Andi Torres is B-U-R-N-E-D out. Getting called for jury duty seems like a vacation after being passed over for a promotion she desperately wanted. The outspoken boss babe wasn’t expecting Ty Sheldon to wade into her jury pool, but the sexy 911 dispatcher has his own reasons for not being excused from service.
Ty should be too self-disciplined to have impure thoughts about his friend’s sister. Pursuing Andi ought to be a no-go. Ty tried his best to ignore the attraction sizzling behind their trivia rivalry, but when their jury is sequestered during a high-profile case, will his good intentions yield to the temptation of her undeniable appeal? Or will he and Andi be able to keep their relationship strictly business?
Amelia Simone is a reader turned writer based in the Pacific Northwest. Along with caring for her young family and enjoying food and wine adventures with her husband, she spends a lot of time in the backyard gardening and reading during her free time. (If you plant enough stuff, no one notices if you accidentally kill off half.)
When the weather cooperates, you can find her on her deck sipping coffee and writing her next book. Amelia believes that everyone has a little frog in ‘em, and a little royalty too. She enjoys writing light, hopeful romance about everyday people with the banter and teasing that make life fun. When the real world gets to be too much, she moves on to the sci-fi world she created for a little paranormal relief.
Title: The Extra Myles Author: Melanie Munton Genre: Contemporary Romance
NOW HIRING… Fake boyfriend for 27-year-old desperate female. Must be able to deal with pretentious, New York City socialites. Attendance at family Christmas events required. Seasonal work only. Applicants not named Myles Colson need not apply.
The position has been filled. Granted, Myles is the only man in Blair McCauley’s life capable of looking her dragon mother in the eyes and not bursting into tears. Blair will need that steel whenever her mother helpfully reminds her over a glass of eggnog that a career is pointless when she could just marry rich. Thankfully, the barbecuing, beer swilling, football watching guy’s guy doesn’t even sort of fit in with her flashy New York lifestyle.
Which is exactly the point.
Although Myles is a lot more than a former jock with a pension for frosted mugs and Sweatpants Sundays. He also happens to be a gifted artist, and Blair is helping him carve out his space in the art world. Lucky for her, she’s the only one who gets to see the man behind the pottery wheel. Sans shirt.
But when Blair and Myles both come to the realization that they’ve just been pretending at pretending, they never see what’s coming for them next.
Every time she’s around, I get all antsy and excited for some reason. Like when my Clemson Tigers complete a sixty-three-yard pass and run it in for the touchdown to win the game.
I snicker.
Little Miss Blair here has probably never even watched a football game in her life.
The woman breezes into the back room with all the air of a European queen. And from what I’ve read, she practically is that up in NYC. Or at least, a princess. Either way, Blair McCauley is American royalty.
And I might as well be the guy who cleans horse shit out of her family’s stables.
“Are you ever going to fix that door?” she asks in the exasperated tone I recognize.
She sounds that exact same level of annoyed every time she stumbles through my studio door that, even I’ll admit is a bitch to open.
Damn, but she’s beautiful.
Like, the breathtaking kind of beautiful. The kind of woman who deserves to have a sultry theme song play every time she enters a room. My favorite is when she gets all huffy like this. Blowing her Marilyn Monroe-styled blond hair off her forehead, planting her dainty hands and manicured nails on her slim hips, and cocking said hip out. The whole move pushes out her full, rounded breasts beneath her silk top, her tight skirt stretching across those svelte legs.
Stunning she may be, but the woman is also the prissiest, most high-maintenance, spoiled city girl I’ve ever met.
Expensive.
And I don’t do that type. Sure, I’ve fantasized about having this woman beneath me—a shameful number of times—but I prefer my women to be a little more kickback. Someone who’s content to sit around with you on a Sunday afternoon in nothing but ratty sweatpants, watching football without complaint. A woman who’s okay with going out in public without makeup. Someone who doesn’t turn her nose up when I don’t wipe my mouth between each chicken wing and just wait until I’m done eating them altogether.
If Blair has never watched football, then she’s damn sure never eaten a chicken wing.
I don’t know jack shit about hair, makeup, or clothes, but I know that all of hers are top-of-the-line. The material of her blouse is high-quality. Every pair of shoes I’ve ever seen her in are high heels that you just know cost a small fortune. Her purses are all designer names I’ve at least heard of—Prada, Burberry, Dolce & Gabbana. I even caught a glimpse of one of her lace bras one day when she bent over, a move that about gave me a fucking aneurysm, and I definitely know that item was high-priced.
