MICAH
Julian’s the kind of sexy that demands a cigarette before sex.
He’s the whip and the cream on top of my chocolate sundae.
Hell, he’s the only man worth the fancy underwear in my panty drawer. But suddenly, the thong isn’t the only pain in my ass.
He’s rude. He’s arrogant. And he’s the single greatest threat to my job.
So, of course, I fell in love with my perfect enemy.
Accidentally getting pregnant was our first battle.
Now? It’s all-out-war.
JULIAN
Micah’s the sort of girl who breaks more balls than hearts.
No matter how perfect her ass, it’s not worth the pain in mine.
Her smile might tighten my pants, but the woman’s worse than the drought, pestilence, and ramble of weeds destroying my fields. Too bad she’s the only one who can save my farm.
So, I made a deal with that devil.
…Then I knocked her up.
Micah
It was a bad day to fall in love.
Then again, every day was a bad day to fall in love.
I’d missed the warning signs—the alarm that never went off, the torrential downpour, the car that didn’t start.
Days like that day were perfect for hiding in the office and catching up on paperwork. There, the only risk was the occasional coffee ring on an important contract or an unfortunate paper cut. And while I was sure that the good, old-fashioned journey of self-destruction they called love might have been exhilarating for the first few irresponsible moments, that sort of complication had no place in my life plan.
Especially since Mr. Julian Payne was the wrong man to steal my heart.
If he could find it under the layers and layers of mud.
Mud made a bad day worse. Worse and soggy. Mud caked me head to toe, settling in a variety of places that would require a very intimate scrubbing. Unlike Spa Gemma—Ironfield’s hottest and most exclusive health resort—Butterpond’s famous mud offered no organic benefits to skincare or hydration. Instead, this particular land was supposedly exceedingly fertile. Not any concern of mine, considering the next five years of my life were specifically organized to focus on career growth and physical fitness.
Butterpond wasn’t a great launch pad for any future ambitions or social networking. After four months of employment in the municipal zoning office, my most productive assignment had been unwedging myself from a mud hole in the Payne’s driveway-turned-swamp. I’d kept my shoe but lost my dignity to the sticky pit.
First, my broken-down car.
Then, getting tsunami’d by a speeding pickup truck tearing through a pond-sized puddle on Bakers Run Road.
And now…
Mud.
I’d fallen—wallowed—in six inches of uncompromising, unrelenting mud, crawling hand over fist until I reached the safety of the Payne’s county-styled farmhouse.
And, at the end of the quarter-mile trek up the filthy, water-logged, knee-deep mud driveway? I faced a man who might have stolen my breath if I hadn’t lost it all on the hike to his porch.
Julian Payne was a superior kind of sexy.
As hot as a flickering cigarette after hours of lovemaking.
As teasing as a wrinkle in the sheets twisted by bare toes.
As damning as a body prickling with sweat in the dark.
He was the type of man who’d make a woman giggle as she made the biggest mistake of her life.
I’d made a personal promise to never compromise my values for a little green, but eyes like his were worth dirtying a clean reputation in a new town.
My heart beat quicker—and it wasn’t the panic of leaving my Jimmy Choo’s sinking in a puddle of gloppy mud. This was either love at first sight…or an entirely inappropriate reaction as I stared at Julian, pacing the porch in broad, athletic strides.
Shame. Definitely shame.
I was supposed to be meeting this man on behalf of the Sawyer County Zoning Department. Instead, I drooled over a god so beautiful, so muscular, so utterly stunning that he’d be a perfect excuse to amend my current life plan of career advancement for a fairy tale dream of desire and lust.
Then…he opened his mouth.
“You know what’s wrong with this world?”
Julian spoke daggers—slicing words from lips that shouldn’t have tumbled anything but compliments and dirty words.
He wove his hand through thick, dark hair—wet from either the rain or a shower. His flannel shirt, only halfway buttoned, revealed a hard chest of solid muscle.
This was a man who had never feared a day of hard work in his life. Probably made hard work fear him.
Julian paced the porch, but he wouldn’t outrun his frustration. “I’m trying my goddamned hardest to get this farm up and running.”
This was a proud man. A confident man. A man unburdened by mud and dirty puddle water. And I stood, unnoticed, caked in the unthinkable.
Of course I would meet the man of my dreams while living a waking nightmare. But maybe he’d like a woman who smelled like his farm.
God…I hoped it was just farm I smelled. What the hell was in that mud?
