“And this is Wilder. Your partner for the ceremony.” She wagged a finger at him. “Be nice.”
He smirked. “I’m always nice, love.”
Ooh . . . Those eyes come with a British accent.
The groomsman, whose name was apparently Wilder, gave me the once-over. His eyes dropped down to take in my dress, then raised to the top of my head, where the fascinator that looked more like mangled horns sat protruding from my skull.
“You had on a different dress earlier. So the accident must’ve happened recently then?”
“Accident?”
He smirked and motioned to the fascinator. “I’m assuming there’s a giant wound under there, since you thought it was a good idea to put that dress on instead.”
“Are you joking?” My hands flew to my hips. “Who insults someone they just met like that?”
“Actually I was.” He grinned. “Joking, I mean.”
“Well, it wasn’t very funny. Do you think I want to be wearing this . . . this . . .” My arms flailed around. “Costume?”
The maître d’ walked over. His eyes flashed down the hall and back. I suspected he was looking for the bride. “Is everything alright over here?” he whispered.
“Fine.”
He gestured to the door. “People are waiting for the ceremony to start. The walls are thin.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course. Sorry.”
My eyes slanted to the guy standing next to me, my partner, it seemed. He still wore a shit-eating grin and looked pretty proud of himself. But while I continued to scowl, I took a moment to check out the rest of his face, since I hadn’t been able to move past his eyes earlier. Square jaw, defined cheekbones, flawless tanned skin—I wasn’t sure if Bridezilla made the men get spray tans too, but his coloring was too golden bronze to have come from anything other than genetics. Not to mention, he was tall—a weakness of mine—with broad shoulders and . . . I inhaled. Damn, the fucker smells good, too.
I’d been so busy checking him out, I hadn’t realized he’d watched me do it. When my eyes met his again, he raised a brow. “Like what you see?”
Ugh. Cocky and rude. I plastered on a fake smile. “Yes, what a shame something so pleasant doesn’t come with a matching personality.”
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria, Israel, and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
“Why the long face?” My buddy Colby walked back into the kitchen and tossed me the keys to his car. “I didn’t think single guys with no kids and fat bank accounts had anything to stress over.”
I caught the keys. “Bite me.”
He chuckled. “No, really. Is everything alright? You were grumbling at your phone the other day when I walked into the elevator, too.”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Except one of the volunteers on the renovations team for the new Ryan’s House project is driving me nuts. You know how we pick two team leaders to help coordinate things on each job?”
Colby nodded. “One for the mechanics—electrical, plumbing, heating, and stuff, and one for interior design—paint, flooring, fixtures, and appliances, right?”
“Exactly. This dude Alex is the design team leader. He’s driving me nuts with his suggestions. He questions every fixture, appliance, and molding I’ve picked out. Today he wants to change the living room paint color by a shade—a freaking shade. I couldn’t even see the difference between the two paint samples online. Now he just asked if we could meet for dinner tonight to go over a few last-minute changes he’d like to make.” I shook my head. “No way am I doing that. It’s a good thing you clowns are coming up this weekend to help out, because I have a feeling this guy’s going to test my limits.”
Colby made a pouty face. “Awww… Brayden has trouble working with others.”
I shook my head, but smiled. “I don’t know why I tell you shit.”
“Probably because no one else wants to listen to you.”
“Ouch.”
He laughed. “What time you getting on the road today?”
“Probably about two. I need to stop by the office and pick up a project I’ve been working on for a kid. He’s in the hospital upstate again, so I’m going to drop by to visit over the weekend and surprise him with it.”
“What did you make this time?”
I grinned. “You know I don’t give hints about my masterpieces before the unveiling. I told his family I’d come by Sunday. If you knuckleheads are still around, you should join me.”
“Sounds good.”
I held up Colby’s car keys. “Thanks again for the car swap. Mine is too small to fit baseboard heating covers.”
“Anytime you want to swap my ten-year-old, beat-up SUV for your hot little six-month-old Porsche, I’m in.” He grinned. “I’m going to have a good-ass time driving that thing upstate Saturday morning.”
I opened the door. “Don’t get arrested for going a hundred and twenty.”
***
Later that night, I checked into the hotel up in Seneca Falls and decided to go down to the lobby bar for a drink. It was empty, except for a woman sitting alone. She had a drink in front of her, and a full glass of wine sat at the empty stool beside her, so I assumed she must be here with someone. I took a seat along the short side of the bar to give them some privacy.
But damn… Sitting here gave me an even better view of the woman, and she was a total knockout—sandy blond hair, big blue eyes, and high cheekbones that led down to a full set of lips. She might’ve been a few years older than me, but that didn’t stop a rush of adrenaline from giving my body a good jolt.
The bartender walked over and dropped a napkin in front of me. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a whiskey sour. Any chance you have Russell’s Reserve Ten-Year bourbon to make it with?”
The bartender’s brows pulled together, and he thumbed to the woman sitting alone. “You with her?”
“No, why?”
He shrugged. “She just ordered the same drink. That brand of bourbon and all.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
I glanced over again and lowered my voice. “She alone?”
“Is now. Some guy sidled up to her when she came in a few minutes ago, but he left pretty quickly with his tail between his legs.”
Alrighty then. “Any chance you guys serve food here?”
“Sure do. I’ll grab you a menu.”
Even though I now knew she was alone, I wasn’t too enthused about striking up a conversation with the pretty blonde. Not after she’d just chased another guy away. But when the bartender brought my drink and she looked over, I raised my glass.
“Apparently we ordered the same drink.”
“Whiskey sour?” she asked.
“With Russell’s Reserve Ten-Year.”
She smiled and held up her glass. “To good taste.”
I tipped my glass to her. A minute later, my phone buzzed with a call from Colby. I swiped to answer. “I hope you’re not calling to tell me you dented my car already.”
“No, but how the hell do you put the top back up?”
“You know the button you pushed to drop it?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s the same button to put it back up. You just need to hold it for ten seconds.”
“Crap. Okay, thanks.”