No. Blair McCauley definitely isn’t my type.
I could never afford her. The best I could do is a hot night between the sheets because a man’s bank account doesn’t matter then. When she saw my place in the daylight, that’s when she would surely saunter all the way back up to New York in her five-inch stiletto heels.
I lift an eyebrow. “Why do you presume I know how to fix it?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Don’t you work in a factory?”
I would be pissed off by the question if I knew she didn’t mean it condescendingly. For all of Blair’s quirks, she’s not a mean person. Perhaps a little naïve at times, but not rude.
I lean back on my stool, crossing my arms over my chest. Her eyes briefly flick down to my biceps before quickly averting to stare at the wall.
Now that’s something.
In all the months I’ve known this woman, in all the phone calls made and trips from New York to Charleston she’s taken, I haven’t seen much in the way of…awareness…from her. At least, not in the sexual sense. God knows I think she’s hot as hell, in the not-so-much-as-a-hair-out-of-place kind of way. But if she felt any attraction toward me whatsoever, you’d never know it.
“We don’t produce doors at a steel manufacturing plant.”
Her apple-shaped cheeks tinge pink. “I realize that. I just pegged you as a jack-of-all-trades type.”
“Because of the uniform? The dirt under the nails?”
She frowns and somehow looks cuter like that. “No. Because you don’t seem like the useless type.”
My ears perk up at something in her voice. Something almost…self-deprecating. Has someone actually told her that she’s useless?
Why does that piss me the fuck off?
She bites her lip in uncertainty, as if afraid she said something wrong. “Or maybe, you know, you can just buy a new door or something? They have those at Home Depot stores, right? I’ve personally never been inside one, but I hear they’ve got them around here.”
I chuckle because I think she’s being funny on purpose, but I can’t always tell with her. It’s almost as if she doesn’t recognize her own sense of humor and doesn’t understand why people might laugh at one of her jokes. Or sardonic quips. Either way, I aim to wipe that look of uncertainty off her face.
“No, you’re right. I can fix the door. I just haven’t had the time lately.”
Truthfully, I haven’t messed with the door because I like how it announces her entrance. And how it makes her angrily curse under her breath. And how she’s slightly out of sorts by the time she reaches me in the back room. I like seeing her hair falling across her forehead before she shoves it back into place. Like seeing the flush on her cheeks, rather than the porcelain doll look they usually have. In those brief seconds, I think I’m seeing the real Blair, rather than the polished, prim illusion she projects.
“I see.” She smooths her hands down her skirt, pushing her shoulders back. “So, how are the final pieces coming along?”
I take another swig of my beer to avoid staring at her legs in those tights that I know have that fucking seam up the back. “Firing up now. Should have them done by tomorrow afternoon.”
She excitedly starts tapping around on her phone. “Excellent. I can have them shipped up to New York before my flight back, and everything will still be on schedule for the exhibition on the twenty-ninth.”
“You don’t even want to look them over for approval before you ship them off?” I question. “You’re so sure these final pieces will be good?”
She peeks up at me through long, lowered lashes. “Not necessary. There’s no way I won’t like them.”
Scout’s honor, my dick turns to a full-blown erection at her compliment.
She actually likes my work.
Her eyes widen as her words finally sink in. “I-I mean, the others are all so fantastic, I doubt these will pale in comparison.”
If she’s trying to backtrack her apparent admiration for my work, she’s doing a piss-poor job, at least from my perspective.
And now my dick is hard as a fucking icicle.
Granted, if you stuck an icicle in my pants right now, it would melt in about two and half seconds. Even in December, it’s a scorcher down here in the South.
“Thank you,” I rasp, fighting to get all my bodily functions under control. “I hope they meet your expectations, then.”
Her eyes stay on me for silent moments, baffling me. She never holds eye contact with me for this long. It’s like she makes a point not to.
“Trust me.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “They’ll exceed them.”
Melanie grew up in the Midwest, but she loves living in the Southeast (where the beaches are!) now with her husband and daughter.
Melanie’s other passion is traveling and seeing the world. With anthropology degrees under their belts, she and her husband have made it their goal in life to see as many archaeological sites around the world as possible.
She has a horrible food addiction to pasta and candy (not together…ew). And she gets sad when her wine rack is empty. At the end of the day, she is a true romantic at heart. She loves writing the cheesy and corny of romantic comedies, and the sassy and sexy of suspense. She aims to make her readers swoon, laugh out loud, maybe sweat a little, and above all, fall in love.
