The Klaus Brothers Boxed Set Read online

  Table of Contents

  A Note from Penny Watson

  Cheat Sheet

  Glossary

  Sweet Inspiration

  Sweet Magik

  Sweet Adventure

  About the Author

  Other Works by Penny Watson

  A Quick Note From Penny Watson

  Dear Gentle Reader (I always wanted to say that!),

  Order of Series:

  SWEET INSPIRATION Nicholas’s story

  SWEET MAGIK Oskar’s story

  SWEET ADVENTURE Sven’s story

  SWEET CINDERELLA Gregor’s story (coming 2015)

  SWEET DESTINY Wolfgang’s story (coming 2016)

  For those of you not familiar with this world, I have provided a handy-dandy cheat sheet and glossary of terms. Please feel free to peruse at will. A short quiz will be conducted when you’re finished. (Just joking!)

  * * *

  KLAUSE BROTHERS BOX SET

  Copyright © 2014 Nina Roth Borromeo

  Sweet Inspiration © 2012

  Sweet Magik © 2013

  Sweet Adventure © 2014

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design: Sharon Breitbart

  Cover Image: © Anna Omelchenko 123RF

  Ebook Production: JW Manus

  Penny Watson’s Klaus Brothers

  Series Cheat Sheet

  AKA, Who The Heck Are All These People?

  Nicholas Klaus Senior: Santa Claus. Married to Alena Klaus. CEO of Klaus Enterprises. Fitness buff, runs marathons and works out like a boss. Has a snowy-white goatee, and is built like Paul Bunyan.

  Alena Klaus: Mrs. Santa. The cute, pixie-like matriarch of the Klaus family. Bohemian style of dress. Awful cook. Also loves to work out, especially triathlons.

  Nicholas Klaus (SWEET INSPIRATION): Oldest son. Highly disciplined master pastry chef at Klaus Küche. Specialty is Christmas cookies. Married to Lucy Klaus. Father to Noelle Klaus. Big beard, wears glasses.

  Sven Klaus (SWEET ADVENTURE): Second oldest son. Chief Toy Designer and Woodworker. Tree-hugging, Birkenstock-wearing hippie. Resembles a blond lumberjack.

  Wolfgang Klaus (SWEET DESTINY, 2016): Middle son. Director of Charitable Donations at Klaus Enterprises. General do-gooder. Spends a lot of time in pediatric hospitals and third world countries. Tall, dark, and handsome.

  Gregor Klaus (SWEET CINDERELLA, 2015): Second youngest son. Financial guru for Klaus Enterprises. Lives in Manhattan. Likes designer duds and expensive coffee. Goatee and Rolex not optional.

  Oskar Klaus (SWEET MAGIK): Youngest son. Director of Elfin Resources. Green-haired punk. Extreme snowboarder. Reformed Bad Boy. Married to Kiana Klaus. Father to Gabi (elf) and Mr. Frosty (magik snowman).

  Glossary of Terms

  Council of Seven: governing elfin body of Glasdorf

  Eis Speer: magik spear used to battle Yeti

  Frost Flowers: the first safeguard in the tunnel, psychotic paranormal plants

  Glasdorf: Village near the North Pole where the Klaus family resides

  Honigbienchen: little honeybee

  Klaus Küche: Nicholas’s bakery in Glasdorf

  Magik Bändiger: magik tamer

  Schneemonster: Snowmonster or Yeti

  Sternschnuppen: “shooting stars,” bits of sparkling magik

  Suddie/Sudlander: any person living south of Glasdorf

  Sudenwelt: the “Southern World”

  Tag der Rache: the “day of reckoning,” when the Council determines the punishment for a law breaker in Glasdorf

  The Gate: doorway to Glasdorf, composed of ice, invisible to Suddies

  The Tunnel: underground “old skool” passageway to Glasdorf, in Alaska

  Überholen: the “passing of the torch,” when the current Santa steps down and his heir takes his place

  The Klaus Brothers Series #1

  Sweet Inspiration

  Penny Watson

  SWEET INSPIRATION

  Copyright © 2012 Nina Roth Borromeo

  First published 2009, The Wild Rose Press

  Cover Design: Cover Design: Sharon Breitbart

  Cover Images: Cover Photograph: © Elena Elisseva

  Ebook Production: JW Manus

  All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means is forbidden without the express permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Sweet Inspiration is dedicated to all of my friends, family, Vassar fangirls, and especially The Quirky Ladies who supported my “quirky” idea to write a romance novel about Santa Claus and the North Pole.