“Where the hell are you that you have the top down?”
“I got a sitter and took my wife for a drive. The wind in our hair is making us feel young and free, instead of like the parents of two little kids we are, usually in bed by eight.”
I chuckled. “Well, enjoy it.”
“I plan to. Why do you think I need the top up? I just pulled into a quiet rest stop, and I need a little privacy, if you know what I mean.”
“Ugh. Don’t tell me that, dude. I don’t want your bare ass all over my seat.”
“No promises, my friend.”
I shook my head. “God, I hate you. Goodbye.”
After I hung up, the knockout looked over. “I’m not usually rude, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she began. “I once bought a new car. When I picked it up, I found an empty condom wrapper on the floor of the front seat. I made them give me another car.”
I smiled. “My buddy and I swapped vehicles for the weekend. I’m considering keeping his crappy ten-year-old hunk of junk and letting him keep my nice, new one after his ass cheeks have rubbed all over the leather.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Unless…”
“What?”
“What if your friend has a penchant for car sex? I’m afraid that would mean he’s already done it in the one you’re driving.”
I pointed. “Good observation. I’ll just get mine detailed.”
The beautiful woman smiled again, and I found myself wondering if she had lipstick on or if her lips were naturally that color. They were just a little more pink than the fleshy red I’d expect for someone with her skin tone. Or maybe she wore some sort of gloss, because they were also perfectly shiny.
After a much-too-long analysis, I realized I probably looked like a creeper staring at her mouth and diverted my eyes to the menu the bartender had dropped off. Though I still couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances in between reading about the appetizers. There was something compelling about her. It might’ve been that her face wasn’t painted to fake-perfection like most women these days.
A few minutes later, I looked over and noticed her glass was empty. So I took a chance. “Can I buy us another round?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Ummm…”
I held my hands up. “It’s just a drink. I won’t invite myself over to the empty seat next to you.”
She smiled. “Sure. Why not? Thank you.”
I held two fingers up to the bartender. “Another round for both of us. On me, please. And when you get a chance, I’ll take an order of the Mexican street corn chicken tacos.”
“Oh, gosh,” the woman said. “I love Mexican street corn. That sounds delicious.”
“Oh, so now you want me to buy you drinks and dinner?”
She waved her hands. “Oh, no, I wasn’t suggesting—”
I smiled. “I’m teasing.” I looked back at the bartender. “Make that two orders of the tacos, please.”
“You got it.”
“Well, now that you’re buying me food and a drink, I feel obligated to offer you the vacant seat next to me.”
“Oh, no. There’s no obligation, really.”
She grinned. “I’m teasing, too.”
I laughed, but I also got up and walked over to her. “Is this seat taken?”
“It’s not. But I can’t promise no bare butts have been on it.”
“I’ll risk it.” I sat and held out my hand. “Brayden.”
“Alexandria. Nice to meet you, Brayden.”
“You, too. Are you a guest at this hotel, or just came in to flirt with a guy and get him to buy you dinner and drinks?”
She smiled. I liked that she could take a joke. “I’m staying here. You?”
“Same. What are you in town for?”
“I’m volunteering for a charity that renovates houses near hospitals for patients who can’t afford a hotel while they’re getting cancer treatment.”
My jaw fell open. “Are you serious? You’re volunteering for Ryan’s House?”
“You know it?”
“I’m the founder. But once a year, I also volunteer to swing a hammer. This is my once.”
“Really?”
“Let me get this straight. We drink the same drink, both love street-corn tacos, both dislike ass imprints on our car seats, and we’re volunteering for the same project? Do I just propose now? Or should I wait and see if you love candy corn as much as I do?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I love candy corn.”
I covered my heart with my hand. “Alexandria Foster. It even has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
The bartender interrupted our love fest to deliver our drinks. When he walked away, we were both still smiling.
“So you really founded Ryan’s House?” Alexandria asked. “How did that come about?”
“Almost a decade ago, I lost one of my best friends to leukemia. Ryan and I were both engineering students in college when he started treatments. He spent a lot of time in the hospital and became interested in designing prosthetics with more flexibility. We started working on ideas together to pass the time during my visits. After he passed away, I continued with some of the concepts we’d come up with. Long story short, a couple of years later, I got a patent on a new type of prosthetic joint simulator. It’s licensed to most major artificial-limb manufacturers now. I tried to split the profit with Ryan’s parents, but they wouldn’t take anything. So his half goes toward buying the houses we renovate each year for Ryan’s House.”
“That’s incredible.”
I sipped my drink. “How about you? Are you just volunteering, or is there a story behind why you picked Ryan’s House to donate your time?”
Alexandria smiled sadly. “I lost my husband a few years ago to leukemia.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. He was older than me, but still way too young.”
“Is this your first time volunteering, or did you work on another of the houses?”
“It’s my first time. To be honest, I’m kind of nervous about it.”
“What’s there to be nervous about?” I asked.
“I don’t have too much construction experience.”
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make sure you’re on the good team then.”
“I didn’t realize there was a good team and a bad team.”
“Usually there isn’t. But we split the volunteers into two crews, each with a team leader who coordinates who does what and makes sure we have the supplies and stuff. One of the team leaders is a real pain in the ass, a know it all. He wants to change everything that’s been planned before we even start. He’s definitely going to micromanage his crew.”
“Oh, wow. Okay. Thank you.”
“We usually just count off the volunteers who show up to give each team an equal number. But I’ll make sure you’re in Jason’s group and not Alex’s.”
“Oh. So Alex is the pain in the ass?”
“Giant pain in the ass.”
The bartender walked over with our food. It looked as delicious as it had sounded on the menu. Conversation slowed as we dug in, but I enjoyed the quiet with the company sitting next to me. After we finished eating, I turned to ask Alexandria something, but I lost track of what I was saying three words in. Her eyes were that mesmerizing.
“What?” She wiped at her cheek. “Do I have sauce on my face?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, no. I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you are absolutely beautiful. I’m relieved I got to sit next to you because I couldn’t stop myself from staring when I was sitting over there.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Thank you.”
