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Tasha Carter doesn’t do impulsive, but when it becomes clear her best friend’s HEA is at risk of turning into heartbreak, she doesn’t think twice about getting on a plane headed for Scotland. Now, all she has to do is keep one sexy-as-hell Scot from ruining her friend’s wedding.
Grant Cameron is not surprised Tasha doesn’t trust him. He is a bastard. A charming one but a bastard. It’s only a problem because he wants to snog her. And then do more than snog. He just has to convince Tasha being a little impulsive will be so, so good.
It takes Tasha five seconds to learn Grant is forthright to the point of recklessness. About ten to realize she is helpless fighting their attraction. And twenty to accept it’s not just her best friend courting heartbreak when it comes to falling for a Cameron man.
She. Is. So. Screwed.
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Excerpt
“Absolutely no kissing.”
He grunted low, rough. “That sounds like an invitation to do everything but.”
Shit. It did sound like that. “Grant—”
“No—that’s the only word I need, and I’ll let you run upstairs and hide.”
Why did his expression have to be so damn solemn? Gotdamn him. She couldn’t bring herself to say no. The single word should have been so easy. Within a month, she’d gone from working in a bar in California to a pub in Scotland. That wasn’t like her, at all. She was the one who considered all the pitfalls. The trip alone was out of her comfort zone. She’d done it for a friend.
But this—kissing him would be for her. It would be wild, reckless and an antithesis to Tasha. But, god, how she wanted to be reckless with him just for a moment. It hurt a little when she murmured, “I can’t kiss you.”
“Too much so soon with a cautious lass like you? Aye. Aye. Too much.”
He loosened his hold on her wrist but brought up his other hand. To her shock, he used his nails on her inner forearm, so gently, if she wasn’t so aware of him, she’d have missed her wrists had an erogenous zone.
By the time the gentle scrape of his hand reached her elbows, Tasha wanted to melt into the floor and die from pleasure. When his palms, warm and slightly rough, rested on her neck, she let her head fall back, and moaned.
Grant drew his thumb up her neck to her chin. His mouth brushed her hairline as he stepped into her space. She shivered, almost whimpering.
Gotdamn him but he said, “Anywhere specific you want me to touch, lass?”
“Just…” she whispered on a sigh.
Him touching her was better than any kiss he could have given her. He took those long fingers and dug them into the back of her neck, her back, her sides, and massaged her flesh deep and gentle. She didn’t protest when he took a handful of her ass and pushed her against his hard dick. Right when she was sure nothing else could feel better, he started to rub his five o’clock shadow along her neck. She could feel her knees spreading.
Tasha pushed him away. “Enough.” When did she start huffing in and out to catch her breath? When did his gaze get so dark?
She said nothing more, so maybe he felt the need to say, “Have you had your fill of me, or have we reached the part where you run scared?”
The latter, but she refused to tell him that. He could, at any point, touch her and know she’d cave in some way, in every way. After this, Tasha would know she had said yes in everything but the actual word. And so would he.
About Melissa Blue
Melissa Blue’s writing career started on a typewriter one month after her son was born. This would have been an idyllic situation for a writer if it had been 1985, not 2004. She penned that first contemporary romance, upgraded to a computer and hasn’t looked back since.
Outside of writing, Blue works as a mail clerk for the federal government, has a paralegal certificate (that she has more use for as a dust pan) and is a mother of two rambunctious children. She lives in California where the wine is good and, despite popular belief, is not always sunny.
You can find her camped out on Facebook or Twitter.
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