  Surrounded by howling winds and a relentless fall of snow, Nicholas Sebastian Klaus studied the storefront across the street. The windows of Sweet Inspiration were so foggy he could barely see the lights twinkling inside. Customers scurried into the shop searching for a warm respite from the wintry weather. They would not be disappointed. The cozy, fragrant bakery was as welcoming as a nana’s kitchen. As comforting as the first bite of a frosting-drenched cinnamon bun. The patrons would settle down into the overstuffed sofas clutching mugs of cocoa, and their eyes would close in bliss as the buttery pastry melted in their mouths. He knew these things were true for he had experienced them every day for a fortnight. And truth be told, Nicholas Klaus was a hard man to please.

  The brownstone looked like a gingerbread house four stories high. Lacy curtains tacked back with velvet ribbons framed each window, and candles flickered against the frosted glass. Branches of bittersweet and rosehip berries overflowed the window boxes, and garlands of fresh greens trimmed the doors. A more picturesque shop would be difficult to find, even in this charming little town of Eston, New York.

  Of course, the most enticing part of the café was not the decadent pastries nor the heady scents of cinnamon and cloves. The reason he felt compelled to visit the bakery every day of his extended vacation was hustling down the street, her arms filled with a large basket of apples. Lucy Anne Brewster, proprietor of Sweet Inspiration and baker extraordinaire, was a delicious package he desperately wanted to unwrap for Christmas. A wild mass of red curls escaped from her tight knit cap, and a hooded woolen coat concealed her baker’s uniform. For the first time in his carefully controlled life, Nicholas found himself inexplicably attracted to a woman. And he was annoyed beyond reason.

  Lucy’s smile mesmerized him the first day he spied her—her plump rosy lips causing temporary speechlessness. The sprinkle of freckles across her blushing cheeks, like cinnamon on a plum kuchen, and blue eyes fringed with long black lashes, were nearly his undoing. But when the damned woman bent over to fetch a cookie sheet from the oven, Nicholas felt a flash of fire so unexpected, he nearly toppled over. She revealed a curvy arse packed perfectly into her baker’s pants. An uncontrollable flare of lust consumed him as sweat dripped from his forehead, along the side of his face into his thick beard.

  And now he stood, like a bloody imbecile, on a freezing street corner in upstate New York, hoping for a glimpse of this red-haired goddess. Good God, his brothers would howl with laughter to see him in such a state. His father would be less than pleased to find Nicholas so distracted from business. His mother, however…he had the distinct feeling his mother would unleash that famous-dimpled smile and say, “Finally. It took you long enough, Nicholas.”

  The embarrassing truth was that he’d barely spoken to the woman. He initially visited the shop because a
colleague mentioned that Sweet Inspiration had the best sugar cookies he had ever tasted. Nicholas was a baker. His specialty…cookies. The quest for perfection consumed almost every waking moment of his life. Although he spent many hours laboring in his state-of-the-art kitchen, he also traveled the world to savor sweet delights from every country. He doubted that some little café in Eston, New York could best his rich, flaky sugar cookies. And yet he found himself drawn to this townhouse several weeks ago.

  He was hard pressed to criticize the shop. Inside, customers curled up on sofas with plump muffins and a book. Others clustered around café tables with their friends and sipped cappuccino. The scent of vanilla and spices permeated the bakery, and twinkling garlands of lights adorned the windows.

  A young woman, with her hair tucked back in a white bandana and a glittering nose ring, waited on him the first day. Nicholas ordered a sugar cookie. No beating around the bush. He would taste, evaluate, and be on his way. His father expected him back to their village shortly. Cookie production skyrocketed at holiday time, and they needed him at home.

