Excerpt!
“I’ll help you pack.”
Yeah, not happening, but I’m too tired to argue with him. Glancing around, his eyes fall on my unmade bed––and stay there.
“Are you here to do a health inspection, or help?”
That snaps him out of whatever is going on in his head. I get down on all fours, my attention momentarily diverted as I grab my suitcase from under the bed. Bad move. Real bad. Because when I glance up, I find him in the process of opening the top drawer of my dresser.
“No! Not that one!” I screech.
Too late. Too effing late. Vaughn is staring at the contents of the drawer, his expression frozen. Until I see his lips move. He’s counting them. Oh dear, he’s counting them. His eyes grow a little wider. He finally reaches seven and stops. Little does he know that eight is in the Amazon box near the front door.
“Don’t touch,” I say, with an exaggerated smirk.
A quick scowl darkens the perfection that is his face. “I wasn’t planning to.” His attention returns to the contents of the drawer. When he starts to close it, I decide to double down because it’s that kind of night.
“Might as well leave it open. I have to pack those.”
That perfectly styled head slowly turns in my direction. I get a blank, assessing stare. He thinks I’m messing with him, but I’m not. When I continue to stare back in silence, he blinks twice and rubs his face.
“You’re bringing all of these?” he says more than asks, his tone reeking of disbelief. His doubt earns him a one shoulder shrug.
“I can’t bring Jamie and leave Wes. Those two are an item. Sometimes I’m in the mood for Gabriel, sometimes Garrett. And Zeke has abandonment issues. He’ll get upset if I leave him behind.”
Guilty as charged. I name my vibrators after my book boyfriends. If you have a problem with it, get on your high horse and go file a complaint with the Bureau of I Don’t Give A Stinking Shit.
Amber Jones is in a pickle. And when I say pickle, I mean deep do-do. She knew she shouldn’t have gone to her ex’s New Year’s Eve party. And she reeeaally didn’t mean to almost burn down his house. It was the chafing dish’s fault, dang it! Now she needs a good lawyer, stat. But where to find one?
All work and no play make Ethan Vaughn a very sad and lonely lawyer. Not to mention horny. He really shouldn’t have agreed to help his best friend’s wife’s bestie with her imbroglio. Now she’s remanded on bail––and living in his house. The woman is a walking, talking category five hurricane. And considering his track record with women, he needs to stay as far away from this one as possible. Problem is, he just can’t seem to make himself.
All work and no play make Ethan Vaughn a very sad and lonely lawyer. Not to mention horny. He really shouldn’t have agreed to help his best friend’s wife’s bestie with her imbroglio. Now she’s remanded on bail––and living in his house. The woman is a walking, talking category five hurricane. And considering his track record with women, he needs to stay as far away from this one as possible. Problem is, he just can’t seem to make himself.
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