by Ednah Walters.
Audience/Genre: Adult, Romance.
Publication: November 26th 2013 by Firetrail Publishing.
A playboy in hiding
A woman searching for answers
Will he let her in or send her packing?
After a tragic accident, Chef Chase Fitzgerald left his life in Los Angeles behind and moved to a ranch in Montana. He's convinced that all he needs to be happy are his horses, a few ranch hands and the big sky country. Until one day, Nikki Savoy walks through his doors in her city clothes, sexy mouth, and a body designed to drive a man insane.
Nikki wants to know the truth about the accident that left her sister in a coma. Getting a job at Chase’s ranch is just the beginning. Throw in a crafty housekeeper, a cantankerous cowboy, a few adorable horses, and an attraction that can’t be denied, and you have a recipe for disaster or romance. Will Nikki get her answers or will Chase offer her something better?
He looked down at her, and for one brief moment, his mind went blank as he once more became aware of
her as a woman and not the gifted web designer about to rescue his records. She really was exquisite.
Creamy skin begging to be stroked. Lips so soft and lush a man had to be a eunuch not to want to taste them. And
her eyes beckoned him, when they weren’t daring him to forget he was raised right, and haul her into his arms.
Her calm voice penetrated his sensual thoughts. It annoyed him that she was so unruffled all the time when he
couldn’t think straight around her.
Wanting to rattle her a little, he shifted and propped his butt on his desk, so he could see her face. “I
stopped doubting you the moment you said you wouldn’t insult me by climbing into my bed.” Her cheeks grew
pink. “That is what convinced you? Why?”
“The look in your eyes said you actually meant it.” Her eyes widened, and he grinned. The flustered look
“What look?” she asked, sounding skeptical. She had a right to be. He was making up things as he went,
to his old self hours after meeting her.
“Like I was a troll with warts and bulbous nose.”
The sound washed over him, and his heartbeat shot up a notch. He feigned hurt and gave her his most
look. “Now you are laughing at me.”
“Not at you, but at what you said.”
“Does that mean I’m not trollish?”
“It means you’re fishing for compliments.” She stood and looked down at him with a challenging
twinkle in her eyes. “You are not trollish, Fitzgerald. You are just not my type.”
No way. Women loved him. Ever since he hit puberty and acquired muscles, women, young and old,
never stopped chasing him. And he always accommodated them. “What the hell is your type?”
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