Across the old, rickety porch—covered with a roof that would never meet modern structural guidelines—Julian’s friend eyed me with shock…then pity. Probably the same look I’d receive once I returned to the township offices for my scheduled meeting with the mayor and city council.
So much for the raise.
The second man bounced a baby on his knee. He didn’t seem the type to cuddle a one-year-old, but the baby took glee in tugging the trimmed beard teasing his hardened jaw. He spat out the fingers the little girl jammed into his mouth and attempted to interrupt Julian to greet me.
Julian ignored his friend and proceeded to rant instead.
“How the hell am I supposed to work this farm? The taxes are killing me, the regulations are binding my hands, and now this zoning bullshit tells me where I can and can’t build on my own damn property?”
He was a rugged sort of cowboy, chock full of muscles and arrogance and something less pleasant.
I attempted to interject and announce my arrival, but Julian had no time in the world to listen to anyone by himself.
And I didn’t like what I heard.
“This is our land. It was my father’s land. His father’s land. And his father’s land.” He slapped a calloused hand against the clapboard siding of his house. His home didn’t deserve the solid spank, punishing the building for the inconvenience of the zoning laws that were my job to enforce. “My grandparents built this home from nothing. When my father took over the farm, he worked every day of the year. Sunup to sundown. Back then, no municipality ordered them around on their own private property.”
Why did the cute ones always advocate anarchy?
A man like Julian Payne should’ve stayed quiet and enjoyed the air of mystery. Tall, dark, handsome, and utterly silent. Gone was my fantasy of a rugged cowboy, riding us off into the sunset on his trusty horse, while obeying every zoning regulation set forth in the county’s Unified Development Ordinance.
This was not a man who wanted to play by the rules…or by the laws enacted via local ordinance by the Sawyer County Board of Supervisors and vested in me as Director of Building and Zoning.
“Now there’s some hotshot, wannabe politician telling me what to do?” Julian hadn’t yet noticed me. That was fine. I’d wait this performance out. “He’s probably some fat ass who never even set foot on a farm.”
My ass was not fat. And none of my previous admirers had ever complained about the bump. All…two of them.
Julian seethed, his boots thudding hard against the porch’s warping planks. “He’s probably never worked a day in his life, you know?”
His friend cleared his throat. “Uh…”
“Probably spent his life sitting behind some desk in a cushy office.”
My desk had three legs and a pile of books propping up the fourth. One florescent bulb had burned out a year ago and had yet to be replaced. And, when it rained, the window leaked and trickled water into the outlet.
Real cushy.
Julian smirked. “Probably gets off on the power. Jerks it every time he rejects a building permit application.”
If I took any more offense to his statement, I’d be stuffing my pockets with indignation.
So what if my job was in an office? What did it matter if I wasn’t riding a tractor in the sun all day? I had papers to file and applications to review and men like him to disappoint when they thought they could do as they liked without regard to the greater good of the community.
But Julian was right.
His was one building permit application that would be downright orgasmic to reject.
“Know it took me two weeks to even get an appointment with this asshole?” Julian said. “And now he’s too goddamned incompetent to show up on time.”
Incompetent?
I’d just lost a five-hundred-dollar pair of shoes in the pit he called a driveway. This was after I’d rearranged my entire schedule to visit him in person, sacrificing my thirty-minute lunch and a growing stack of county fair plans in desperate need of review. I’d come to Triumph Farm as a favor to the one man everyone in Butterpond loved like their own damned child.
And now I was incompetent?
No matter how panty-melting handsome the son of a bitch was, he was going to be nothing but a pain in my ass.
“Julian!” The man holding the baby finally interrupted the rant, but Julian had already stuck his foot so far in his mouth he’d be shitting toes for a week. “I think he is here.”
Julian turned. My stomach flopped back into the mud.
This man took my breath away. Which was good. It’d put us on even ground once I punched him square in the gut. But that wouldn’t be very professional as a representative of Sawyer County.
I’d get him audited instead.
I extended a hand. A glop of mud dripped from my fingers. At least it made the java brown of my skin shine. Not that I wanted to exfoliate with the sticky, clumpy mess of debris that churned in Julian Payne’s backyard.
I sucked in a breath, tempered my anger, and attempted to introduce myself.
“I’m—”
His riotous, exceedingly inappropriate laugh carried across his untended farmland—land that would stay empty if he insisted on misbehaving.