Both our drinks were almost empty again, so I motioned to the glasses. “You want another one?”
“I think I’m going to call it a night.”
Disappointment flooded through me. I hoped I hadn’t upset her with my compliment.
Alexandria motioned to the bartender. “Could I close out my tab, please?”
“Sure thing.”
He walked away and came back a minute later. I was still trying to decide if I should apologize. Maybe I’d been too forward?
She signed the check and hopped down from the stool.
“Listen, Alexandria. I didn’t mean to upset you by saying how beautiful I think you are. I apologize if that came off creepy.”
“No, that wasn’t what insulted me.”
“That wasn’t? So something else I said insulted you?”
She looked at me a moment. “Such a shame. Because I find you attractive, too.”
“I’m confused. Why is that a shame?”
She shook her head. “Goodnight, Brayden. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and you don’t have to worry about which team I’m on. I’m happy on Alexandria’s team.”
“Alexandria’s team?”
“Oh. Did I say Alexandria’s team? I meant Alex’s team. I go by both names. Alexandria is my given name, after my grandmother. Alex for short.”
I was the last of my group of friends to find “the one.”
The guys would always tease me that I needed to hurry up and settle down.
But I was in no rush.
Until I met someone worth rushing for.
Alex was one of the weekend volunteers at Ryan’s House—a charity I founded to build housing near hospitals.
Little did I know she was the same person I’d been arguing with over email before the project started. At the time, I’d thought Alex was a dude.
In reality? She was a smoking hot blonde who captivated me from the moment we met in person.
Our chemistry was off the charts, and I fell hard pretty fast.
Unfortunately, Alex insisted I was too young for her. I hated that she felt that way. Because age was just a number.
Not only that, her words didn’t match the way she looked at me—like she was very interested.
I lived for the weekends we’d spend out of town volunteering. Alex and I side-by-side hammering during the day, while sharing intimate dinners together at the hotel at night.
Eventually, the walls she’d put up to protect her heart began to crumble.
Until fate threw us a doozy that I wasn’t sure we could come back from.
If I’d thought our age gap was the biggest hurdle, I didn’t know anything yet.
Rule number one for dating an older woman who insists you could never be together?
Don’t fall in love.
VI KEELAND
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With millions of books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over thirty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
I’m still unclear on how I got into this predicament in the first place. A year ago, I was a man with one thought on his mind, the redhead I met at a hotel bar. Twelve months later, I found her.
Unfortunately for me, she not only happens to be my very off-limits coach’s daughter, but also . . . my new assistant and roommate.
I don’t even need an assistant, but Coach Wood doesn’t take no for an answer. Add in him writing up tasks for his daughter, Wylie, to complete for me? Well, it’s his own form of sweet torture. We are talking tasks that I would never ask her to do.
Tasks that make her despise me.
Hate me.
That make her utter four words that cause a shiver to crawl up my spine . . . Posey, this is war.
My testicles shrivel into dust as Coach Wood screams at Andie Lintour, the general manager for the Vancouver Agitators.
Spittle flies off his lip.
Eyebrows are slanted like knives, ready to strike.
And the veins in his neck protrude, making me question if it will be his hands that choke me or the scary, pulsing veins.
“Will, we can’t—”
“He was fucking my daughter! We can do whatever the hell I say.”
Did you wince? Because I did.
I know what you’re thinking. Posey, you’re about to lose your life at the hands of your fuming, spitting, hulking-out coach. And your assessment of the situation is a fair and accurate one.
Because yes, I’ve never felt closer to death than at this moment right now.
To bring you up to speed, yes, I was fucking his daughter.
Yes, it was in the locker room.
Yes, it was out in the open where anyone could walk in.
Was it stupid? Absolutely.
Have I lost my mind? One hundred percent.
Do I have any defense? Not one.
Nope, this was pure stupidity. This was a move by a desperate man brought to his knees.
A weak man.
A man with no morals.
A man infatuated with a woman he can’t control himself around.
“I understand the circumstances,” Andie says in her calming voice, “but we can’t get rid of a player because he was having relations with your daughter. Posey is one of the best defensemen in the entire league.” If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d puff my chest. “He’s under a no-trade clause. Even if we wanted to get rid of him, we couldn’t.”
I’m not sure if I should be grateful for that clause because, at the moment, it wouldn’t hurt to at least escape the darkness of death clouding Coach Wood’s expression.
“Then he’s benched,” Wood says as he looks me in the eyes, nostrils flaring. “Did you hear that, you bologna-loving motherfucker? You’re benched.”
I swallow deeply as I dig my fingertips into the armrests of my chair. Not sure why he had to drag the bologna into this, but I don’t bother asking as the vein in his bald head looks like it’s maxed out on stress. “I, uh, yes, I heard you the first time,” I say, causing him to grow angrier.
“Once again, Will, I don’t believe we can do that. We pay him a lot of money—”
“We do.” Will paces his office, and every time he goes near me, my ass clenches in anticipation of a ninja knife hand right to my trachea. “We pay him plenty of money, so why don’t we just put him on the injured list, say he has a sore toe, and then he can figure out with his agent what he’s doing for next year because he sure as fuck won’t be playing on my ice.”
Now, is Coach Wood being a touch extreme? Some might say yes without any context because who really wants to bench their starting defenseman? It’s not the smartest move as a coach, but the man has a good reason.
And sure, I shouldn’t be taking his side. I should be defending myself and the ability to have sexual relations with anyone I damn well please, but here’s the thing . . . the situation runs a little deeper than what you see on the surface.
It’s more complicated.
I didn’t just fuck some random girl on an arbitrary day in our locker room.
The coach’s daughter was riding me, completely naked, in the middle of the locker room after he struck a deal with me to hire his daughter as my assistant to teach her a lesson.
And before you even ask, no, the lesson was not on the science of how the penis meets the vagina.
It was a tough lesson about life.
So yeah, this really is on me.
**Raises hand** Yup, I take the blame.
Guilty.
