He’s supposed to be
the town hero. He’s not!
Haunted by comrades he was unable to save, Drake Miller walks
away from his military career for the relaxed, quiet life of running his
father’s bar in Regret Hollow. Too bad no one tipped him off that his father
sold the bar.
While the townspeople treat him to a hero’s welcome that he
doesn’t want and doesn’t deserve, he finds one person who doesn’t fall at his
feet, calls him out for bad behavior, and kisses like a fantasy. Unfortunately,
she also owns the bar that was supposed to be his.
As a single mom and small business owner, Mallory Marquette
takes her commitments and responsibilities seriously. She can’t give away her
livelihood just because Drake thinks he’s entitled to it—even if he is the town
hero and the first man in a decade who gets her blood flowing. Besides, she
needs a reliable bartender much more than she needs a lover.
Can this hero turned bad boy step up to a lifetime
commitment, or will the freedom he sacrificed so much for cost him everything?
Excerpt:
“Wait a second.” He held up a hand. “I know you.
You’re the stuck-up high school princess who was too good to give me the time
of day. Mallory Yates.” His lips curled into a sneer.
In what universe did a pizzeria waitress have
anything in common with a princess? Whatever. She couldn’t reason with guys
like him. She didn’t bother to correct him on her name, either. If not for
Ryan, she’d have returned to the Yates surname after her divorce. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about and neither do you, but thanks for showing me you’re
still the same insensitive jerk you’ve always been.”
He laughed. “You’re ever so welcome, princess. Now
are you going to spray me with that pepper spray or just intimidate me by
waving it around?”
She glanced down at the tiny bottle in her fist.
If the rumors about his capabilities were true, he could disarm her in the
blink of an eye. Regardless, he sure wasn’t the least bit intimidated.
“Neither.” She shoved the canister in her back
pocket and advanced on him. “I want you to think next time before you do
something stupid.” She shoved his chest, which proved as solid and unmoving as
a brick wall.
He grasped her hands before she could withdraw
them, trapping them against his heat. His eyes glittered in the growing
darkness.
“Sometimes thinking is overrated. I like to do and
deal with the consequences later.” He lowered his head toward her.
No way. He wouldn’t. He had as much disdain for
her as she had for him. She glared at him, refusing to call his bluff and pull
away.
His lips pressed against hers, hard and demanding.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth. She gasped as fire raced through her
veins. Clenching her fingers around the fabric of his T-shirt, she met the
demands of his mouth.
She refused to be intimidated just because he was
sexier than sin and could kiss a hell of a lot better than anyone in recent
memory or, um, in ever. Oh God, she couldn’t remember anyone else. She couldn’t
even remember her own name.
A moan tore from her throat. She bit down on his
lip then thrust her tongue, tangling it with his.
He bracketed her ribs, sliding beneath her jacket
and the hem of her shirt then over her waist and up, cupping her breast.
Holy hell. Who knew being groped could feel so
good? With one touch, she nearly believed she could leave behind stress and
responsibility and reclaim her femininity. “Fondle me, you bastard, and make it
good.”
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