s not just Sammy who’s been dealing with shit.

Dave pulls me into a conversation about fixing the carburettor in his shitty old Cileca when Sammy comes barrelling into the room clutching a box and screaming, “I found one, I found one!”

“Well who’s it from?” Ana asks.

“Thanta! Ith from Thanta Clauth!”

Sammy’s engrossed in tearing off the black packaging, it’s sorta like it’s been wrapped in black plastic.

“So you think if I swing by tomorrow you can take a look at it?” Dave asks, derailing my train of thought.

“Yeah, sure.” I mutter half-heartedly. I’m not really even paying attention on account of this weird feeling worming its way through my gut. Maybe I shouldda skipped that extra slice of Pavlova for desert?

Sammy’s still trying hard to get the package open, his tongue pokes out in concentration and he turns his back on us, I guess he doesn’t cope well under pressure.

“Thinally!” he shouts and the wrapping falls to the floor. Something’s not right here. 

I glance at it a moment before I really see it, see the bright pink post-it I attached in place of a present label.

“Ah, Sammy. That one’s not for you, buddy.”

“Cool. A butterfly fath mathsk!” He ignores me and tears into the bright pink packaging. “It even hath a remote control.”

I am a fucking dead man.

Ana turns to me with a questioning glance and whispers, “Butterfly face mask? Did you buy him that?”

“Not exactly.”

My seven year old mate faces the room and the beautiful pink Venus Butterfly that I bought so I could see my smoking hot woman getting herself off as she goes about her day is attached to his face. He hits the switch and the butterfly roars to life. I swear the buzz is so loud in the deathly quiet that it makes me want to cover my ears. Ana, Bob, Dave the publican, Jack and even Holly can do nothing but watch on in abject horror and then Sammy says, “Ha! Iths tickling my noths,” and the entire room erupts with laughter.

The whole room except Ana, who turns to me and voices exactly what I already knew, “You are a dead man.”

“Merry Christmas?” I say with a sheepish smile.

“Dead, Cade.”

Carmen Jenner is a thirty-something author, doctor, pilot and CIA agent.

She’s also a compulsive, flagrant prevaricator who gets to make things up for a living.

While Sugartown may not technically exist, Carmen grew up in a small Australian town just like it, and just like her characters, she always longed for something more.They didn’t have an Elijah Cade, though. If they did, you can be sure she would have never left.

Her debut novel,Welcome to Sugartown, releases November 3, 2013.

Catch up on all the news from the Sugartown Series at: http://www.welcometosugartown.blogspot.com.au

Keep a look out for the follow up novels in the Sugartown Series:

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