The only question is, how the hell am I going to get around this? From the way he spoke so cruelly of my precious bologna, I don’t think offering him a daily sandwich—made by yours truly—is going to mend the severed ties we’ve created.
Nope, this will take a monumental, epic proposal of apologies, especially if I want to stay on this team. Which I do. My boys are here. My life is here.
She’s here . . .
Which means I need a plan.
But I swore I wouldn’t get them involved.
I said over and over again that I wouldn’t use their idiotic advice or poorly constructed ideas, but I think desperate times call for desperate measures.
It’s time to call on the Frozen Fellas.
ABOUT MEGHAN QUINN:
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
Never miss another NEW RELEASE, text READ to 474747.
I have an exclusive excerpt and a GIVEAWAY for Kristen Ashley next release, Avenging Angel! Peeps…I finished this yesterday, and it’s PERFECTION. 👠 💛
If you’re a KA fan, and you love her Rock Chicks/Hot Bunch, you should already have preordered it. If you haven’t, or if you’re new to Kristen Ashley, check out this exclusive excerpt here and preorder it NOW:
𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐭
“Can I go now?”
When he leaned into his elbows on his desk, fingers linked, resting his chin on them, and penetrated me with his perfect jade stare, I figured that was a no.
“Do you know where you are?” he asked.
“No,” I answered.
“Do you know who we are?” he went on with a slight jerk of his head to Chris.
“Well, that’d be nice to know, considering we’re spending so much time together,” I told him.
“I’m Kai Mason.”
Why was that name familiar?
“And that’s Julien Jackson,” he continued on another slight jerk to Chris…or Julien.
I felt a strange, but far from unpleasant, electrical pulse jolt through me at learning his name.
Well then.
I ignored the pulse and focused on the fact that I liked his name. It was unusual, at least his first name was. It didn’t really look like him, but it also did, in an odd way.
“And considering you’re the Avenging Angel, you probably should know who the players are on the street,” Kai Mason carried on.
Uh-oh.
Seemed he knew more than just my name.
I sat back, clasped my hands in my lap and tried really hard not to suck my lips between my teeth in order to bite them, that being in order not to groan at my own stupidity.
Mental note: A girl can be sassy, but no one should be cocky.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
Mason sat back too, in order to be more comfortable when he shared, “This is Nightingale Investigations and Security.”
“Okay,” I said slowly.
His lips quirked like he found me amusing.
The gall!
Even if I couldn’t bust open a door, I was kickass, not amusing!
At this point, Jackson moved. He lifted his hands and pretended to type on the keyboard.
He did this saying, “Look it up when you get home.”
From New York Times bestselling author Penelope Ward comes a new, STANDALONE novel…
ABBY:
I’m falling for the father of the baby I’m carrying.
The problem is: it’s not my baby.
And the broody widower is not looking for a long-term partner.
As a surrogate, the deal was that I’d only be in England long enough to give birth.
At first, the man seemed as pretentious as his name: Sigmund Benedictus.
He and I butted heads.
Sig challenged my intentions, accused me of just wanting to do this for the money.
Gradually, he learned to trust me.
He even became protective.
Over time, our heated animosity turned into fiery chemistry.
I was falling in love with him.
But my time here had a limit.
I needed to protect my heart from the devastatingly gorgeous older man who’d end up breaking it.
SIG:
When my in-laws told me they wanted to use my dead wife’s eggs to conceive a grandchild, I wasn’t immediately on board.
They swore that on her deathbed Britney told them it was what she wanted—but only if I fathered the baby. Her parents insisted they would be the ones to raise it.
Against my better judgment, I agreed.
I vowed to keep my heart out of it, though.
I’d continue to pretend it wasn’t happening and live the empty, single life I’d become accustomed to the past five years since Britney died.
And despite the fact that a certain younger American named Abby Knickerbocker had awakened things inside me that I thought were long dead…
I most certainly wouldn’t fall in love with the surrogate.
My phone rang, and I looked down to find it was Lourdes, a woman I’d hung out with over a year ago. She’d been texting me lately to get together, and I’d been ignoring her messages. I silenced the ringer.
“Who was that?” Abby asked.
“Someone named—none of your business.”
“A woman? Is that why you’re in such a rush to get back to London?”
“Trust me, I haven’t met anyone worth rushing anywhere for.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Picky.”
I rolled over a bit to face her, resting my chin on my hand. “You think it’s odd to be selective?”
“I don’t think you’re being selective. I think you’re closed off to everyone. There’s a difference.”
“You seem to have me pegged, but what about you? Why are you single?”
“I had a bad experience, as I think I’ve mentioned, and haven’t felt like having my heart toyed with again.”
“How long ago was that? The guy who broke up with you…”
“Nearly three years now.”
“But you’ve dated since that breakup.”
“Yeah. There’ve been a few brief…”
“Hookups?” I arched a brow.
“I guess I can admit that now that you’re not actively assessing my character.”
“Why would I judge you for that? Sex is natural—necessary for survival, if you ask me.”
“You just don’t want to have anything to do with the women after.”
Unable to deny it, I shrugged. “There haven’t been that many women since Britney. At least nothing compared to when I was younger. Most of the time, I meet someone and decide not to go through with anything. But of the encounters I have had, yeah, it’s never mattered whether I saw them again.”
“What was different about Britney? I mean, when you met her? How did you know she was the one?”
My chest constricted. “I’d love to be able to give you a less cliché answer—because I hate clichés—but I just knew. After about an hour together, I never wanted to be apart from her.”
“Fair enough. They say that’s what happens sometimes. You just know.”
“You’ve never experienced that?”
“Nope.” Abby shook her head. “Still waiting for it to happen to me.” She smiled. “Anyway, for the record, I don’t just hook up with people randomly, like some people.” She elbowed me. “I have to know them first.”
“Knowing you, Abby, I can’t imagine you not asking someone a million questions before you sleep with them.”
“Well, yeah. I need to know who I’m dealing with. I’m not going to waste my time with anyone who’s not a good person—even if I’m wildly attracted to them.”
