Six Hot Single Dads. Lynne Marshall
Читать онлайн.| Название | Six Hot Single Dads |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Lynne Marshall |
| Жанр | Контркультура |
| Серия | Mills & Boon e-Book Collections |
| Издательство | Контркультура |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9781474073189 |
Karen Booth
“You believe all of that business about there being a true love for everyone? Or is it just for your show?”
Funny, but no one else had ever asked Ashley that question. “I do believe it.”
Marcus took a look around the dance floor. All eyes on them. “I’m tempted to give them a show.”
His rich, buttery accent was working its way into her. “What did you have in mind?”
“If we do it, I think we start slowly, give them a taste of what’s to come.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t want to go too fast.” Except that she was thinking about nothing but going very fast, away from this party, away with him.
“I could start by kissing your cheek, whispering in your ear that you look beautiful tonight.” He did exactly that as he said it, his warm lips on her face, his hot breath against her ear, skimming the slope of her neck.
Finally. A kiss. His approach was commanding and entirely self-assured, his grasp on her so firm—she wasn’t sure she’d ever been kissed so masterfully.
When they came up for air, her head was in the clouds. Flashes of light surrounded them. So this was what it was like to see fireworks.
KAREN BOOTH is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on eighties music, Judy Blume and the films of John Hughes. She loves to write big-city love stories. When she takes a break from the art of romance, she’s teaching her kids about good music, honing her Southern cooking skills or sweet-talking her astoundingly supportive husband into mixing up a cocktail. You can find out more about Karen or contact her at www.karenbooth.net.
For my amazing friend and long-lost sister, Piper Trace. You helped me get through this book and I’m forever grateful.
May we have years of giggly brainstorming sessions ahead of us.
Pure exasperation rushed from Ashley George’s lips when she closed her apartment door and spotted Marcus Chambers waiting for the elevator.
“I suppose you’d like me to hold the lift.” Marcus’s rich British accent and unflinching delivery made the statement far more annoying. He knew she was headed downstairs. Unless she was going to descend eleven flights of their Manhattan apartment building in under five minutes while wearing a pencil skirt and four-inch heels, she’d need the elevator.
She sucked in a deep breath and breezed past him as she stepped onboard. Her long blond locks were given a swish for good measure.
“First floor?” he asked.
She dug her fingernails into her palms. Two seconds in the same space and he was already on her last nerve. “We both know we’re going to the same meeting. Being cute about it won’t help.”
He straightened the jacket of his charcoal-gray suit, folded his hands before him and looked straight ahead at the doors. “A gentleman is never cute.”
Cute was definitely an undersell in Marcus Chambers’s case. Ridiculously handsome, yes. Which was too bad, because he was also a grump of epic proportions. Whatever made him that way had to be genetics or a product of his past. Otherwise, he seemed to have everything—money, a primo apartment at a prestigious address on the Upper West Side, enough good looks for a lifetime and—although Ashley had seen Lila only in passing—a beautiful baby girl.
“I wouldn’t be in this elevator at all if you’d stop complaining to the building board,” Ashley replied.
He cleared his throat. “And I wouldn’t have to complain if you’d hire a competent contractor to finish your renovations. I’m tired of living in chaos.” He glanced over his shoulder and dismissed her with a flash of his piercing green eyes. “Chaos seems to follow you wherever you go.”
Ashley pursed her lips. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Considering the things he’d witnessed, her life probably looked like a tornado with nine lives. She was always in a rush, often juggling her phone while many of the million things going through her head managed to leak out of her mouth. Sure, there had been problems with the renovations to her apartment. Sometimes things didn’t go smoothly. She did her best to keep things on track and really, he hadn’t even tried to be more understanding.
She sighed and leaned against the elevator wall, stealing another eyeful of him. If he underwent a personality transplant or at least learned to take a deep breath, he might be perfect—strong jaw with a devilishly square chin, close-cut scruff along his jaw, thick head of mahogany brown hair. Her vision dipped lower and she shuddered as images of his glorious chest and astounding abs flashed in her head. She hadn’t been lucky enough to see his torso live and in person, but she’d unearthed photos of him on the internet. He was one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors, as billed in a charity calendar full of hunky guys. A bachelor raising a baby—divorce was a terrible thing.
Somewhere in the world was a true match for this stunning-on-the-outside, stodgy-on-the-inside man. Ashley believed that about everyone. It wasn’t a made-for-TV