“What the hell…” He stared at me—eyes greener than any weed sprouting in his fields. “What happened to you?”
His was a question that would take an afternoon in a spa, a soak in a tub, and a dinner of pure carbs and an entire bottle of wine to answer.
It’d started when I’d busted the corrupt Chief of Police in Ironfield and ended around the time the city fired me for whistle blowing. Fast forward six months of unemployment, and suddenly I was changing the tire of the hand-me-down Sawyer County Crown Vic with three hundred thousand miles, no air conditioning, and an accelerator that tended to stick. Add to that an afternoon dip in a mud puddle and fifteen minutes of clawing through a swamp to get to his front porch, and I had quite the tale to tell Mr. Payne-In-My-Ass about my punctuality and sludgy appearance.
Of course, that was the moment my shock, rage, and absolute lust for this cowboy coalesced into a knot that bound my tongue, heart, and a place a bit lower that—frankly—could have used a good hogtie in the past six months.
“Someone…” My words sputtered out in a most unflattering, incoherent jumble. I stumbled forward, my bare toes sinking into yet another slimy, cold layer of gunk. “There’s…a…it was locked…”
The man with the baby offered me the little girl’s blanket to, presumably, un-mire myself. It wouldn’t help. I needed a damned hose to clear the mud from every nook and cranny on me—places I’d worked so hard to keep clean.
The job wasn’t supposed to be like this.
My life wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I didn’t belong in the dead-end, rural, farming town of Butterpond.
And I sure as hell didn’t deserve to be treated like a inconvenience by Julian Payne when I’d been trying to help.
I swallowed the irritation and gestured down the quarter-mile of sludge that was the farm’s driveway.
“The gate was locked.”
Julian hadn’t stopped laughing.
“I had to get out of the car…open it…the mud was…everywhere.”
His cayenne smoky laugh gutted me. This was a bastard who’d rot in hell for watching my toes wiggle in the grass.
My words turned to a hiss. “You…are you Julian Payne?”
For half a second, I prayed I had the wrong man, wrong farm, wrong anything.
If he was the whip and cream on my chocolate sundae, he’d just melted my entire dessert.
“Yeah,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”
Unfortunate. He was the one man I’d hate to hate.
I straightened my dress as best I could and attempted to wipe some of the mud from my face. No good. It only smeared yet another line across my cheek.
“I’m your appointment,” I said. “And I would have been here sooner if someone hadn’t locked the driveway gate. I fell in the mud and had to claw my way here.”
I received no pity from him. Julian scowled. Damn the man for looking so good even while irritated.
“Look, swamp thing. Sorry you got a little dirty…that’s life on a farm. This is what happens when you’re working the land, not pushing papers.”
Like he had any idea how to do my job. I clenched my fists, wishing a layer of gunk hadn’t squished from between my fingers. My voice cracked with rage. Not the most intimidating.
“Well, I’m here now,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Hell, no. I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Micah Robinson, not…”
He gestured over my curves. He couldn’t be that stupid. All brawn and no brains.
Julian shook his head. “I’m not meeting with his secretary.”
If I wasn’t so sure I’d lost my earrings somewhere by my flattened tire, I’d have ripped the hoops out and prepared to rumble.
Bad day to fall in love.
Bad day to have my heartbroken by a jackass.
Bad day to mess with me.
“You know, cowboy…” I used the term loosely. His farm had no crops and no animals, and it’d probably stay that way. “I intended to do you a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I came out in person. I wanted to survey the farm. Meet this Julian Payne everyone keeps talking about.”
And they talked a lot.
The Paynes were the glue that held together a town comprised mostly of a grocery store that stocked nothing organic and a roughneck bar that didn’t serve Cosmopolitans or even understand the meaning of the word.
Small couldn’t begin to describe Butterpond—but financially insolvent got close. Maybe it was the family’s charity from years ago, or maybe it was the trouble caused these last thirty years by his five sons, but the Paynes dominated the town gossip. Tales of wild nights and fires, eligible bachelors and warring siblings added a bit of mystery to the usual stories of the town’s bingo cheaters, not-so-secret affairs, and warnings about the feral cats overrunning the county fairgrounds.
But Julian Payne?
This man could do no wrong.
Giving up a potentially lucrative career with the Ironfield Rivets just to come home and take care of the family farm, his grieving family, and the responsibility as head of household? Supposedly, the man was a rural messiah who still had enough connections to score the occasional Rivets’ ticket.
