Josh McKenzie may come off as intimidating with his solid build and cold stare, but when trouble calls, Marla quickly learns there is more to the sexy tatted man with the British accent. And if she’s not careful, she can easily lose herself in his gentle touch and soft voice.
A feisty redhead with a mouth that won’t quit, Marla Sullivan knows how to push all of Josh’s buttons, making him want her in the worst way. His biggest hurdle is breaking through her stubborn walls and proving he’s here to stay.
When Marla’s faced with an unknown danger, Josh is forced to reveal his buried past. Promises made and surfaced truths may be the catalyst that brings them together…or pushes them further apart.
I inaudibly walked toward the door, careful to not give myself away, in case it was someone selling me a subscription to the newspaper or converting me to their religion. I peered into the peephole and scrunched my face in aversion as my mouth emitted an aggravated sigh. I swiftly opened the door as his hand stopped midair.
My hip jutted out as my irritation level climbed. “What are you doing here?”
Josh’s cool exterior, the tight forest green shirt, the peekaboo tattoos, his dark jeans were all too much to take in. Good God, this man was delicious. It was enough to make me go nuts, but instead I kept myself calm. “Did you forget? Lessons.”
“Are you serious?” He nodded as his blazing eyes trailed down to my chest. I followed, remembering I had opened my blouse. I shrugged, closing the satin around my body. “What? You haven’t seen a great pair of breasts before?”
“Not those,” he smirked. “At least not yet.”
“Want me to shut this door in your face?” I flung it and walked away, but heard as his hand caught it from closing completely. I could feel his presence as he walked in and shut the door, locking it behind him.
“Thanks for inviting me in,” he said softly, as I glanced back, buttoning my blouse up. His eyes scanned my living room, and I ignored the idea of him seeing my untidy home. My shoes were set in an accumulating pile near the corner of the entrance, my sweaters and jackets hung over one another on hooks near the door, and magazines were scatted across my coffee table.
I turned and glared at him as he set his hands in his pockets, his eyes on my pretty heaps of high heels. “What?”
The grin playing over his lips stayed small, as if he knew to be careful with me. At the same time there was a hint of mischief behind those glassy light blue eyes. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Nice shoes.”
“Fine. You can borrow a pair, but only if you promise to return them.”