They’re not kids anymore, but Milo Caro is certain that
Colton Mathews will only see her as his best friend’s little sister for the
rest of their lives. After all, he made that clear the night before she left
for college. But four years later, her brother is getting married and Colt’s
the best man—and guess who is the best man’s last-minute date?
Milo vows to use the wedding to either claim the smoldering
firefighter’s heart or douse this torch for good. When Max—her best friend from
college, who may be carrying a torch of his own—crashes the party, they devise
a plan to make Colt see what he’s missing. But after Colt catches on, he
decides to cook up his own revenge.
firefighter’s heart or douse this torch for good. When Max—her best friend from
college, who may be carrying a torch of his own—crashes the party, they devise
a plan to make Colt see what he’s missing. But after Colt catches on, he
decides to cook up his own revenge.
Now it’s personal. Colt and Milo are at war, and between
Max’s questionable acting methods, an unfortunate trip to jail, and a maniacal
fiancée, what could possibly go right?
Max’s questionable acting methods, an unfortunate trip to jail, and a maniacal
fiancée, what could possibly go right?
“I
win,” Colton said, his eyes narrowing, “she promises never to
bring up the pancake incident again—or at least for a year, we all
know it’s hard for little squirt to keep her mouth shut.”
I
stuck out my tongue.
Colt’s
eyes heated for a brief moment before he swore and said, “Cute.”
“And
your terms?” Jason’s eyes narrowed. “If you win?”
“I
want . . .” I bit my lip. I wanted a kiss. I wanted time with
Colton, I wanted . . . “Colton watches Star Wars with
me.”
Colton
groaned. He was the only guy breathing who hated Star Wars. When
he was little he’d had nightmares that Jabba the Hutt was in his
closet.
“Four,
five, and six,” I added.
Jason
whistled under his breath. “Tough terms. Tough terms.”
“I
accept.” Colton shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the
world. Bastard. “I’m not worried, been training, lifting weights
. . .”
Yeah,
I’d noticed. Not that he’d needed to before, but damn, now the
man was cut.
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandykenauthor.com
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandykenauthor.com
No comments:
Post a Comment