Don’t you just love Christmas? Chocolate can be eaten in copious amounts with no judgment, in fact I judge you if you don’t eat at least one whole box of chocolates yourself and alcohol can be consumed freely, just so you can properly get in the ‘spirit’ of things. But, what would Christmas be without Santa? So yes, he may break into our houses every year and eat all our mince pies and drink our brandy and okay, he is a bit judgmental, deciding who has been naughty and who has been nice; but it just wouldn’t be the same without him. So, hear our pleas Santa, we have written these letters just for you to let you know how very good we have been this year… 

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Letters to Santa from your favorite authors, characters and readers

Dear Santa,

Hey there big guy. Instead of milk and cookies, how about a nice single malt scotch? I know, I know, normally I’m #teamnice, but a little bribe might help me out this year. See, things have changed since my big Patagonian trip and to be honest, #teamnaughty is a hell of a lot more fun. Before you reach for that lump of coal, go get Mrs. Claus. I’m 100% confident she’ll agree that any good girl who spends night after night with a dirty-talking, 6’2 Scottish mountaineer is bound to turn a little wicked.

This Christmas season I could request things to improve the human condition…like a time machine to go back and prevent Miley Cyrus from filming that BB Talk video or iPhones with unbreakable screens. But what I really want more than anything is for people to feel even a fraction of the love that I have in my heart for Rhys McAskill. Sure it’s cheesy to admit, but it’s also the truth.

Also, a little bit of rope wouldn’t hurt. I don’t mind getting tied up in all the holiday spirit if you know what I mean (wink, wink). Oh, and maybe send Rhys the soundtrack to Braveheart. He is so darn cute when he gets annoyed.

Love and kisses,

Auden (from With Every Breath by Lia Riley)

Dear Santa,

I don’t want to seem confrontational, but I have been a good girl for years and you still haven’t gotten me anything from Christmas list. It’s such a simple request as well, you just need to provide me with a husband, I have even given you the list of all the candidates. I admit, at first asking you to bring some book characters to life may have been a bit of a tall order; however, I know these guys are real, I was stalking them just last week. So, just in case you have forgotten or somehow lost the list of all my future husbands, here it is:

• Jason Momoa
• Chris Hemsworth
• Henry Cavill
• Benedict Cumberbatch
• Tom Hiddleston
• Joe Manganiello
• Armie Hammer
• Simon Baker

Please don’t deviate from the list, I fully expect to see one of the above on my doorstep on Christmas morning.

Have a fabulous holiday season!

Suzanne
Under the Covers Book Blog

Dear Santa,

I know it’s been a while since I last wrote to you. It’s nothing personal, I promise. I’ve been busy working on being nominated Mother of the Year. I think I have an excellent shot at it this time. Yes, I might have taught my kids a swear word or four (and a few variations on the F-word), but that’s okay—I’ve learned a few choice words from them, too, so it’s a win-win for us all.

And yes, I might have an addiction problem, but I don’t think the youth hockey teams would see it that way. Thanks to my Diet Dr. Pepper addiction and their bottle drives, I’m supporting future NHL hotties. Mrs. Claus may thank me now. She’s most welcome.

So as you can see, Santa, I’ve been mostly a good girl this year. And because of this, there are three things I would like to see under the tree.

1. A magic wand to help me keep the house clean. As you know, thanks to Mrs. Claus’s successful erotic romance career (don’t worry, that will be our little secret), it’s impossible to write, hang out on social media, and clean toilets. Something has to give. But with a magic wand, it will never be the toilets—or the kitty litter.

2. Dumbledore’s time-turner necklace. Just think of how many books I’d be able to read in a year with that little beauty. Heck, just think of how many steamy romances a year I’d be able to write with that little beauty.

And now for the most important gift of all:

3. Jamie Fraser…because hello, he’s freakin’ Jamie Fraser. Did I mention the kilt?

Now, I know I haven’t visited you in a while. Over twenty years to be exact. And yes, I do miss your Village in Rovaniemi, Finland. But I promise if you deliver Jamie under the tree this year, we’ll be sure to visit you next year. What, you don’t want that hot Scot around the misses? That can be arranged, too.

Well, I should go and let you wrap Jamie for me. And by wrap, I mean a nice festive kilt and nothing else.

Love you, Santa.

Best,

Stina Lindenblatt

December 20, 1994

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas is to not completely fuck everything up.

Maybe I’m nuts (okay, fine, not maybe) and I’m sure you don’t get a lot of 21-year-old women writing to you, but I’m in a situation here and you’re the kind and patient type, so here goes.