That would teach me to listen to idle gossip again.
Especially when it wasn’t about me or threats to my employment.
I raised my chin and pretended the mud was just another layer of Sephora foundation. “And here I thought you could use some help…and you’re gonna need it. You submitted an application to rebuild a barn that’s been demolished for five years.”
“Burned down,” Julian said. “Long story. It burned down.”
“Yes, well, you haven’t attempted to rebuild it within a permitted time frame which makes it exempt to any grandfathered building codes and requirements. Since the structure’s destruction, Sawyer County has passed a new set of zoning regulations which you must adhere to. Your application—which did not include the required set of architectural drawings or a survey of your property—”
“It’s just a barn.”
“—Was not only incomplete, but it lacked the relevant detail to even consider approval for the new construction of an accessory structure on this chosen location.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
It meant this would have felt a hell of a lot better if I wasn’t covered in mud for the reveal.
“It means…I can tell you right now what the decision will be regarding your barn.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I tasted the anger. It tasted a lot like mud. “It’s gonna get denied.”
“What?” Julian blinked. He held his arms out. “That’s it?”
“Don’t bother helping me with the gate. I can manage this time.”
“Don’t let it knock you on your ass on the way out.”
Maybe then he’d stop staring at it, curves barely covered by a designer skirt ruined by the mud and gunk. I hobbled across the driveway just as the skies opened and my luck torrentially poured on me. The saturated material clung to my curves—curves which might’ve been a grand accomplishment for any lady who was not attempting to maintain a level of professionalism within her newfound career. I hadn’t intended to literally storm to my car, but I crossed my fingers for a flash flood to whisk me away.
No amount of hand sanitizer would clean this mess. Especially not before my two o’clock meeting with the mayor and council. I couldn’t go back to the office looking like this. Then again, I doubted I could even make it back to my car.
The mud snowballed around my feet, mixing with the rain to become as heavy as cement. I’d have to cancel the meeting with the council meant to save my job. Too many complaints in government usually meant a municipal employee was doing something right. But in a town where everyone knew each other’s names, kids, properties, secrets, and vulnerable insecurities, one-too-many High Grass and Weed citations didn’t commend me for community outreach. It pissed off the wrong people.
I groaned.
This was his fault.
That sexist, arrogant jerk of a man.
I wouldn’t have gotten muddy if I hadn’t come to his stupid farm. Wouldn’t have popped the tire if I hadn’t volunteered to meet him. Wouldn’t have been late to the meeting to save my career if I hadn’t offered to help that egotistical son of a—
My foot plunked too deep into the mud. My ankle didn’t go with it. I twisted and collapsed to the ground.
“Not again…”
The rain made everything stickier. I wiped the hair out of my eyes with a stroke of my hand. Mistake. The mud smeared over my nose, in my eyes, over my lips.
Gross.
Dress—ruined.
Hair—embedded with twigs.
Foot—stuck in a hole.
Career—over.
I hobbled upright and kicked. Nada. The earth sucked me in but didn’t have the courtesy to bury me six feet under.
Screw it. I’d gnaw my damn ankle off if it meant getting the hell off this farm.
Another yank and I fell forward once again. My Louis Vuitton purse abandoned me, tumbling into a puddle. The vibrating cell phone rolled from the front pocket and splashed in murky water.
Great. I’d die in a backwoods mud pit.
I reached for the phone. My fingertips just grazed the vibrating case before a sun-warmed rumble of a voice piqued my blood pressure.
I’d either jump his bones or bury them in his own backyard.
I didn’t bother glancing at Julian Payne. I’d remember exactly what he looked like tonight in my dreams. It’d take more than a bottle of wine and evening with my showerhead to forget that face.
I spoke through gritted teeth. “You expected someone different?”
“Yeah.” Julian circled me, the mud practically hardening under his boots. Jesus walked on water, Julian could traverse through mud. Less of a god and more a pig. “I thought I was meeting a guy—the zoning officer.”
“Do you even know what a zoning officer is?”
“Yeah. He’s the asshole who won’t let me build a barn.”
And that was why I wouldn’t waste my breath explaining how the municipal code forbid the construction of a new structure so close to the property lines or why a barn of that size would be denied based on the township’s maximum permissible square footage calculation.
Hell, even breaking the regulations down wouldn’t work. A thick head like his wouldn’t understand no build here, too big.
I ignored him and attempted to dislodge my foot from a property that was one blue heron away from a wetlands designation. Then he’d really be pissed when he couldn’t build anything.
