Desperately Seeking Santa


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The old Santa’s drunk and Mandy Brooks, assistant manager of Wentworth’s, an upmarket department store, doesn’t do

Christmas. Then she’s forced to play the part of Mrs. Santa in the store’s grotto. Trouble is Santa’s replacement is a blast from her past – one she ran away from at the altar five years ago.

Ditched on his wedding day, Tate Sullivan left town. Now he’s back and he’s got unfinished business with Mandy Brooks. He wants her back in his bed on his terms, his way. But nothing is going according to plan.

And revenge is meant be sweet, isn’t it?

Reviews for Desperately Seeking Santa:

I really liked the premise of this story: two people being locked into a store on Christmas Eve during a snowstorm. Mandy and Tate have a lot of feelings, both good and bad about each other, and neither knows the whole story. Their mothers have a lot to answer for. The love scenes between the two are scorchers and the Mrs. Claus outfit makes for a few chuckles. This is a great holiday story. Maura, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

Jane Beckenham draws her reader in as she tells the story of Tate and Mandy. You feel the anger and fear in Mandy as well as the feelings Tate still has for her and her for him. You will want to read this book from start to finish just to see if Tate can go through with his revenge or if his feelings for Mandy go much deeper. As well as to see if Mandy can be honest with her feelings for Tate. A very pleasing holiday story that brings a little of the Christmas magic to the reader. Reviewed by Stacy Link for Paranormal Romance Reviews.

Book Excerpt

The dress was short. Far too short.
She yanked the zip down and slipped it over her head. The silk caressed her skin as it slid
down her length.
This…was…oh, my God, it virtually had no front. The neckline plunged low and the
barely there boa feather covered…well, hell fire, absolutely zip. Nada.
This was bad. Very, very bad.
Minutes later, her body heated as fiery as the red dress she’d squeezed into, and bad
became worse as she spied herself in the mirror. She cursed, and hoped Maxwell had a rotten
Dear Lord. She looked…provocative. Surely Mrs. Santa didn’t wear this. She should be
covered from neck to knee. Lace. A hat.
A wave of discomfort sent a shimmy of goose bumps chasing up and down her spine. She
leaned forward, resting against the washbasin and peered into the mirror as she tugged at an
unruly golden tendril and brushed it from her face. Damn it. She looked hot. Excited even.
Enough! She was Mrs. Santa, for God’s sake. Not some bimbo about to expose herself.
Well, actually she was. And far too exposed. But she wanted to hold onto her role of
Assistant Manager of the state’s top retail chain. Besides, if she refused, Maxwell would
enlighten the new boss she had let the store down.
Snatching up her clothes, she shoved them into a store bag and with her gut churning
exited the bathroom to the immediate accompaniment of wolf whistles.
“Nice dress, Mandy.”5
Mandy’s eyes rolled skyward.
“How about bending over a bit more? Come on.”
Color scored a path up her neck to her cheeks. “Shut it, Clay. Go back to measuring
inside legs.”
To a unified crescendo of ‘ooohs’ following in her wake, she wound her way through
Wentworth’s department store receiving more looks than was comfortable. Humiliation
complete, she walked on leaden legs, turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt.
Santa’s grotto at twelve o’clock. Twenty feet ahead. Her gaze honed in on the elaborate
fairyland bereft of Santa and hangers-on at the moment.
Thank God. Her breath expunged in a heavy sigh. She had a reprieve.
But that wasn’t to be.
“Ouch. What the…”
Mandy spun round. “You…pinched….” She expected to see one of the rambunctious
children, but oh no, this was no kid; except probably the biggest kid of all.
Tall. White haired. Bushy beard. And wearing a Santa mask, which in itself was kinda
weird. No Santa she’d ever seen had worn a mask. It was one of those half masks, a bit like
something out of Phantom of the Opera, but still all ruddy cheeks and shiny nose. “Good enough
for a wino,” she grumbled, while absently rubbing her hand across her pinched silk-covered
This definitely had the beginnings of a nightmare.


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