Getting snowed in with my two hot-as-sin NHL stepbrothers wasn’t on my Christmas list… but they’re about to make it the filthiest holiday of my life.
When a brutal blizzard traps me in a remote, mountain cabin with Hawke and Fraser Nelson, my brand-new, completely off-limits stepbrothers, my quiet Christmas plans go up in flames.
These twin hockey gods are sexy, experienced, and dangerously tempting.
Hawke is cocky, funny, and loves making me blush by telling me every wicked thing he wants to do to my untouched body.
Fraser is the quiet, commanding twin who looks at me like he already owns me… and intends to prove it.
What begins as teasing ‘lessons’ to help their nerdy, virgin stepsister come out of her shell quickly spirals into raw, breathless, forbidden nights tangled between them.
Hands, mouths, and whispered commands push me further than I ever imagined, until I’m begging my stepbrothers to ruin me.
But when the storm clears… all hell breaks loose.

1

Sofie

By the time I reach the cabin, my fingers are stiff from clutching the wheel, and my ears are still ringing from Mom’s last voicemail: “It’ll be so fun, honey! You and the boys can bond before we get there!”

Yeah, bonding. With strangers. On Christmas Eve. In the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. Just what I need.

The tires crunch over the snow-packed drive as I arrive. The cabin appears through the trees like something out of a storybook. It’s low, wide, and half-buried under thick snow, its dark wood exterior framed by towering pines. Icicles hang from the roof’s edge, glittering in the fading light. A wraparound porch hugs the front, and an old wooden swing hangs unused, dusted in white. The place looks solid, private, and built to withstand storms and the coldest winters. I expected it to be small and quaint, but it’s beautiful in a way that takes my breath away. The perfect secluded retreat. The kind of place I used to dream about escaping to with a bagful of books.

The lights are off, and there are no other cars on the snowy driveway. I guess I’m the first to arrive. It’s both a relief and unbelievably awkward. This cabin belongs to my mom’s new husband, so I’m about to walk into a stranger’s family vacation home.

Mom promised there’s a key under a pot somewhere, so now I’m forced to search for it in the dark, surrounded by trees and probably wolves. Fantastic.

I leave my headlights on and fire up my phone torch. The wind bites hard as I climb out. My boots crunch over fresh snow to the front door, but thankfully, it doesn’t take long to locate the key. Even so, my fingers are like ten blue icicles by the time I’ve hefted my suitcase into the cabin.

Inside, the place smells of cedar and dust, and something faintly sweet, like cinnamon sticks left too long in a drawer. It’s huge with vaulted ceilings, exposed beams, and wood paneling that makes it feel warm despite the frigid temperature. The living room is slightly sunken, centered around a massive stone fireplace that rises up the wall like an ancient monument. Thick rugs and oversized furniture make the whole place feel designed for comfort. It’s quiet, insulated, and unnervingly intimate.

I drop my overnight bag by the door and do a fast perimeter check, flicking on as many lights as I can to banish the gloom and take the edge off my fear.

There’s a kitchen to the left, open to the living area. A hallway splits off to the right, flanked by four doors. Bedrooms, I assume. A bathroom, maybe.

I select the middle room since no one’s around to argue and toss my bag onto the cedar chest at the end of the bed. As I start taking off my layers, my teeth start chattering, but I have no clue how to turn on the heat. Of course, Mom didn’t bother to give me any survival tips.

The bathroom’s right across the hall and blessedly clean. I crank the shower hot and step into the steam, immediately grateful for a way to keep warm and wash off the road trip funk, the nerves, and the existential dread of being stuck in a cabin with my mom’s brand-new husband and his grown sons.

Stepbrothers, technically. Total strangers, really. This whole situation feels like the start of a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m wrapped in a plush white towel, with dripping hair and skin still tingling from the heat. I push open the bathroom door, humming a Christmas song, and nearly walk straight into a wall of male bodies. The gasp of shock I emit echoes around us, and the men, whom I can only assume are Fraser and Hawke, freeze.

My first thought is that they’re big.

Really big.

I have to crane my neck to see their faces, and the space that had felt so open a moment ago suddenly feels tighter, warmer, and charged in a way I don’t understand.

My second thought involves surprise at how identical they are. Not in a creepy, matching-outfits way, but in a devastating, God-just-didn’t-know-when-to-quit kind of way. Tall and broad-shouldered, they both have dark, wind-tousled hair and the kind of handsome faces that would be at home on billboards or scandalous magazine covers.

The one on the left, who has cooler eyes, a sharper expression, and a thin scar cutting through his brow, lifts said brow but doesn’t smile. His gaze is steady and almost assessing.

Beside him, his twin grins immediately. Dimples flash. His snow-damp hair sticks up like he just shook off the water doggy style, and his shoulders seem bulkier than his brother’s as his muscles shift beneath a fitted thermal.

“Well,” he says, voice a deep, amused drawl, “looks like my Christmas came early.”

I pause, every inch of me prickling beneath the towel. Embarrassment flushes across my cheeks. This isn’t the way I wanted an already awkward introduction to go.

“You’re early,” I manage.

