A week later, she came home to find him sweaty and shirtless with a tape measure in hand, remodeling her loft. As a Parker-King, she’s not allowed to want someone like Noah Dalton. She’s sick of her life, though. Sick of the rules of being a Parker-King. She wants something more, even if it isn’t forever. Somewhere in history there was that one time where hot, no-strings-attached sex didn’t end badly, right? Finding comfort in the arms of a former SEAL is easy, not falling for one . . . not so much.
Noah left the military and moved to New York for one reason: his daughter. Not for some uptight businesswoman–a Manhattan elitist. So when Grace offers him the kind of relationship that no hot-blooded man can turn down, he should say no. And when her seemingly put-together life spins out of control, and his instincts to protect and save kick in, he should turn away. But he doesn’t.
Can two people from different worlds really live in the moment, knowing they’re on borrowed time, or is someone bound to get hurt?
“Sorry about him. I hope he didn’t say anything offensive.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” she says while glancing over her shoulder at me for a fleeting moment.
“Right. Well, can I buy you a drink to make up for it?” I have no clue why I’m still standing here, but damned if I can get myself to move.
“Ohhh, I get it.” She slips her hand free from her glass and faces me. “Is this some party trick of yours? One of you approaches and acts like an ass and the other guy steps in for the rescue? It’s kind of a tired routine, don’t you think?”
Her pale eyes draw me in before my attention dips down to her lips. No lipstick or gloss. Just full, natural lips. Lips I suddenly want to pull between my teeth to see if she tastes as good as she smells.
This is new for me. This feeling of being drawn to another woman. Even after almost a year of separation, I can’t help but notice the tinge of guilt coiling inside me over being attracted to another woman. Sure, I had those random rebound hookups, but those were out of anger.
“No, it’s not a routine,” I say.
“Well, you’re not my type.” Her eyes wander to my hand, which is pressed to the counter at my side.
“And what’s your type?” I look at her. “Some guy in Armani with a money clip packed with more bills than I have in my bank account?”
Shit. Cindy’s in my head and this woman is fast becoming my target, someone I suddenly want to hate.
Although Miss Fourth of July looks nothing like my ex, she certainly reeks of money. Her clothes probably cost more than my rent at the docks. Not that I’m paying that much thanks to a friend.
But the huge Prada bag on the bar stool next to her could buy my meals for a month. And the bag is another reminder of Cindy, because the only reason why I know it’s Prada is because Cindy’s mom bought her a similar purse on our ten-year anniversary—as if that wasn’t enough to make me feel like shit. Yes, thank you, mother-in-law, for outdoing me about ten times over on my goddamn anniversary.
The woman stares at me with parted lips, not saying anything, and I get the feeling that isn’t the norm for her. There’s a slight bit of red pulling at her cheeks when she finds my eyes again.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, lady, but you’re not exactly my type either.” Okay, so I don’t even know what my type is anymore, but I’m not in the right state of mind to find out.
“Ah. You really are clever, aren’t you?” The woman’s smiling now. Her white teeth tease between her lips, but it’s the sexy way her eyes and nose smile too that has me swallowing.
“Oh yeah? How so?” I place a hand on my chest, forgetting Cindy for the moment. Hell, the way this woman is looking at me right now, I can barely remember my own name.
“You’re trying to make me want what I can’t have. You, in this case.”
I didn’t expect that. Women don’t talk like this where I grew up, but I guess New York is a whole other ball game.
“Oh really?” I’m keeping up this charade longer than I have any business to. “So you have everything you want in life, huh?”
She wets her lips briefly. “I do, in fact.” Her eyes drift away from mine, an attempt to hide a lie.
I step closer and bend my neck a little so our eyes meet again. “You sure about that?”
She sucks in a noticeable breath, and when I realize I have her roped in—right the hell where any man would want a woman—I back up and turn away. Because I know a woman like her can be dangerous, and right now, I have one person I need to focus on.
Brittney Sahin began writing at an early age, with the dream to be a published author before the age of 18. Although academic pursuits (and, later, a teaching career) interrupted her aspirations, she never stopped writing—never stopped imagining.
It wasn’t until her students encouraged her to follow her dreams that Brittney said goodbye to Upstate New York in order to start a new adventure in the place she was raised: Charlotte, North Carolina. Here, she decided to take her students’ advice and begin to write again.
In 2015, she published her first novel, The Safe Bet. When she is not working on upcoming novels, she spends time with her family. She is a proud mother of two boys and a lover of novels, coffee, and the outdoors.