The man’s on a mission. But that’s about to get derailed, bigtime.
Gruff ΚΌn tough pipeline worker Frank ‘Oil Can’ Frazier has saved up his hard-earned cash, jetting from Anchorage to the Riviera to mend a bitter rift with a buddy—or get a busted jaw for his efforts. Little does he dream that an overdue olive branch will have him falling hard for the dark-eyed beauty seated beside him with a tale of her own. When an in-flight emergency detours the plane to the middle of nowhere, an overnighter with Little Miss 14B beckons, and O.C.’s hot fantasies become reality. Looks like this bad boy’s rewriting his travel plans…
A grief-filled escape turns into a delicious adventure before her seatbelt is fastened.
Newly orphaned traveler Reina Vasava is sticking pins on a map, hopscotching around the globe in an all-out attempt to bury her sorrow. Her solo status upgrades to a most do-able double after she buckles in next to a burly mountain brooding in the window seat. This foulmouthed beardie is her alpha king personified, and an awkward flirtation swiftly morphs into what feels like the real deal. All’s fun in and out of the Mediterranean sun until an unsavory secret is revealed, and the merde hits the fan with a ‘splat!’
Can mistakes from the past be forgiven? Or will a perfect passion face the guillotine?
Standing over the sink, I splashed my face with cold water, silently gritting commands to my reflection.
Come on, you got the whole damn evening to get through, bunkered in these four walls with a s3x kitten minus a bra. You can’t even hack the first three minutes? Hello, this was your bright idea, was it not?
I sucked in a few deep breaths and exited, almost swallowing my tongue when the first thing I spied was Reina sprawled on one half of the big bed; black boots on white lace, an array of snacks spread around her in a crescent.
“Dig in! There’s only that one hard chair near the wall, so I figured this was a better spot for our picnic. I set your beer on your nightstand.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Neck hot, I plodded to the far side of the king, gingerly perching on its edge. Cracking the brew, I took a long gulp, mumbling without turning.
“Tastes good.” A soft voice replied, and I felt the mattress bounce as Reina patted its surface.
“Stretch out, Frank. I have a smorgasbord here.”
“Nah, I… my boots.”
“Kick them off, or don’t, no big deal. I still have mine on. So what if we mess up the spread a little? It’s got to be washable, what with the amount of guests traipsing in and out of the place.”
I couldn’t think of another excuse off the cuff, other than the truthful, “I’m afraid if I get horizontal next to your amazing, smokin’ bod, I’ll ravage you on the spot and break your pu$$y in half.” So I obeyed, kicking my legs up onto the lace and easing back against soft pillows.
Reina slithered onto her right hip, pushing packets of junk toward me.
“Choose your grease and fat, sir. I’ve already sampled the cookies, and they get a thumbs-up. Chock-full of chips, nice and crunchy.”
I blinked, my gaze flicking over her smiling mouth, her t!+s, her curvy legs in their clinging tights. Take my pick? Sure thing, baby, but it ain’t gonna be any of that manufactured crap.
It’s all Rhett and Scarlett’s fault.
(Talkin' the grand staircase scene, people.)
Stung by the literary lovebug at a tender young age, JC has been devouring steamy romantic fiction ever since. Seriously… What could possibly be more delectable at the end of a rough day than a big, bad, moody male brought to his alphalicious knees by a gorgeous, sassy-talking heroine? Well, besides Tom Hardy showing up shirtless on your doorstep with car trouble.
Penning “I wish” fantasies while slogging through the woefully Rhett-scarce world, JC invites readers to indulge in decadent escape through her foul-mouthed and passion-saturated tales.
Uh. You did hear foul-mouthed, right?
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