“Sometimes less is more,” I mumbled.
“This from the man who interrogated me the first time he met me.”
“Well, I need to know a bit more about someone who’s going to be carrying my child than I would someone I’m merely going to…”
“F*ck?” She finished my sentence.
The word on her tongue gave me an unwanted thrill. I wouldn’t have minded hearing her say it a few more times, which probably meant I needed my head checked.
“You wanna go?” she asked.
Somehow I’d forgotten my urgency to leave. I’d become pretty comfortable in this spot on the hay. It wasn’t about the hay at all, though, was it?
“Well, now you’ve made me lazy. You’re a bad influence, Knickerbocker.”
She leaned her head on her hand. “Why don’t you just sleep at the inn tonight? Lavinia loves your company.”
“She’ll be conked out by the time we get back there, but I suppose you have a point. At this hour, I might as well just drive into London with you in the morning.”
“You keep work clothes at The Bainbridge, right?”
“Yes. I have everything I need in my room.” I looked out through the barn door. It was now completely nightfall. “Now that it’s dark, you need to be careful driving back.”
“You’ll be behind me anyway, in case I run into trouble, right?”
“Well, you won’t find me driving in front of you ever again,” I teased.
“Good one.” She laughed as she stood and brushed off her dress. “Can you turn around for a minute?”
I narrowed my eyes but did as she asked. “Okay…why am I doing this?”
A few seconds passed. “All good now.”
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“You promise not to make fun of me?”
“No. But tell me anyway.”
“I had a piece of hay stuck in my underwear.” She flashed a goofy smile.
And then…I laughed for what felt like the first time in years.
AUTHOR BIO
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over forty books. Her novels have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
He proposed . . . and I said yes. Normally a jovial occasion for a couple in love, but this proposal has a very different feel. Because the man that I’ll be calling my husband blew into town with one thing on his mind . . . to make my life a living nightmare.
So why did I say yes?
Well, because we both need something from each other.
Namely, I want the farm land he currently owns, and he needs a wife in order to inherit his family cabin in his grandfather’s will.
So as he so eloquently put it, my hand, for his land.
At first, I thought the idea was nuts. Who really gets married out of convenience? Apparently, I do.
And now we have to sell our relationship to the town. Meaning, we’re holding hands, he’s pinching my cheeks . . . upper and lower. We’re even forced to share the one-bedroom guest house on the farm where his monstrous body is taking up a large percentage of the bed.
But we’re so persuasive about our farse, that now I’m starting to think he actually might like me. Especially when he grabs me by the wrist and teases the shell of my ear as he whispers, “Mine.”
I peek a look over at Wyatt, and he does the same. When our eyes meet, he keeps them locked for a few seconds before they drop to my mouth and back up again.
I do the same.
And when our eyes lock, I can feel it, this electric energy bouncing between us. It’s worrisome but also exciting. It shouldn’t be happening, but oh my God, I can’t stop myself from leaning into him, letting him touch me, stare at me, and make me feel unlike anything I’ve felt before.
He was right. I avoided him for a reason today, and that was because I felt something. Something toward him. Something I shouldn’t be feeling, but I can’t help.
I’ve grown accustomed to having him around.
I look forward to him holding me at night.
And I crave his witty comebacks that provoke an eye roll from me.
But tonight, tonight it feels different, and I don’t know why.
Tonight, it feels like something’s going to happen. Someone will break, and I just hope it’s not me.
Stella Hunter and Aaron Shedlock narrate in duet this sexy, marriage of convenience romance. THE REASON I MARRIED HIM will be released on February 6th in a live release on Audible!
ABOUT MEGHAN QUINN:
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
Never miss another NEW RELEASE, text READ to 474747.
Plus, I was tired from a shitty night’s sleep. I’d tossed and turned thinking about Little Miss Home Improvement wearing nothing but a pair of denim short overalls and work boots—no shirt, no socks, definitely no bra or underwear.
Josie hopped down from the last two steps on the ladder. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“No? So this is what? Your idea of a sparkling personality? I asked if your coffee was okay, and you grunted at me.”
“That wasn’t a grunt. That was a yes.”
Josie made a short, deep noise that sounded like a pig.
I arched a brow. “Is that supposed to be me?”
She made the sound again, this time adding some monkeylike arm movements and jumping around. “Gronk.”
“Cute.”
She jumped again. “Gronk. Gronk.”
I tried not to react, but she was just too damn adorable.
Josie pointed at my face. “There it is again. The elusive Mr. Grumpy Pants smile. It’s kind of…dare I say…nice.” She made an exaggerated gasping sound and covered her mouth. “Oh no. I hope it’s not too painful.”
“Alright, wiseass. I get the point. How about you take your oinking ass out front and grab one of the small two by fours I left on the porch? I’ll show you how to make an easy support to hold up the drywall while it gets screwed into the ceiling.”
Josie strutted to the door. The woman was wearing a white tank top and long, pale pink, flowy skirt to do construction. It looked like she was going on a picnic date, rather than hanging sheetrock—though the tank top hugged her in all the right places, and there was something about her collarbone that I couldn’t drag my eyes away from. She bent to pick up the wood out front, and the top of her tank gaped open, giving me a clear view down her shirt. I forced my head in the other direction, though my eyes managed to slant and continue looking.
“Jesus Christ,” I grumbled to myself. “I need to get the fu¢k out of here.”
Do you like texts better than email? Receive text notices of Vi’s new releases by texting the word BOOKS to 77948 You will ONLY receive a text when a new book goes live – no other messages at all!
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria, Israel, and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
“Were you jealous that I was out with another woman?”
Devyn looked away. “No.”
My lip twitched. “No, huh?”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
It was difficult to keep a straight face, because she was so clearly full of sh$t. But…if she wasn’t jealous, a few details wouldn’t bother her, right?
I sipped my wine and watched Devyn’s face. “Tarryn asked if I wanted to take her back to my place.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s nice.”
“We’ve had sex before. So I don’t think she wanted to sit on the couch and watch TV.”
