When the one you shouldn't want is the one you can't resist...
Brent Payton works hard, plays hard, and has earned his ladies’ man reputation. But he’s more than just a good time, even though no one seems to see it. Until a gorgeous brunette with knockout curves and big, thoughtful eyes walks into his family’s garage and makes Brent want more.
Ivy Dawn and her sister are done with men, all of them. They’ve uprooted their lives too many times on account of the opposite sex, but that’s over now. The plan seems easy until a sexy, dirty-taking mechanic bursts in Ivy’s life and shakes everything up.
Brent can’t resist the one person who sees past his devil-may-care façade, and Ivy finds it harder and harder to deny how happy he makes her. But she has secrets of her own and when the truth comes out, she must decide if she’ll run again or if she’ll take a chance on forever.
Brent Payton works hard, plays hard, and has earned his ladies’ man reputation. But he’s more than just a good time, even though no one seems to see it. Until a gorgeous brunette with knockout curves and big, thoughtful eyes walks into his family’s garage and makes Brent want more.
Ivy Dawn and her sister are done with men, all of them. They’ve uprooted their lives too many times on account of the opposite sex, but that’s over now. The plan seems easy until a sexy, dirty-taking mechanic bursts in Ivy’s life and shakes everything up.
Brent can’t resist the one person who sees past his devil-may-care façade, and Ivy finds it harder and harder to deny how happy he makes her. But she has secrets of her own and when the truth comes out, she must decide if she’ll run again or if she’ll take a chance on forever.
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She was weaving a little as she walked,
and he figured that last shot was hitting her just about now. She probably
could have done without it, but who was he to tell her what to do?
He wrapped her coat around her
shoulders once they got outside, because the fall night was a little chilly,
and walked toward his truck. He held her hand to help her along. She mumbled
something behind him and he turned around. “What?”
“I like your hands.” She was . . .
petting his hand. There was really no other way to describe it.
“My hands?”
“Yeah, they’re big and all argh, check out my calluses and scars for I
am man.”
He barked out a laugh. “I am man?”
“And your butt.” She ceased petting his
hand and clapped her hand over her mouth, like she hadn’t mean to say that.
“What about my butt?”
She dropped her hand and sighed. “It’s
a really great butt. I can’t be the only person who’s told you that.”
He honestly couldn’t remember anyone
flat-out saying anything about his ass. “Um . . .”
“And this.” She pointed to his face. “That’s
nice too.”
“My face?”
“It’s a good face. I like it.”
Drunk Ivy was hilarious. And
complimentary. Did she really mean all these things? They reached his truck,
and he helped her into the passenger seat, making sure she was buckled in. She
rolled her head to the side to face him as he stood next to the door. “And
that.” She pointed to his chest.
He looked down. “My chest?”
She shook her head and pointed again.
“Your heart. That’s nice too.” Her voice dropped, down to a whisper. “I think I
like that the best.”
Megan worked as a journalist covering real-life dramas before she decided she liked writing her own endings better and switched to fiction. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, two kids and two cats. When she's not tapping away on her laptop, she's probably listening to the characters in her head who won't stop talking.
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