He came down the chimney for more than cookies. I hate Christmas. The songs. The fake smiles. The memories of my ex walking out on Christmas Eve. But one sarcastic “Dear Santa” at the office party changes everything—because the letter I read aloud? It wasn’t a prop. Now there’s a golden-eyed incubus in the supply closet, claiming he’s here to restore my holiday spirit… by any means necessary. We’re snowed in overnight, the lights keep flickering, and this demon of desire has a thing for tinsel, praise, and making even a Grinch like me laugh while he ruins my lipstick. Lucien is sin wrapped in red ribbon—playful, seductive, and determined to prove that pleasure is a Christmas miracle. And the more he touches me, the more I start to believe him. Because maybe the magic of Christmas isn’t found under the tree… Maybe it’s in the arms of the incubus who came down the chimney just for me.

The only thing melting this winter… is me. I came to the Arctic to forget my problems—not to be dragged under the ice by a mythical woman with eyes like sea glass and a voice that could shatter reason. Now I’m trapped in her secret spa while a blizzard rages outside. She says she’s a Snow Siren, and every touch she gives me makes me believe. Her song warms the air. Her hands make the world disappear. And when she whispers “Say yes”, I do—because the only thing colder than Lapland… would be living without her. A steamy sapphic monster romance filled with winter magic, wicked banter, mirror play, and a happily-ever-after that glows hotter than the Northern Lights.

I’m Riley Anders—toy designer, caffeine addict, and certified Christmas burnout. All I wanted was to finish my latest invention and maybe get a few hours of sleep. Instead, I woke up inside my own prototype, shrunken down and gift-wrapped like a malfunctioning Barbie. Enter Pip. Yes, that Pip—the Christmas Imp with golden eyes, curved horns, and a grin that should come with a warning label. He claims he’s rescuing me, but somehow that involves teleportation, enchanted ribbons, and more teasing than any mortal woman can handle. He’s chaos in suspenders. I’m order in a tool belt. And together? We’re pure holiday combustion. By Christmas morning, I might just believe in magic again—if I survive being thoroughly unwrapped first.