  The first bite was surprising. The next, a joy. Each bite reminded him why he was so passionate about baking, why a simple cookie could transform a moment. He felt like a giddy child on Christmas morning, savoring the most delectable treat. This was no ordinary cookie. It was light, yet rich; simple, yet…there was a subtle and fascinating combination of flavors he could not identify. And Nicholas prided himself on his ability to discern any flavor. When he found his plate empty, he sighed and eagerly scanned the display case, ready for more.

  He leaned down to inspect the other treats and caught a blurry image through the glass case—a nymph in the kitchen. Long strands of copper-colored curls cascaded down her back. Delicate blue eyes and a rich lusty laugh caught his attention instantly. Slowly he stood and peered over the counter. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall. He watched, transfixed, as she reached back to knot her thick hair. Her white T-shirt molded nicely to her chest, and two delicious cherries poked out, begging to be nibbled. By him.

  He shook his head. What in God’s name is happening to me? The cookies, ask her about the cookies.

  For the first time in his life, Nicholas Klaus found himself tongue-tied. Unable to spit out any meaningful vocabulary, he simply pointed to a tray of gingerbread and whispered, “Two, please.” His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

  The curly haired angel smiled at him, and the sound of bells exploded in his head. She wrapped the cookies in tissue paper and placed them in a bright red bag, Sweet Inspiration embossed in gold on the front. Nicholas nodded his thanks, and the moment was over.

  Except that he could not get her, or her delicious cookies, out of his mind. He discovered her name and a bit of information about the bakery from her employees. After only three years, she had a devoted following in their town. And the owner was clearly adored by her workers. They described her as “sparkling,” “talented,” and “generous.”

  Nicholas silently added…and sexy. After demolishing a wide assortment of pastries, he staggered back to his inn and slept. His fitful dreams involved pastry cream and Lucy Anne’s nipples, plumped up nicely in a red lacy bra. She crumbled sugar cookies over her breasts and laughed at him, pulling his face down to her vanilla-scented cleavage. Nicholas woke up sweating and frustrated as hell.

  He certainly did not approve of her nonchalant attitude toward the management of her café and the over-indulgence of her staff. On more than one occasion Nicholas noticed Lucy chatting with customers, supporting tearful employees bemoaning a variety of troubles, and generally ignoring her kitchen. Nicholas was appalled. He ran his kitchen like a well-oiled machine, and his relationships with his “employees” were strictly professional. Despite the unorthodox manner in which she ran her shop, her culinary creations amazed him.

  So his long weekend in Eston had turned into a fortnight, and every day he discovered some new delicacy in Lucy’s shop. She haunted his dreams each night, taunting him with her soft white skin and sugary confections. In the light of day, he’d not yet found the courage to speak to her.

  But that was about to change. Tomorrow, he had to return home. And he would be damned if he would return to his village without discovering her secrets. All of her secrets. His raging desire for the petite chef was driving him mad, and he was determined to savor her like an excellent French brandy. Tonight he would seduce luscious Lucy Anne Brewster, and cure himself once and for all of his obsession. He brushed the melted snowflakes off his face, and crossed the street toward Sweet Inspiration, ready to discover the ingredients to Lucy’s treasure.

  Lucy’s mind was on apples. Apple pies, apple muffins, apple crisp and loaves of nutty apple bread. She carried a basket loaded with tart Granny Smith fruits. Mrs. Henderson expected ten mile-high pies for her annual Christmas party tomorrow. Thinly sliced apples, nestled in bourbon-laced custard, overflowed a delicate flaky crust. Lucy spent hours cutting out tiny apples, leaves, and flowers to decorate the tops. Of course, Mrs. Henderson invited Lucy to attend the festive party, but there was no time. Her holiday orders were enormous, and work always came first.

  Strangely enough, this was the first Christmas season that she felt a touch bittersweet when she heard St. Joseph’s choir caroling in the town square. As she watched the families swaying to the music, their mitten-covered hands linked, she felt a pang of…something in her chest. Probably just indigestion from her coffee. But she had a sneaking suspicion that it might be more like a bit of melancholy. It had been a very long time since Lucy had linked hands with anyone. It would be heavenly to wake up on Christmas morning in someone’s arms. Someone who cared enough about her to choose a special gift, not just another wilted poinsettia or box of soaps.

