Widowed makeup artist Jane Sullivan is more comfortable keeping her husband’s memory alive than dating a pool full of sharks. Ella, her 4 year-old daughter, is her whole world.
When Jane meets Lucas Oliver, famous cover model, it’s hate at first sight. His playboy persona rubs her the wrong way.Accustomed to every woman fawning over him, Lucas is drawn to the shy, uncompromising single mom and completely melts at the sight of Ella. He is determined to convince Jane that sometimes a second chance can mend a broken heart.
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There’s a discomforting long moment of silence. Lucas searches my face with visible interest, lingering on my eyes and lips. I’m tempted to lick them but there isn’t an ounce of saliva left in my mouth. Then I panic, thinking maybe there’s chocolate in the corner of my mouth from the M&Ms I crunched on minutes ago—or worse, some between my teeth.
“Does it hurt?”
I scrunch my brows. “Excuse me?”
“Your head. Does it hurt from the eye-rolling you’ve practiced all evening?”
“Excuse me?” Why can’t I say something else? I mean, I consider myself a sharp girl, able to carry on a conversation without feeling like I’ve entered London’s fog, which is exactly how Lucas makes me feel. Besides, how in the world does he know I rolled my eyes when he was busy charming an entire room full of needy women? And how does he know I rolled my eyes at him?
“I saw you.” Lucas plants both feet apart, hands on his waist. “Not once have I looked your way without seeing those pretty eyes flip-flopping to the back of your head. Is this how you get your exercise?” His kiwi green eyes roam over me, stopping a moment longer on the line between my breasts, then come back to my face, one corner of his perky mouth slightly up. “You’re in great shape, I must say. Care to share how you do it? Your exercise, I mean. Maybe I won’t have to spend so much time in the gym to build these muscles.” As to emphasize his words Lucas flexeshis chest.
Let’s get one thing straight: my instinct tells me Lucas Oliver is trouble. From the moment I first heard his name until he made an appearance, he was a pretty face everyone drooled over. Seeing him among women, rubbing against them, sharing kisses as if they were the Sunday morning’s newspapers, and throwing his arms around anyone willing to share more than bodily odors confirm my first impression that the guy is nothing but a pretty face.
“You know what?” I place my left palm over my chest, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. In fact, I don’t even know who you are and so, if you’ll excuse me, I must go.”
Lucas’ grin widens. “You don’t know who I am or you pretend not to know?”
About the Author
I WRITE. I LIVE. I LOVE. I DREAM. I WRITE.
I’m a dreamer
I’m a sinner
I love my books
I conjure hooks
And heroes with good looks
Romance is my guilty pleasure
Taking me to places with new decor
Come join me if you dare
I promise not to bore
If you like to read my stories
Pray my husband continues snorin’
For he’s the one who keeps me up at night
When I give my heroes wings and flight.