Under normal circumstances, I’d be asking for an Ibanez Tube Screamer distortion pedal for Christmas. The TS9 reissue they’re making these days will put just the right touch of growl in my guitar tone. I’ve been wanting the TS9 ever since Travis let me try his out in practice last month, because it sounds amazing. Perfect. But I don’t have the money to buy one, because I’m cleaned out after getting my car fixed and I spent what little I had left buying Christmas presents for Mom and Granny and Nick.

I haven’t been able to shut up about the TS9 since I tried it, and then this afternoon Travis called me to say Guitar Center is having a sale and I can get one for $50. Well, guess who doesn’t have $50 for a guitar pedal? That’s right, this jobless college student right here. If I didn’t have to drive or eat for the next two weeks, I would have gladly emptied my savings account. I briefly considered not eating, but in a rare moment of sanity, decided to hit the Foodtown instead for the value pack of ramen noodles.

Then tonight we played the annual Billy Broadband Christmas Extravaganza. We got there and I set my gear up, then went to the bar to get us a round. Came back to the stage to deliver the drinks, strapped on my guitar, but when I looked down at my pedals, guess what was there, right between my tuner and my Big Muff? A brand new TS9! I was so confused I asked Travis, “Is this yours?” He looked unbearably cute and dorky in his Pavement T-shirt and Santa hat, but then he gave me this smile—I swear, that boy’s smile is going to be the end of me—and pointed to his feet at his own Tube Screamer.

“Mine’s safe and sound right here,” he said. “For now.”

“Then where did this pedal come from?” I asked, but he just started adjusting the volume on his amp and making a bunch of noise. I turned around to look at Joey behind the kit, who shrugged, like he didn’t know. Right. I turned to Cole, who was tuning his bass and poked him in the shoulder.

“What?” he asked.

“Who put this Tube Screamer here?”

“Beats me,” Cole said. “Ask Santa.”

But Santa Travis was already starting up the feedback, and that’s our go-signal to start the set. I put my hands on my hips and gave him an accusing look, but he cracked smile and I was speechless (and ha, that’s rare). Then he leaned in so I could hear him over the noise. And I heard him, all right. I heard the tiny sound of his lips moving before he spoke. I caught the faint, clean scent of his hair. Not that I was paying close attention or anything.

“Come on,” he said, right in my ear and I heard it all the way down to my soul. “Let’s hear what that TS9 can do for Blue Christmas.”

Joey clicked the drum sticks four times and then we were off, doing a very loud, fast, and gnarly rendition of my favorite depressing Christmas song. But even in my ripped lumberjack flannel and combat boots, I don’t think I looked very punk rock with that big, goofy smile on my face the entire night.

“I can’t believe you got me that pedal,” I said when he dropped me off late after the show. “You shouldn’t have spent that kind of money on me, Travis.”

“You sounded awesome,” he said. “Exactly the sound you were looking for, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I feel bad that I don’t have anything for you.”

“Emmy, that Gretsch tone is so rich now, it’s a gift just to play alongside you.”

Didn’t help matters that it was dark and late and his eyes were all shiny in the glow of the streetlamp. That didn’t help me feel calm one bit. I swallowed and had to look out the window so I didn’t end up in his lap.

“Wish you didn’t have to fly home tomorrow,” I said, trying to keep my voice normal. You know, cool and business-like. “We’ve got a lot of jamming to do over this break. We need to tweak our tone some more now that I’ve got the TS9 in my setup.”

“I’m going to miss you, too,” he said with that sweet boy smile of his, and I’m not sure how much my heart can take, Santa. Not much, I fear.

I leaned over and put my arms around him, which I think only made matters much, much worse. Because he hugged me back and even through my thick army jacket, he felt so warm I did not want to let go.

“Thank you, Travis,” I said, my face sort of against his neck, my nose in his hair and ugh. He smelled so good it took every ounce of my strength not to kiss his neck, though that would have been pretty awkward because Travis and I are just friends. “Best present ever,” I said.

“You’re very welcome, Emmylou,” he said, his arms tightening around me. “Merry Christmas.”

I had to hop out of the van right then because if I didn’t, I was certain I was going to kiss him. And I can’t kiss Travis, because if I do, I’m going to fuck everything up and Travis is easily the best thing that’s happened to this band since Cole got his Ampeg. The best thing that’s happened to me since… anyway. Bands have rules against this sort of thing, and for good reasons.

So, dear Santa, since I won’t be needing that Tube Screamer, I’m hoping you can slip some sort of anti-boy-disaster potion into my stocking, or some kind of amnesia pill for how brilliant and talented and sweet and generally perfect Travis is. That’s all I need this year. If anyone can help me not fuck things up with Travis, it’s you. I’m pretty sure you’re my only hope.