Devyn’s face flushed red.
I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see her get pissed—admit she was damn jealous.
“Yeah, that Tarryn’s a real wild woman in bed. Last time she visited, we broke a lamp. Knocked it right off the end table from the bed bouncing around so much.”
I watched the muscle flex in her cheek, the same cheek that was turning a lovely shade of crimson. Yet she still wouldn’t look at me.
“Devyn?”
Her lips pursed as she stared straight ahead.
“Devyn?” I said louder.
“What?”
“Look at me.”
Her head whipped to face me, and she stared with daggers in her eyes.
I smiled. “It wouldn’t bother you if I…fu¢ked Tarryn?”
That did it.
She broke.
But she didn’t yell at me like I expected.
Not at all.
Instead, she smashed her lips against mine.
It caught me so off guard that I took a few seconds to catch up. By the time I did, Devyn was hoisting herself over, climbing me like a freaking tree.
Fu¢k yeah.
This.
This was the chemistry we’d had from the very start.
I grabbed her a$s with one hand, lifting her higher, and guided her legs around my waist, so lost in the moment that nothing existed in the world except this kiss.
Which was probably why I didn’t hear the door open…
Rule number one for having a one-night stand: Don’t fall for the girl.
After a lengthy dating slump, I finally met someone who sparked my interest.
Well, first the sparks flew when we argued. Later in the evening those sparks ignited into something more.
I was drawn to Devyn, in a way I hadn’t felt in a really long time.
Needless to say, I was disappointed when she abruptly left after our amazing night together.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. But she hadn’t even given me her number.
In a city with eight-million people, I figured I’d never see Devyn again.
So imagine my surprise when I knocked on the door of an apartment in the building I lived in, and none other than my one-night stand stood on the other side.
If I thought Devyn didn’t want anything to do with me before, that was nothing compared to how she felt after finding out I was the landlord and she was about to be evicted…
And that was just the first surprise that would rock my world when it came to the mystery woman in apartment 410.
PENELOPE WARD
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over thirty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
🖤 Don’t Forget Me Tomorrow First Chapters Sneak Peek 🖤
NYT Bestselling Author A.L. Jackson has the prologue AND first chapter of her upcoming brother’s best friend, single mom, small town romance, Don’t Forget Me Tomorrow, available to read now before release day on October 5th!
Prologue
I stared at her from across the room.
I could feel the walls closing in, and the need I’d had for her for my entire life growing stronger than it ever had. As if the two of us were hinged on this moment.
“Tell me I’m not too late. Tell me you still love me.” There was no stopping the plea.
Pain and desperation twisted through her expression. “Do you think I could ever stop loving you?”
The second she said it, I snapped, and I was across the room.
I crashed into her in a landslide of greed.
One hand dove into her hair and the other curled around the side of her neck as I crushed my mouth against hers.
Really kissing her for the first time.
Nothing had ever felt quite like kissing Dakota Cooper.
It was flames and heat and pure relief.
I sucked it in, imbibing the feeling as I devoured her mouth.
My chest nearly blew with the power of it. With the way my heart thrashed violently at my ribs. With the devotion that surged from the sacred place that had always been meant for her.
Except I’d always known why I couldn’t touch her. The reasons I’d built the walls between us.
Why she was only supposed to be my best friend’s little sister.
I’d crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to cross.
And I should have known I’d have to pay the penalty…
Chapter One – Ryder
What the fuck was she doing out here?
I slowed my motorcycle as I came upon a small white Volvo SUV pulled off to the side of the road, its hazards flashing through the dusky light as the summer day faded into grays.
My guts tangled in a knot of worry.
We were twenty miles outside of town, and the two-lane road was basically desolate except for a random car that whizzed by.
There was no mistaking that car. The rear window was a fucking billboard for the country market and café Dakota Cooper owned. It wasn’t like I blamed her for wanting to advertise, but I didn’t love that every fucking person in this town knew her name, either.
Where she worked and where she lived.
Not that there was a ton of privacy in a small town the size of Time River.
Everyone knew everyone.
And even if she lived in the middle of a bustling city, I was pretty sure she would have made a name for herself, anyway.
Hell, I figured every time she smiled at some unknowing fool, she carved herself into their memory.
Made her mark.
Unforgettable.
Protectiveness lined my insides in a sheet of steel.
It was nearing dark, and she was out here in the middle of nowhere.
By herself.
Any monster could roll up and catch her unaware.
Just like me.
My bike came to a rumbling stop ten feet behind her, and I killed the engine, tossed the kickstand, and swung off as I took stock of the situation.
Dakota was more than capable, but it still made me itch that she was on her knees in front of the back-passenger side tire, cranking at a handle on the jack to lift the rear-end of her car.
Looking like a goddamn vision beneath the rays of the setting sun.
I tamped the bolt of lust that stirred my dick, something I’d gotten really fucking good at over the years, and I edged toward her, my boots crunching on the loose gravel.
Awareness rippled through the twilight with my approach.
A flash of tension before it settled into something familiar and right.
“Funny, I didn’t see a call or text from you,” I said, words rough and carrying over a big truck that blew by, sending a flurry of debris scattering through the air.
Dakota glanced my way. The hint of a smile played through the shiny gloss coating her lush lips.
“That’s because I didn’t call you.” Her voice was a tease as she continued to crank the handle, though her breaths were coming hard with her exertion as the back-end of her Volvo slowly hoisted.
At least she had a blanket spread on the ground to protect her bare knees since she had on one of those sundresses she always chose to wear. Black fabric dotted with pink flowers that hugged every lush curve of her body.
I thought she might have been prescribed specific attire with the sole purpose of driving me out of my mind.
“You should have.”
“What, you think I’m not capable of fixing a flat tire?” Eyes the color of cinnamon and fire glinted back. “I seem to remember someone who insisted on making sure I knew where the jack and spare were when I bought this car.”
She arched a brow. Her cheeks were full and high, and the threat of that tiny dimple on the left side of her chin flickered and danced like temptation.
