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Author: Hayley Faiman
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Lucas Black, Esquire.
The name alone was an enigma.
Dressed in a suit that cost more than my rent.
Green eyes that danced and a cocky smile firmly planted on kissable lips.
The rumors about him were true.
I wasn’t ready for all that was Lucas Black. I knew it. I didn’t care.
I was willing to take whatever he gave me.
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Mr. Lucas Black himself is leaning against the side of my car, his legs crossed at the ankles, and his eyes very much focused on me. My feet don’t falter because I’m scared, not really, it’s just, I’d almost forgotten just how downright sexy he is. Almost
He’s wearing navy blue suit pants that are tailored to his long legs to perfection. His light grey button-up shirt is opened a bit at the collar to show off his upper chest.
His sleeves are rolled up to showcase his forearms—his muscular
forearms. So sexy. I’m pretty sure men know exactly what they’re doing when they roll up their sleeves like that. They must know how it affects us women. Judging by the tip of his lips, he
“How may I help you this evening, Mr. Black?” I ask, clearing my throat as I take a few steps closer toward him.
I have to look up into his eyes, even though I’m in high heels and he’s leaning against my car with his head tipped down. He’s tall, I estimate his height to be around six-foot-three inches. A mouthwatering
six-foot-three inches at that. He’s long and tall, lean and if I touched his abs, I think they’d be sculpted with ridged muscle.
He smirks. I assume it to be his signature expression, as it comes very easily to him. “Your car is a piece of shit, Brooklyn,” he murmurs.
My body jerks slightly, and I narrow my eyes at him, glaring up into his green gaze. “You’re such a dick,” I announce. My eyes widen in surprise, shocked that I’ve actually said those words aloud.
His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh as he smiles broadly. “Yeah, beautiful, I know,” he admits.
“Why are you here? And why do you keep giving me flowers?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
His brows rise and he shakes his head once. “I haven’t sent you any flowers, not since the ones you promptly shipped right back to my ass, kitten,” he murmurs.
My eyebrows pull together, remembering the bouquet wrapped in plastic on my front porch. Even at the time, I thought it didn’t seem to be his style, but hell, what do I know?
He pushes off of my car while I’m thinking, and then I’m suddenly wrapped in his arms—his strong, spicy, masculine scent surrounding me. One of his hands wraps around my waist while the other rests at the side of my neck. He’s so close, so fucking close, that it wouldn’t take very much effort to kiss him—not much at all.
His hard body presses against mine, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I like it a little too much, too much to ignore or pretend that I don’t.
I’m in so much trouble.
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I was born and raised in a small farming town in California. I met my husband when I was 16 and he was 19. We married four years later and have two little boys! We lived in Oregon for a few years while he served in the US Coast Guard.
Texas is now where we call home, where our boots rest, and where we’re raising our two little boys and a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.
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