And I’ll be sure to leave you Rice Krispies treats and a flask near the fireplace at Mom’s Christmas Eve.

Love always,
Emmylou Kelley
Stars on the Floor (aka SOFT/Soft yes, I know that’s not the correct acronym.)
Highland Park, New Jersey

Dear Santa,

Unless your memory is better than mine, you probably won’t remember me. I lost my faith in you 70 years ago when you didn’t bring me that slingshot I asked for. I never understood why girls were supposed to get dolls and boys got all the fun toys. It wasn’t fair.

But that’s all in the past and now I need your help—especially for my granddaughter Allie. I’m downright worried about that girl.

She’s has gotten so used to wearing baggy jeans and t-shirts to work that she’s forgot how to dress up and go out for a good time. More than anyone right now, she needs a good time—and to meet a man who’s definitely NOT that sexy cowboy over at the Lucky Penny.   

Ain’t nothing ever good come out of that ranch. It’s been the unluckiest chunk of Texas dirt in history, and I don’t want her tangled up with it. So bring her some sparkly pink hot pants or whatever it is the hoochies wear these days. She’ll have so much attention, she’ll forget all about Blake Dawson and his wild ways.

I might need a little more help than fancy clothes, so the next thing on my list is a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and maybe one of good tequila. Not just for me, though. A few sips will help Allie mellow up. But go on and bring two good sized bottles. I’ll see to it that not a single drop goes to waste.

Oh, and I also would like a bright yellow 1959 Cadillac. It don’t have to be a convertible but it does have to have a radio that plays Etta James music.

If you can deliver this stuff, it will restore my faith.

I’ll leave a shot of Jack and some damn fine brownies (wink, wink) on the table for you.

Big old Texas hugs,
Irene Loga
(Carolyn Brown, Wild Cowboy Ways)

Dear Santa,

I’m incredibly disappointed with you. You did not deliver anything I had asked for last year.  The number of books I read is even lower than the year before. I won’t even mention the other things I asked for…did not come true.  So, this year, I’ve been extra rotten.  I figure it’s the only way to get you attention.  I have done everything in my power to put oomph on the rotten things I’ve  learned from my girls at UTC.  I feel that I am worthy of the things I will ask for this eve.  What do you say?

To start, I will need extra help on my TBR for 2016.  I need you to move on it and PLEASE (emphasize please because I’m nice like that) do what you do and sprinkle good reading mojo on me so I can speed read that list. Next, PLEASE do something about the lack of UF/PNR releases.  There isn’t enough in 2015…why is that?  Meh, nevermind why, just fix it.  Last, I’ve looked at pictures from this year, and I’ve noticed a lack of color on my face.  No, I don’t need a tan, but some makeup.  Not that I lack lipsticks in my possession but remembering to put some on is such a damn task.  This sound like a first world issue, and in a way, I agree but damn it, slap some color on them lips right?  A daily reminder, PLEASE?

With lots of naughty love,

Angela

Dear Santa,

Well, dude, it’s been quite the year. All settled into my dream home (thanks for that) and finished decorating for Christmas. By the way, the elf showed up again this year. Please tell the little bastard to stop eating all the cookies and magically transferring the calories back to me. Oh, and if I catch him flashing Barbie his little elf bits again, I’m going to punch his jingling balls.

My Christmas list is a little long this year. I apologize for that, but maybe you can find it in your jolly ol’ heart to grant me all my wishes.

Please make:
My dangling girl parts a little perkier.
My Internet browser a little faster.
Twitterverse less distracting.
My IG selfies a little cuter and less wrinkly.

Take away:
The anger.
The hate.
The selfishness.

Give us more:
Love
Laughter
Hope
Laughter (this one deserves two).
Strength

Oh, and please ask my heroes and heroines to forgive me for what’s to come.

Thanks, big guy!

Hugs & Kisses,

Cecy

Read more:

• More Dear Santa letters from authors
• Holiday romance book recommendations

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ONE LUCKY WINNER WILL TAKE HOME ALL THE FOLLOWING:

SIGNED copy of HEARTS OF FIRE by L.H. Cosway
SIGNED copy of BLADE ON THE HUNT by Lauren Dane
SIGNED copy of ALICE IN ZOMBIELAND by Gena Showalter
REDEMPTION ROAD by Katie Ashley
THE AFFAIR by Beth Kery
THE COLLAR by Tara Sue Me
STILL THE ONE by Jill Shalvis
WICKED FOR YOU by Shayla Black

8 BOOKS TOTAL (3 OF THEM SIGNED!!)

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