“No idea who early is,” the grinning one says. “But I’m Hawke, and this is Fraser.”

Fraser nods once, more reserved but no less intense. His gaze lingers a second longer than polite, but it’s cooler than Hawke’s, like he’s cataloguing details rather than reacting to them. The smirk tugging at his mouth suggests he’s not unimpressed, though.

“Funny.”

Hawke grins like he’s pleased with my sarcasm.

“I try. Coach let us out a day ahead. Figured we’d surprise the newlyweds,” he replies, eyes shamelessly taking in the droplets sliding down my collarbone. “Didn’t realize we’d be unwrapping presents already.”

I clutch the towel closer. “Not sure that’s what our parents had in mind.” I swallow and step aside, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. “I was just finishing up.”

“No complaints here,” Hawke says, his eyes lingering as he follows his brother into the living room.

After they walk by, I let out a shaky breath and hurry back into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. My skin feels way too warm now, even though the air is cold. Maybe it’s just the shock of two good-looking guys seeing me half-naked before we’ve even introduced ourselves.

I take my time getting dressed, choosing leggings, a thick sweater, and wool socks, then I run a brush through my wet curls and dry them out, twisting them into a loose knot.

Take deep breaths, I tell myself. Nothing about this is a big deal. It’s not like we’re kids, and we’ll be forced to live in the same house. It’s not like those huge, handsome men out there will be around all the time. At worst, we’ll cross paths during holidays and family events.

But honestly, it does feel like a big deal.

My mom and I have been flying solo for a while, and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be around men in a home setting.

I check my phone for a message from Mom. Hopefully she’ll get here soon and take the spotlight off me. Usually her big personality drives me crazy, but today I’d be glad for it.

When I finally pluck up the courage to leave my bedroom, the air in the cabin has shifted. The fireplace is alive, with roaring flames licking over stacked logs, casting a flickering golden light across the room. The cold has been banished by a steady, radiant heat. Lights have been replaced by candles, and the silence has been filled with the low, smooth sounds of something soulful playing from a small speaker.

For a moment, I stop and notice how romantic everything looks.

Then my cheeks flame again. Romantic? Christmas Eve with my new stepbrothers isn’t supposed to feel romantic.

A clatter in the open kitchen draws my attention away from the swoony ambiance. The scent of sizzling meat reaches my nostrils, and as I force my feet to move, I find Hawke and Fraser doing meal prep, shirtless.

They’re shirtless.

In a winter cabin.

With snow outside.

I freeze just shy of the threshold with my eyes locked on Fraser’s back as he chops vegetables for a salad. His body is a study in lean, deliberate strength, with broad shoulders narrowing into a defined waist, every muscle shifting with unhurried purpose. A scar slices across his ribs, a slash of white across otherwise smooth, unblemished tanned skin. A past hockey injury maybe?

Hawke is a little bulkier with golden skin stretched taut over thick arms and a solid chest. His tattoos stand out starkly: one along his ribs and another on his wrist. The artwork is intricate and skillful, and both seem like stories I’ll never have the courage to ask about.

They look up in sync, and I realize too late that I’ve been staring.

“Hey, there she is,” Hawke says, flashing that grin again. “Sofie. Sofie. Sofie. I hope you’re hungry.”

Fraser’s gaze lingers on me, before he turns back to chopping.

I nod, stepping deeper into the room. “Smells good.”

“It should,” Hawke says. “I grill a mean steak.”

“You’re very modest.”

He winks. “Just wait until you taste dessert.”

“I’m on a diet,” I shoot back, wanting to squash his smugness before it risks smothering us all, but it doesn’t seem to have the desired effect. His gaze slides over my warm attire and the body beneath like he knows I’m bullshitting and is enjoying the fact.

“Here.” He hands me three plates, topped with silverware and napkins. “Can you take these to the table?”

“Don’t forget the wine,” Fraser says, nodding to a bottle of red standing next to the grill.

I set the table carefully, then sit down to wait, glad to have some space between me and the two half-naked strangers making dinner. Would it be weird to ask them to put on shirts? Dinner with a side of man-nipples shouldn’t be a thing outside the beach. Hawke would probably think it’s because he’s too attractive for me to handle, and honestly, he wouldn’t be wrong. I’m at epic-level risk of embarrassing myself.

Before I can decide, Hawke appears with a platter of meat, and Fraser follows with a bowl of salad and a loaf of what looks like fresh bread.

My stomach growls loud enough for them to hear, and Hawke chuckles.

“Guess we’re just in time to feed the belly monster.”

Ugh. Not exactly sexy.

I frown to myself. Why do I even care about that?

Maybe I need to gross up my behavior and appearance, so they stop looking at me like I’m chocolate pudding. Chew loudly with my mouth open. Drop food on myself. Scratch my armpits. Burp with satisfaction. I stifle a chuckle, imagining their faces.

They place the food on the table and slump onto chairs, still shirtless, still too muscular and attractive for me to handle in such proximity. Fraser uncorks the wine and pours generous glasses. I’d usually hold my hand over the glass, worried that I won’t be able to handle it, but tonight, I need all the help I can get to act naturally. Confidence isn’t my middle name, especially when it comes to men.