  The new customer in her shop was certainly not helping matters. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was huge, towering over her by a good foot and a half. His shoulders were wide and solid, his hands enormous. The stranger’s demeanor was seriously intense. Lucy had not witnessed a single smile. He wore wire-rimmed glasses over his hazel eyes, and had a thick black beard to match dark wavy hair.

  Every day for weeks he’d settled down in a corner with various cookies, pastries and decadent desserts. The look on his face while he sampled her wares was positively disconcerting. He appeared to be memorizing each bite, analyzing the creations. At first she thought he was a food critic. His buttoned-up appearance and his overwhelming focus on her food lent credence to that idea. But a food critic would not be visiting her shop so frequently.

  Lucy was mortified that her hands shook each time she waited on him. When she leaned over the table to serve her pumpkin crème brulée, his delicious scent hit her like a steam engine—smoky rum and dark spices. Rough callused hands gripped the shaking dish, and saved her the embarrassment of dropping the dessert in his lap. Horrified by her reaction to him, she fled. But not before she noticed him peeking down her blouse. His look of hunger had nothing to do with her crème brulée.

  Further adding to her mortification was the sad fact that she dreamt about him. Wicked, naughty dreams. Never in her twenty-eight years had she experienced such lusty nighttime reveries. Those big rough hands, soft full lips, and rock-hard body brought her unimaginable pleasure. Only in her dreams did her mystery man smile, a slow seductive grin that reminded her of the big bad wolf.

  If only she had the courage to introduce herself. Although she was out-going and friendly with her patrons, she found herself too flustered to speak to her mystery customer. Lucy sighed as she nudged the door to Sweet Inspiration open with her boot, carefully balancing the basket of apples in her arms. A large hand grasped the door above her head. She glanced up, and in the twirling snowflakes, saw his face. Dark, serious, and lightly dusted with melting snow.

  “Oh! My goodness, I didn’t see you there. Um, thanks…for the door, I mean.” Good gracious, Luce, pull yourself together. You sound like a bumbling idiot!

  “My pleasu
re, Miss Brewster.” His voice was so deep and rich, Lucy shivered. He gently took the basket from her arms, and smiled. A slow, seductive, wolfish smile, and she shivered again.

  “It’s quite cold out this evening. We should really get inside.” He gestured to the inside of the shop, and Lucy nodded mutely.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked, pulling off her cap. He seemed mesmerized by the sight of her messy curls falling down around her shoulders. Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to her face.

  “Everyone around here knows your name, Miss Brewster, owner of Sweet Inspiration, and friend to all. I’ve heard many intriguing things about you.”

  Lucy laughed. “I find that hard to believe. Nothing about me is ‘intriguing.’ You, however, are a mystery.” She blushed as the words popped unbidden out of her mouth.

  “Am I? How so?”

  “You’ve been here every day for weeks, and I don’t know who you are. You’re not a food critic, by any chance? I hope you’ve been enjoying our food.”

  “Not a food critic, just a fellow baker duly impressed by your creations. About those sugar cookies…”

  “Lu-cy! Thank God you’re here! Thirteen cousins are dropping by for my party, and they have extremely hearty appetites. I hope you have enough apples to increase my order. I think fifteen pies should be adequate.” Mrs. Henderson, red-faced and frazzled, grabbed Lucy by the shoulders and shook vigorously. “You do have extra apples, don’t you?”

  Lucy extricated herself from Bertha’s grip and patted her arm reassuringly. “Calm down, Bertha. I have plenty of apples. Would you like a few platters of cookies, too? Are there children coming?”

  “Why, yes, there are children. Quite a handful, so poorly behaved. Why, the last time they visited—”

  Lucy cut her off before she started another story. Mrs. Henderson had a tendency to be long-winded with her family dramas. “Why don’t I include a platter of Santa cookies? The children love those. And Genevieve made beautiful candy canes this morning. We’ll fill a few stockings and add them to the order.”