“Need help?” Julian asked.
Was he joking? “No.”
“You sure?”
I squirmed. Wiggled. Juked.
And sunk deeper into the mud.
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Cause…to me?” Julian snickered. “Looks like you’re about to become part of the foundation for my new barn.”
Now I did glare at him. And I regretted every single pelting raindrop that splattered his shirt and stuck the material to his thick muscles.
“What barn?” I huffed. “After today, you’ll be lucky if you can plant a damn tomato without a permit.”
“Not sure who made you princess of the county…” Julian enjoyed my plight a little too much. “But lemme help you.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You’ve never spent a day outside your office, have you?”
Not that he needed to know. I warded him away with a swing of a very muddy hand. “I’m fine.”
“Not from around here, are you?” He smirked. God, it was a great smirk. “Most of the locals don’t try to swim through the mud.”
“I wouldn’t have needed to swim if someone had remembered to open the gate.”
“Might’ve opened the gate if someone were on time for her scheduled appointment.”
“Would have made it on time if you had opened the gate.”
“Would have had the gate open if you’d called to tell me you were here.”
Julian didn’t ask permission before sliding his arm around my waist. With a graceful shrug, he lifted me out of the mud and freed me from the hole.
With any other man, in any other time, in any other moment when I wasn’t coated head to toe with muck, I might have offered myself for his ravishment.
It wasn’t the classiest or most realistic of expectations, but it had been a long time since a man had grabbed these hips, and sometimes a girl needed an excuse to get dirty.
But not with him.
Not with a man that arrogant, that aggravating…
That attractive.
“You sure you’re old enough to be a zoning officer?” He hadn’t released me, smirking as I swung my legs above the ground. “I should just keep you in my pocket. Might get the build done faster—”
I kicked. My foot connected a little too hard with the part of him that fed his ego. With a groan, he dropped me. We both clattered to the ground. Me, smooshed into the mud.
Him?
Julian landed over me—all two hundred pounds of pure muscle and small-town mischief.
The skies drenched us in buckets of warm, summer rain. The mud had cushioned our fall. I laid beneath him, pinned, staring into eyes as green as the ominous clouds overhead. Probably a sign to find better cover than under the body of the town’s most frustratingly handsome farmer.
Embarrassment choked me. Or maybe that was lust. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t unburrow from the muck and mire to ensure my dress hadn’t hiked too far up my thighs
The bastard still held me in his arms. I squirmed, clenching my jaw and my legs tightly shut. Didn’t help. A new heat sizzled the raindrops against my skin. Julian stared at me, bright eyes under thick brows, a stoic nose slightly bent from years of abuse, a hardened jaw teased with a scruffy, five o’clock shadow.
A face worthy of cuddling against a pillow or burrowing between my thighs. I hated the thoughts and banished the flutter of warmth aching inside me.
He caught his breath and adjusted the injured part of him. “Are you—”
He’d rubbed his face, leaving a trail of mud along his cheek.
A wriggling, dark little spec remained.
A nightmare of nightmares.
I screamed and punched him square in the nose.
“Leech!”
Julian fell backwards with a grunt. I scrambled to safety.
“Oh, God.” I’d hyperventilate before I could climb a tree or escape into my car to flee from the leeches. “Ew, ew, ew.”
I whipped my hands over any exposed skin, but it wouldn’t do any good.
I’d lain in that oozing, sticky mud.
A million of those creepy crawly disgusting creatures might have latched onto me. The panic set in. So did the lightheadedness. I clutched my clothes and struggled to check all over me before the leeches gorged themselves on every last drop of my blood.
But where could I run? Hide? Fight? I lamented my bare feet and scrunched up tight, sacrificing my right foot to the mud. Hopefully, they wouldn’t strip it to the bone in mere minutes.
Or maybe that was piranhas?
Oh, God, I didn’t want to find out.
“What the hell is your problem?” Julian touched his nose. No blood, but he winced anyway.
He didn’t have to thank me. I’d never stop retching. “You had a leech on your face!”
“No, I didn’t, you maniac.” Julian held out his hand, exposing the little black wiggler. “It’s a fucking blade of grass.”
I still didn’t let it touch me. I nearly collapsed, my breath heaving in uneven gasps. Julian watched, eyebrow rising.
“Have you ever been outside before?” he asked.
