Only You, an all-new sexy and emotional
standalone from USA Today bestselling
author Melanie Harlow is coming March 12th!
As a divorce attorney, he loves to tell me there’s no such thing.
As a wedding planner, I choose to disagree.
We disagree on almost everything, in fact. Everything except James Bond. The only time we really get along is when we’re watching 007 flicks together, and I’ll admit—he has rescued me from a disaster or five. So when one of the baton twirlers from his parade leaves a baby girl at his door with a note that says “I’ll come back for her” and he begs me for help, I can’t turn him down.
But it’s a mistake.
Because watching him with his daughter, I start to see another side of Nate, a side that has my breath coming faster, my body craving his, my heart longing for him to change his mind about love and tell me there’s a chance for us.
I don’t want to be just another girl leaving his apartment in the morning.
I want to be the one he asks to stay.
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“You know, even an alpha male can have feelings
occasionally.”
“Oh?”
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the
counter, giving me the evil eye. “Yes. He doesn’t have to be hard as granite
all the way through, all the time.”
Don’t think about being hard. Don’t think
about being hard. Don’t think about being hard. I leaned back against the opposite counter
and sort of held my glass in front of my crotch. “Why are you even concerned
with alpha males? You’re never attracted to them.”
“What? Yes, I am!”
“No, you’re not.” I knew her type well. “You’re
always saying how you don’t want to be rescued, you want someone willing to
show affection and talk about feelings, you don’t like arrogant or competitive
guys or guys who always have to win, you like guys who get along with
everyone—”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. But that’s not an alpha male.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “But look at Bond. Who
is he so worried about protecting? Why is he so driven to kill the bad guys?
There must be people he cares about more than himself to put himself in harm’s
way so often.”
“Maybe he just likes the thrill of the chase.”
“Maybe he’s more selfless than you think.”
“In this case, I think we’re going to have to
disagree.”
She sighed heavily, and I knew I had disappointed
her by ending the argument in a draw instead of winning or losing it. Any other
night, I might have kept it going, but there was something odd going on with
me, something that had me wanting to close the distance between us, set her up
on the counter, slip my hands beneath that fuzzy white sweater she had on, see what
her legs felt like wrapped around my hips. But I knew better.
Get her out of here before you do something
stupid.
“Hey, you got fortune cookies? I didn’t see
those.” She reached for the little cellophane bag.
“I forgot about them.”
“Can I have one?”
“You can have them both.”
She took one out and cracked it open. “A ship in
harbor is safe, but that’s not why ships are built.”
“Very deep.”
She ignored me and went on to the next one. “You
have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” Her lips pursed. “Hm. I don’t
want a dangerous ship or a broken
heart.”
I laughed at the anguish in her tone and
expression.
“It’s not funny,” she said, shoving pieces of
cookie in her mouth. “It means I’m doomed to be unhappy. And then I’m going to
die in a shipwreck.”
“It means you take things way too seriously.” I
tipped back the last of the bourbon in my glass, and set it in the sink. “Well,
I’ve got an early morning at the gym tomorrow.”
She popped the rest of one cookie in her mouth and
brushed off her hands. “I’m going. What time is it anyway?”
I checked the digital clock on the microwave.
“It’s 11:11.”
Her face lit up. “Ooh! Make a wish!”
“What?”
“It’s 11:11, you have to make a wish.” She closed
her eyes for a couple seconds, her lips moving as if saying a silent prayer.
Then she opened them. “Did you do it?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Nate! Hurry up! Make a wish.” She glanced at the
clock and flapped her hands agitatedly.
“I don’t have a wish to make.”
“So make one for me, then. And do it fast, before
it’s 11:12.”
This time it was my turn to roll my eyes, but
secretly I wished that the next guy she fell in love with would love her back
the way she deserved, and she’d be happy. But I didn’t close my eyes, and I
didn’t move my lips, so she had no idea whether I’d made a wish or not.
“Did you do it?” She looked concerned.
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth fell open for a second. “What was it?
What did you wish for me?”
I started to laugh as I left the kitchen. “Nice
try, Calamity. Even I know you don’t tell a wish if you want it to come true.”
The credits were still rolling on the television, and I picked up the remote to
turn everything off.
“Oh, now
you believe in wishes?” She sat down on the couch and tugged on her fluffy
boots.
No, I wanted to tell her. I don’t, because I learned a long time ago
that wishes and prayers and hopes don’t mean anything. No one is listening.
But I didn’t tell her that, not only because she was looking up at me with my
favorite expression of hers, the one daring me to fight back, but because at
that very moment, I heard a noise in the hall.
A strange and oddly terrifying noise.
I looked over my shoulder toward the door,
thinking I must have imagined the sound.
Then I heard it again—the unmistakable,
ball-shrinking, cringe-inducing sound of a baby’s wail.
Melanie
Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty
bits left in. When she's not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV
series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She
occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak.
Melanie is the author of
the AFTER WE FALL series, the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and
the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to
romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives
with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.
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