Book Title: A Daddy For Christmas 3: Rowan
Author and Publisher: Colette Davison
Cover Artist: Covers by Jo
Release Date: December 16, 2025
Tense/POV: first person, alternating POV
Genres: Contemporary MM Romance, BDSM
Tropes: grumpy-sunshine, Daddy kink, forced proximity, snowed-in, insta-love, low-angst
Themes: Finding Christmas spirit
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: 39 000 words
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
It is part of a multi-author series.
Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited
Blurb
When my brother jets off on a last-minute holiday, leaving me to run our business, my plan to avoid Christmas is left in tatters.
The bright side? Is there one? I don’t really do bright sides.
Making use of my brother’s flashy car and his driver, Rowan, is a plus. Sort of. Upbeat personalities aren’t my thing. Despite that, Rowan’s optimism is better than any chisel, chipping away at my stern exterior.
Getting stranded in a snowstorm wasn’t on my itinerary, but here we are, cold and all alone, with no sign of being rescued.
I couldn’t leave Rowan to freeze, could I? As we try to stay warm, I discover something about Rowan which makes me realise we have more in common than I expected.
I’m technically his boss…
…but that doesn’t matter tonight.
Not when working together to raise the temperature in the car has the potential to be so much fun.
But when the storm clears, will I still want to be Rowan’s Daddy?
A Daddy for Christmas 3 is a multi-author series. Holiday tales of boys in need of Daddy’s love and in some cases, a firm hand. Naughty or nice, it’s all in Santa’s hands now. So why not dive in and read each standalone and enjoy the holidays alongside our boys.
“Uh,” I say, as I stare at the moving white wall in front of us.
The headlights give the snow an eerie glow. I can’t tell where the ground ends and the sky begins. I check the SatNav, but we’re nowhere near a village.
“Maybe it will pass quickly and melt.” The car tells me it’s below zero outside and getting colder. “I didn’t think it would lay so fast.” I’ve never seen a snowstorm this bad before. It’s the kind of thing that would happen in the movies, but not in the UK, especially not this far south. “I’ll drive slowly and get us somewhere.” Probably not to the ball. It’s still too far away, but if I can drive ten miles, we’ll reach a village.
“Is it safe to drive?” Damon asks.
“Umm… It would be risky.” But so is staying out here in subzero temperatures.
“Let’s wait it out for a while.”
“You just want to miss the ball,” I joke.
“Not like this,” he says.
I turn the heating up a notch. “I’ll leave the engine on. Hopefully, the storm will blow itself out as quickly as it blew in.”
Not that it looks like it’s going to stop anytime soon. It’s impenetrably thick. If I’d known we would be driving into a storm like this, I’d have suggested leaving a lot earlier in the day to avoid it. It wasn’t meant to be this bad, this early, or exactly where we are. Snowstorms can be fun when you’re inside a cosy building, your nose pressed against the glass, watching the giant flakes float to the ground and transform everything into a winter wonderland. Being stuck in a car, in the middle of nowhere, on what’s essentially a deserted road doesn’t hold the same sense of wonder and magic.
We wait for forty minutes, but the storm doesn’t let up. The snow keeps falling and laying. I’m not sure where the road is anymore.
“Maybe they’ll send a snowplough out,” I say.
“On these roads? Unlikely. You should turn the engine off. We’re burning fuel for nothing.”
“We’re keeping the car warm.” But, he’s right. We can’t keep the engine running indefinitely. “There’s a blanket in the boot. I’ll fetch it for you.”
I put the privacy screen up and then open the door. A cold blast of wind and snow rushes into the car, but thanks to my forethought, it can’t reach Damon in the back. Shivering, I get out, my shoes sinking into thick snow. Immediately, my socks and the bottom of my trouser legs become soaked. Ignoring my own discomfort, I stomp around to the boot, open it, and pull out the large picnic blanket that Nigel keeps in there. I also open the emergency kit, which includes a first-aid kit, two bottles of water—which I replace regularly—and two bars of Kendal Mint Cake. I take the water and food and leave the first-aid kit. Hopefully, we won’t need that. With everything bundled in my arms, I shut the boot and return to the car, closing the door before lowering the privacy screen so I can pass Damon the blanket. He doesn’t take it.
“You’re covered in snow.”
He’s right. It’s on my shoulders and in my hair. My face is damp and cold, and I’m still shivering, despite the warm recycled air blowing through the air vents.
“Take the wettest stuff off and use the blanket.” It’s an order, not a suggestion, one that leaves me quivering with need. Damon Cole is taking care of me. Why?
“Uh…”
“Do it.”
Who am I to resist his stern, growly voice? I take off my shoes, socks, and jacket, and wrap myself in the blanket.
“Feel better?”
“Uh-huh, thank you.”
The song playing is interrupted by an emergency weather report. I huddle deeper into the blanket as I listen to the ‘do not travel’ warning, and the grim news that, for the next couple of hours at least, the snowstorm is here to stay.
Colette’s personal love story began at university, where she met her future husband. An evening of flirting, in the shadow of Lancaster castle, eventually led to a fairytale wedding. She’s enjoying her own ‘happy ever after’ in the north of England with her husband, two beautiful children and her writing.
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