Go visit Melanie’s website and sign up for her newsletter to stay updated on release dates, teasers, and other details for all of her projects!
A modern retelling of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
Camille Kelly is in real danger of becoming an old maid—at least by Cherish, Montana, standards. She has all but given up on finding Mr. Right—until her broken laptop leads her to Aiden Peterson, a tall, dark, and handsome computer genius. Camille would never have believed her magic moment was right around the corner, but after two whirlwind weeks, she has a ring on her finger and has happily ever after in sight. However, she soon discovers Aiden is part of a daunting package deal . . .
As the eldest of seven brothers, Aiden has never had a problem living under the same roof as his rambunctious siblings. When he falls for Camille, he is confident she’ll fit right into his family’s already bursting home. He thought wrong. Aiden and Camille’s storybook romance comes to a screeching halt when she discovers her new living situation. Not willing to submit to a life mothering a bunch of grown men, Camille has only one option: she embarks on a campaign to improve her new brothers-in-law and marry them off. And what better candidates for wives than her own best friends?
No one should underestimate the influence of a woman. If Aiden Peterson had realized this a few years ago, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief in his efforts to parent his six younger brothers. Lost in his thoughts, Aiden leaned against the marble countertop in his kitchen while he waited for his dinner to finish cooking. It had been a week since he’d said goodbye at the airport to his baby brother, Grant, who had deployed to Iraq. Watching Grant hug his girlfriend, the woman who’d turned him into a well-behaved man almost overnight, had reminded Aiden of a promise he’d made ten years ago at his parents’ graveside—one he intended to keep.
The timer went off, and Aiden pulled the pan of fish sticks and fries out of the oven. He grimaced when he accidentally dropped the hot pad onto the heating element. Instantly, a corner of fabric disappeared in a small flame. He grabbed a spatula, scooped the burning hot pad onto the floor, and deftly pounded out the flames.
It didn’t bode well if thoughts of dating again had distracted him to the point of nearly burning down his house. While he loved living in a bachelor pad with his brothers, a guy could only live off frozen food for so many years before he cracked. If getting married could change this, dating might be worth it. With a sigh of disgust, he rinsed the charred hot pad under water. He let it drip dry before he opened the drawer next to the oven and threw it in.
“I saw that.” Benson drawled from the other side of the room. Aiden glanced at his brother just thirteen months younger than him, sitting in the family room just off the kitchen. He wished Benson didn’t have an inch on him in height and a broader chest. It had been so much easier to tell his brothers to mind their own business when they were smaller. “When are you going to learn how to cook?” Benson asked him.
“No need when I have you around,” Aiden said. Benson was the only one of the Peterson brothers who knew how to cook, and his meals consisted of potatoes and potatoes.
“What if I get married and leave?”
Aiden’s brow rose. It was ironic how casually Benson had brought up marriage, the topic that kept ringing in his own mind. “You have to learn how to talk to girls before you can get married.”
Benson had a lot going for him, but he was reserved and antisocial. He needed a woman to pull him out of his shell. In fact, all his brothers could benefit from the influence of a woman—a person who could bring light back into their lives, like Amy had done for Grant.
Benson picked at his teeth with a toothpick. “There isn’t a need to talk to girls. They talk enough for everyone.”
Benson’s hang-up with dating was part of the Peterson plague. They’d had to be independent and emotionally guarded for so long, but it didn’t have to be like that anymore. Once Aiden married, the pattern would cycle right down the alphabet. Next would be Benson, then the twins, Cade and Daegan, then Flynn, Easton, and Grant. In fact, Aiden didn’t see why he couldn’t get the older five married before Grant’s deployment ended in a year’s time.
No one else was home, so this was Aiden’s opening to confess his thoughts and gauge Benson’s reaction. “We can work on the talking-to-girls thing. I want you to start dating.” He had Benson’s full attention now. Aiden juggled a hot fish stick back and forth between his hands before setting it back down in the pan with resolve. “Seeing Grant and Amy together got me thinking about Mom and Dad. After the crash, I vowed I’d get us all married and settled down. More than anything, they wanted us to find happiness with our own families. It’s been ten years. It’s time.”
Anneka Walker is an award-winning author raised by a librarian and an English teacher turned judge. After being fed a steady diet of books, she decided to learn about writing. The result was a bachelor’s degree in English and history. When she isn’t dreaming up a happy ending for a story, she is busy living her own with her husband and adorable children.