“Yeah, that was so you would know how to do it for when I’m not around, and here I am.” I lifted my tatted arms out to the sides.
Except if she had called an hour before, I wouldn’t have answered. I’d have been too wrapped up in the bullshit dragging me under. A millstone around my neck.
One day it would be the reason I drowned.
The thousand shades of brown in her eyes danced as she peered up at me, and she chuckled a low, throaty sound that shivered over my skin. “Of course, you are. Tell me you’re not stalking me?”
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I let a smirk ride to my face. “You know it. It’s my job to know where you are at all times.”
“Is that so?” Her expression twisted in playful disbelief.
“Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Friends? Hardly. It sounds to me you’re acting more like my overbearing brother. I swear, if it was up to the two of you, I’d never step foot outside by myself.”
Sounded like a solid plan.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?” I asked.
“I had to pop over to Costco in Poplar to grab some things for the café. What are you doing out here?” She tossed it back at me like she figured I’d been up to no good.
I had been, but I doubted it was what she was thinking.
Shame locked down my throat. As close as I was to Dakota, there would always be a wall. A place I couldn’t let her see. The fucking last thing in the world I wanted her to know about me.
My jaw clenched as I forced out the lie. “Just felt like feeling the wind on my face. My bike was calling to me.”
“A little hot for that, isn’t it?”
“Never too hot for me.” The smirk was back in full force.
With the history around us, I was thankful we’d gotten to this place.
Where we could be easy together.
Friends, even though it was fucking painful being this close to her most of the time.
But I would take her any way I could have her.
She scoffed and turned her attention back to the jack, clearly picking up on the innuendo I couldn’t help but slide into the conversation. Before I could let my brain spiral into depravity, I strode the rest of the way up to her.
It cast her in my shadow where I towered over her.
“Are you going to get up off your knees and let me help you, or are you just going to leave me standing here staring at you like a lazy prick?”
Leaning back, she swiped a bead of sweat that trickled from her hairline with her bare shoulder.
My fingers itched with the urge to reach out and trace the spot. But touching her was the last thing I could do. I wouldn’t taint her goodness with the sickness of me.
“Haven’t you learned yet that you don’t need to ride in like the cavalry, Ryder?”
“I already rode in, Cookie, so you might as well let me.”
I’d started calling her that years ago.
Now there was no way I could stop.
Pushing to standing, she waved at the flat tire. “Fine, if it makes you feel more like a man, then go for it.”
I shook my head at her. “Are you trying to bust my balls?”
“Someone needs to.” She punted me a grin.
I started to move to take her place, but she bent over to straighten the skirt of her dress.
It speared me to the spot.
Her tits were heavy and spilling out of the scooped neckline.
Her hips full and wide and perfectly hugged by the fabric.
Hair a warm brown that was streaked with honey, and she wore it in a high ponytail, the same way as she did most days, the lush locks wavy and draping over one shoulder.
I couldn’t help but envision wrapping my hand around it, tugging her head back, and devouring that lush mouth.
I swallowed hard, doing my best not to ogle my best friend’s baby sister.
Dude would fucking gut me if he had an inkling of an idea about the thoughts I had of her.
Too bad he was the least of my worries.
She moved a foot to the side, and I took her spot, reining that bullshit in.
I knew better.
Dakota was a friend. Like a sister to me. And I’d do well to remember it. Because I would never fucking drag her into the mess that was my life.
I cranked through the lug bolts, removed the tire, then was quick to replace it with the spare.
The whole time, I could feel her attention on me. Eyes tracing.
“You enjoying yourself, Cookie?” I canted a glance up at her. The last of the light caught her in its hazy rays.
Brown hair and mesmerizing eyes.
So goddamn pretty my stomach clutched.
Raking her teeth over her bottom lip, she tried to contain her laughter. “Guess I like you on your knees for me.”
A snort left my nose. I’d been for years, and she didn’t have a clue.
Giving a final tug at the lug nuts to make sure they were tight, I shifted to fully look up at her. “You need to make sure you’re not driving on this for long and take it in to get the original tire repaired or replaced.”
The cock of her head was nothing but a razzing challenge. “I am a capable adult, Ryder. I even own my own business.”
“Know that, Dakota.” The words were low.
“Then you can stop treating me like a little girl.” The barest flash of annoyance hit her expression.
If only that was the way I saw her.
“Go ahead and tell my brother while you’re at it,” she tacked on, rolling her eyes though there was affection woven through. “The two of you are ridiculous.”
“I just care about you, Dakota. About Kayden.” The admission came rough, and the sweat that suddenly slicked my skin didn’t have anything to do with the summer heat.
Thinking of Dakota’s son always got me that way. He was two, and the cutest fucking thing I’d ever seen.
I didn’t know if it was loyalty or jealousy that hit me hardest, not that I had any right to the last.
Softness radiated from her as she gazed down at me, that sweetness that was always lingering beneath the surface riding from her tongue. “You know I can’t call you every time some little thing goes wrong in my life and expect you to come running, Ryder. You’ve already done enough for me. Too much.”
Gratitude tinged with unease infiltrated her tone, her eyes dropping for a beat. I knew exactly where her mind had gone.
The money I’d given her to help start her business.
I released the jack and stood. There was nothing I could do but take her by the chin. More tender than I should. I towered over her, searching her face like there was a way I could get her to understand.
“That’s where you have it wrong, Dakota. You can. I expect you to call me. Whatever you need. And there is no such thing as too much when it comes to you. Do you understand?” The words left me like a tumble of stones. A plea and a demand.
Because I’d wanted to give her everything I had, but the only thing I had been able to do was give her the one gift that I could.
She viewed it as a debt. Like something she needed to repay.
She could never understand that what I’d given her was my heart.
Those pink lips parted, and fuck, greed twisted through me like a hurricane, cock pushing at my jeans like I might be able to possess the one woman I could never have.
“I don’t want you to waste your time on me,” she whispered. “I know you have your own life. Things you need to take care of.”
A puff of disbelief escaped between my lips. “You could never be a waste, Dakota Cooper.”
