Nia and Conn’s wedding will be fairytale perfect…if their siblings can get along.
Free-spirited, anti-establishment Sara has always been on the outside of her family’s fairytale mold. Now she’s being forced smack into the middle of it at her sister Nia’s wedding. Alongside the cocky and annoyingly sexy best man—Conn’s cop brother.
Curtis doesn’t buy in to organized romance and fairytales. But for his brother, he’ll throw on a tux and fake it for a few hours. His flak vest would have been a better choice around the maid of honor. He should have brought his handcuffs too, because somebody needs to restrain the dark-haired spitfire—and he’s just the man for the job.
One night to indulge the spark between them, then goodbye—that was the agreement. Curtis isn’t looking for a relationship and he sure doesn’t want a troublemaker for a girlfriend. The last thing Sara needs in her daily life is a cop looking over her shoulder, no matter how hot he is.
But giving in to their chemistry is much more fun than giving it up…
Excerpt . . .
He shook his head while pulling into the gas station. Why the hell was he thinking—or caring—about what made Sara tick? He’d agreed to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t jump the rails and ruin his brother’s wedding. That job didn’t require understanding her on a deeper level. A side effect of his job, always trying to figure people out. That’s where this interest in Sara had come from. Nothing more than that.
He hadn’t even turned the ignition off before Sara removed her seat belt.
“I’ll pump it,” she said, going for the door handle.
He caught her arm and pulled her toward him. “Save your pumping for later.”
She rolled her eyes, though clearly for effect. Her smile gave her away, whether she’d intended it to or not. “It’s my car. I can pump my own gas.”
“Not while I’m around.” He hopped out, grabbed the doorframe and leaned back into the vehicle. “Unless you’re wearing short-shorts, high heels and a bikini top. Then I’m going to insist that you pump the gas. While I supervise, of course.”
“Oh my god, dude. Cliché much?”
“There’s a reason clichés exist, babe. They work.” He winked and left her smiling and laughing in the front seat. That’s how he wanted her. Well, one of the ways.
He filled her Trans Am’s tank until it couldn’t hold one more drop, hung the nozzle on the pump and returned to the driver’s seat. “What?” he asked when Sara scowled across at him.
“Did you fill it?”
“Yeah.” He clicked his seat belt into place.
“You should have asked my permission before you did that.”
He leaned over the center console, invading her personal space and not giving a fuck. “I don’t ask permission. When you’re with me, you’re going to get filled up.”
About The Author . . .
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