Forget the glass of wine. Tonight I’d take the whole damn bottle into the tub. “I don’t often make farm calls. Usually the applicants properly fill out their applications.”
“Never thought I’d have to sweet talk a dirty girl for my barn.”
Hardly appropriate. “Don’t you dare sweet talk me, Mr. Payne.”
“Oh, I forgot. You’re county royalty, princess.” He waggled his eyebrows—the bastard. “I’ll take you out to dinner instead.”
“How could that possibly help?”
“Better than propositioning you in the mud.”
He had to be joking. “You aren’t propositioning anything.”
“Drinks?”
I shoved past him. “I’d need to be drunk to accept that offer.”
“Dinner?”
“Your application has been denied.”
Julian didn’t quit. A smile tugged at his lips. “Dancing.”
I ignored him and trudged away. To my displeasure, he followed.
“Come on, princess.” He loved this. “Those hips were made for more than mud wrestling.”
No one had ever talked to me like that before. I sure as hell didn’t approve of it.
But I wasn’t sure I hated that good ol’, small-town charm.
“Look, cowboy…” I spun and poked him in the chest. “I don’t take bribes.”
“And I don’t sleep with charity cases, but I’ll do whatever it takes for this barn.”
The insolent, conceited asshole! “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
“Are my tax dollars paying for that mouth of yours?” He grinned. “Wish I could put it to better use.”
“How many times do I have to reject you today?” The insults burned through me. So did the desire, though I couldn’t possibly loathe this man more. “Keep trying, cowboy. Disappointing you is starting to feel nice.”
“I can make you feel better than nice.”
“Not interested.”
“Liar.”
“I have morals,” I said.
“You work in government.”
“And men like are you are the reason I avoid the public sector.”
Julian hollered as I stomped away. “How am I supposed to get my barn, princess?”
“You could start by using my real name.” I should have kept walking. “Then you could build the damn thing where it’s authorized in the right dimensions and not insult the only person who can grant you the permissions.”
“Didn’t know government came with a safe word.”
He was going to need one soon. “Don’t test me.”
“What other permissions can you grant?”
“None. But I can cite you for being a public nuisance.”
Julian sighed. “You haven’t even given me a chance.”
“I gave you enough of a chance, Julian Payne. You blew it.”
He laughed, a hearty, country-born, home-grown rumble. “Don’t make this into a challenge, princess. You won’t win.”
“This isn’t about winning,” I said. “It’s about the law.”
“I’m not giving up.” Julian winked. “You’re going to see a lot of me, Miss Robinson.”
“First an insult, now a threat?”
He shrugged. “You could just grant approval now—save us the time and the inevitable foreplay.”
“You couldn’t handle me, cowboy.”
“Won’t know until we try…see if you’re as dirty as you seem.”
I sauntered close, my words a low growl. “Oh, I can play very dirty.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Then he’d love this. “Your application is not only denied, now I will take all forty-five business days to review any appeal you may submit.” I met his gaze. “Before this gets any worse for you, Mr. Payne, I recommend you submit.”
“Always did like a feisty girl.”
Loathsome man. “I think you’ve met your match.”
“Oh, princess, believe me. I’m gonna do you to code.”
“That so?”
“Inspect you head to toe, make sure you adhere to my master plan.”
“I bet you will.”
Julian’s words were filthier than the mud. “Wonder what I could do if I bound you up in your own red tape.”
“Never gonna find out.” I offered him a sweet, professional smile and continued to my car. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Julian Payne. I can’t wait until the next time I get to reject you.”
Sosie Frost is no stranger to quirky, embarrassing, and wild situations, and she’s channeling all that new adult angst into fun romances.
From marching at the high school homecoming game without her trumpet (a punishment for forgetting the instrument on the band bus), to regretfully tucking her prom dress into the back of her tights before pictures, and even accidentally starting a chemical fire in the college chem lab, Sosie has the market cornered on crazy stories.
But hey, writing is a better outlet than therapy right? 😉
If you want funny, charming, and steamy romances, you’ve found the right author!
Sosie lives in Pittsburgh with her hubby, her two cats, and thrives on a near constant stream of gummy bears.
Jamaila Brinkley writes historical romance with a hint of magic. Her Wizards of London series features thieves, duchesses, witches, and more indulging in mayhem and romance in Regency England. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, and was a finalist in the Romance Through the Ages contest in 2015.
1.Hate-screw my high school nemesis.
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies—usually wine—and writes books.
Sunny Shelly Reads 