The air thickened. Growing dense and pushing in. Heavy and hot. A dragging pull between us.
My phone pinged in my pocket, and both of us jumped back like it was a warning going off that we were about to cross a line we couldn’t cross.
Blowing out a steadying sigh, I dug into my pocket and thumbed into my phone like it was the most important thing in the world, then my chest clutched with the reminder of why I could never get too close to Dakota.
Why she’d hate me if she knew.
Dare: Where the fuck are you? You’re late.
Swallowing around the barbs in my throat, I looked up at the woman who stood three feet away shifting on her feet.
Innocent and right and every good thing in this life.
I roughed a hand over the back of my neck, attention on my boots when I said, “I need to get going.”
I felt the weight of her nod. “Yeah, I need to get to my mom’s and pick up Kayden before they get worried.”
I hoisted up her flat tire, opened her trunk, and tossed it in. Dakota came to my side, her presence close to overwhelming as she placed the blanket she’d had on the ground on top of it.
For a second, we hovered in each other’s space. So close but where we could never belong.
Lost to a beat of greed.
The kind I could never give into.
I pushed the button to close the hatch then took a step toward my bike. “Be safe, Dakota.”
Cinnamon eyes watched me like they could see through to my sins. “You, too.”
Signed Paperbacks, Hardbacks, and Collector’s BundlesPRE-ORDER HERE
A.L. Jackson is the New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. She writes emotional, sexy, heart-filled stories about boys who usually like to be a little bit bad.
Her bestselling series include THE REGRET SERIES, CLOSER TO YOU, BLEEDING STARS, FIGHT FOR ME, CONFESSIONS OF THE HEART, FALLING STARS, and REDEMPTION HILLS novels. Watch out for her upcoming stand-alone,DON’T FORGET ME TOMORROW, releasing October 5th!
If she’s not writing, you can find her hanging out by the pool with her family, sipping cocktails with her friends, or of course with her nose buried in a book.
Be sure not to miss new releases and sales from A.L. Jackson – Sign up to receive her newsletter https://geni.us/ALJacksonBookClubB or text “aljackson” to 33222 to receive short but sweet updates on all the important news.
From New York Times bestselling author Penelope Ward comes a new forbidden, enemies-to-lovers story…
It all started with an unexpected phone call.
Two years after my fiancé passed away in an accident, his father died suddenly, leaving Brad’s adult, special-needs brother with no one to care for him.
The next thing I knew, I was on a cross-country drive to New Hampshire where I’d be moving in to look after Scottie until I could get him into a group home.
The last thing I ever expected?
I wouldn’t be taking care of him alone.
Josh Mathers, my fiance’s best friend—who also happened to be my sworn enemy—insisted he was the better person for the job. He told me to go back to California, and I told him where he could stick that demand.
Our disdain for each other wasn’t anything new. It dated back to a text I’d accidentally read years ago.
We hated each other. But we both loved Scottie, so neither of us budged.
Now we were living together in a tiny house—with one available bedroom. Thank goodness it was only temporary.
Over time, I realized the broody jerk I thought I knew was different than I’d imagined.
I found myself slowly growing attached to someone I once considered the enemy…and growing attracted to him.
Sure, both of us were guilt-ridden over Brad. We were also two grown people with pent-up frustration toward one another—stuck in a cabin in the woods.
Josh sat at the table, casually having coffee as I walked into the house after my drive home from the salon. The smell of cigarettes emanated from him. He hadn’t smelled like that since the first day he arrived.
“Where’s Scottie?” I asked.
“In his room,” he answered without making eye contact.
I stated the obvious. “You smell like smoke.”
“Must be the firewood.” He brought his mug to his mouth.
“Bullsh*t. The pellet stove doesn’t emit any fumes.”
“Yeah. I caved and had one. Big deal.” He pointed toward the door. “I did it outside, though, while keeping an eye on Scottie through the window.”
“You’d been doing so well. What happened?”
He still wasn’t looking at me, and instead stared straight ahead. “Just human, I guess.”
Then something in front of him on the table caught my attention: pieces of ripped pages piled atop…my journal.
A rush of adrenaline shot through me. “Why do you have that?”
“It’s apparently your diary.”
“I’m quite aware of that.” My heart began to pound. “You were snooping in my room?”
He shot daggers at me. “Think, Carly. Of the two guys in this house, who is the one more likely to have been ransacking your room?”
“You were supposed to be watching him while I was at the salon,” I yelled.
“God forbid I take a piss in peace. Is it not bad enough that I’m showering with him now? Getting my balls tugged?”
I wanted to laugh, but this moment was far from funny.
“Scottie ripped those pages out?”
“The notebook is bright orange, like his iPad cover. Probably caught his attention. The drawer next to your bed was open, so he must have gone in there. I assume that’s where you kept it. Admittedly, I’d been letting him hang out in your room, but you sometimes do, too. I went to check on him, make sure he wasn’t doing anything bad, and found those pages strewn about.” A vein popped in his neck.
Josh was angry. Why? I should’ve been the angry one.
“Did you read it?”
“I only happened to see what was on the pages he ripped. I didn’t read anything else once I figured out what the hell it was.”
This is bad. Starting to sweat, I asked, “But how much did you see?”
He stood up from his seat and slowly approached me. With each step he took toward me, I took one back. When we could go no farther, he placed his arms on either side of me, leaning his hands against the wall. And I forgot how to breathe.
Fear. Arousal. Embarrassment. You name it, I was feeling it right now. Every emotion hit me at once.
His breath grazed my face. “How much did I actually see?” He paused. “Enough to know you think I’m an evil pig.”
Ugh. No. Now his anger made sense.
When he backed away, I walked over to the ripped pages on the table and sifted through them.
“It’s the last one, for reference,” he noted.
I read what I’d written the other night.
AUTHOR BIO
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling
author of contemporary romance.
She grew up
in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a
television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son,
and beautiful daughter with autism.
With over two
million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author
of over twenty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen
languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
Professor Romance 