Showing results by author "Marika Ray" in All Categories

The tattooed stranger rode a motorcycle while helping me collect stray cats. My boots gave me blisters and he carried me on his back. I needed help and he didn't ask questions before assisting me. Could there be a more perfect man? It just made sense to lick him and claim him as mine right then and there. I probably should have asked him more questions before we slept together. Like, what's your last name? Where've you been living before moving here to my hometown? Is my older brother your best friend? Those kinds of questions. But sadly, I didn't. And now I'm staring at two pink lines.

When Isabel "El" Watson applied for a sales job with her company, she had no idea a jelly donut would explode on her blouse, or that her grumpy boss would practically laugh her out of the interview. So when a lady at the local wine festival offers her a sales job on the spot at a new boutique winery, El jumps at the chance. She also jumps at the chance to text with the guy who danced with her at the festival.

I have my fresh start in a new town, this time a widow with a preteen daughter who rolls her eyes enough to make them stay that way. Too bad my past mistake is also here to greet me. Daxon Hellman. Town a-hole. Hot young contractor hired to build my house in the woods. It's only when I'm face-to-face with him for the first time that I realize he's the mystery man from two years ago. It's a long story of too many drinks, grief that made me resort to acting out, and an encounter in the dirty bathroom of a bar. Try as I might, I can't forget that night.

The first time I met her, she was running away from her own wedding. The second time I met her, she tried to get me fired from my job. The third time? I had to haul her drunk self off the bar before she completed her amateur—and hot as hell—striptease. She's messy, chaos in human form, and not at all who she claims to be. Everything I've worked so hard for depends on her not screwing things up for me. I should run, not walk, away from her, but all I want to do is strip her layers until I get to the . . . heart—yeah, that's what I was going to say—of who she really is.