The wine is rich and heady, the first swallow warming my insides pleasantly. I take two more sips as Hawke serves us all.

“So,” Hawke says, hacking off a bite of steak and chewing it with determination, “are you one of those art girls who hate sports on principle?”

“Are you one of those men who has nothing to talk about other than sports?” I counter.

He grins. “Have you ever seen a hockey game?”

I lift a brow. “I’ve seen a game. Once.”

“Just once?” Fraser asks, voice mild but interested.

“High school. My ex-boyfriend played. I spent more time pretending to smile than watching the puck.”

Hawke laughs. “Brutal. You dumped him, right?”

“He dumped me,” I admit, and sip more wine. “For someone who wore his jersey with pride.”

Fraser smirks around the rim of his glass. “His loss.”

I glance at him, surprised. It’s the first compliment he’s offered without some kind of barb attached.

Hawke leans forward, elbows on the table. “So, what’s your passion, Sofie Dunn? Let me guess. Art museums. No, book shops.” He puts up his hand. “Don’t tell me. You’re one of those people who sells earrings shaped like body parts on Etsy?”

I frown, letting my face show how annoyed I am. How does he make normal interests sound so lame? “I freelance,” I say, and immediately wish I hadn’t.

They pounce.

“Freelance what?” Fraser asks, tone too smooth.

Hawke reaches out and touches the tattoo on my hand, following the lines of the nymph bent over a flower encircled lake. “Art things, right?” He tilts his head. “That’s what our dad said.”

Art things. Not exactly correct, but I’ll give him a point for listening and remembering. Knowing they’ve been talking about me makes me feel weird.

“Technically,” I mutter. “I sketch,” I admit after a second. “Mostly figure work. I’ve done a few commissions for digital stuff, logos, album covers, and some tattoo designs. Nothing big.”

Fraser nods, seeming to weigh that. “So, you’re not one of those people who call themselves an artist but never make anything.”

“I make things,” I say. “Whether people buy them is another question.”

“On Etsy?” Fraser asks, his lips quirking.

“And elsewhere.” I sigh.

“You should draw us,” Hawke says, grinning. “Capture our essence.”

“And what essence would that be? Eau de cocky shirtless jock?”

He cups his hands over his heart. “There’s so much more to us than that, sweetheart. You just need more time to absorb it.”

I shake my head and meet Fraser’s eyes. He’s quieter and more observant, which somehow feels even more intense. It’s like Hawke pushes, and Fraser just watches and takes it all in. I should probably watch what I say around them. “You’re welcome, by the way,” Hawke says, lifting his fork like a toast. “This is peak winter holiday vibes. We’re leaning into the ambiance.”

“The candles are a little extra,” I point out.

“That was Fraser,” Hawke says immediately, throwing his twin under the bus.

Fraser shrugs. “It was dark.”

“When you switched off the lights?”

He shrugs, and his eyes meet mine over the flicker of the firelight. For a moment, the space between us tightens. I feel the weight of his gaze, and its intensity shifts the air subtly.

“I’m all about the rustic charm,” he says.

The wind howls outside and rattles the windows. Snow keeps falling in heavy flurries, but inside, I’m sweating from the way they’re both looking at me.

“Well,” Hawke says, topping off all our glasses. “Here’s to unexpected company, mystery stepsisters, and snowstorms that trap you in the world’s coziest cabin.”

“We aren’t trapped, are we?” I stare hopelessly at the darkness beyond the window. We’re in an alpine picture book. Snow is normal out here, right?

Fraser follows my gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s coming down harder than when we arrived.”

“Typical mountain weather,” Hawke says with a shrug, lifting his glass again. “Blizzard one minute, blue skies the next.”

But a flutter of unease twists my stomach. My phone vibrates on the table, and I reach for it, hoping it’s my friend Aster, sending an update on her job interview. Instead, I find a message from Mom.

Mom:  Hey, sweetheart. Bad news. The roads are a mess. Totally impassable according to the locals. We tried, but we’re turning back before it gets worse. We’ve booked into a hotel down in the valley. Stay put. We’ll head up as soon as it clears. Love you!

My fingers tighten around the phone. I read the message again, and then a third time, unease curling in my stomach.

“Well?” Hawke asks, watching my face. “Is that a good-news face or a bad-news face?”

I look up slowly, heart thudding.

“They’re not coming.”

Fraser sits back. “Not tonight?”

“Not until the weather clears,” I say, voice tight. “They’re snowed out. They’re staying at a hotel in the valley.”

Hawke whistles low. “Guess that means it’s just us three.”

I look between them. Two shirtless, absurdly attractive men and little ol’ me, trapped in a snowy cabin. The fire crackles behind them, casting everything in flickering firelight and shadow, as my unease grows.

Fraser raises his glass. “Guess Santa’s going to be snowed out too.”

Outside, the snow keeps falling. Inside, the heat builds.

I think about the gifts I packed before I left home. Chocolates and bottles of whiskey. Manly gifts for strangers.

Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and it looks like I’ll be spending it in an isolated cabin with Fraser and Hawke Nelson.

My stepbrothers. God help me.