Pepper Ryan grew up the troublesome, spoiled child of a rock god. With her less-than-stellar parentage, and the bipolar disorder that has plagued her existence, to say this little firecracker is a handful would be the understatement of the century.
Sammy Belle spent more than half his life saving Pepper. He’d been her strength, her sanity, and the protective brotherly figure she never wanted to have.
They were never meant to be together.
They gave in anyway.
And just when Sammy thought he had everything he wanted, Pepper ran.
Now twenty-three, Pepper returns to Sugartown, a failed tattoo artist with one too many screws loose who’s down on her luck, wielding an ice cream van as beaten up as her heart.
Sugartown’s most coveted bachelor has always been content with the quiet life he leads until Pepper, the hellion from his past, returns to test his strength, his patience, and perhaps even his sanity. But two can play at that game, and Pepper is about to learn that Sam can give as good as he gets.
Can this good country boy survive Pepper’s cruel city world, or will the whole thing be put down to a bout of temporary insanity?
One thing is for certain:
He’s crazy about her.
She’s just crazy.
Warning: Intended for an 18+ audience. Contains sexual content, oodles of profanity, a firefighter so hot you may need a very cold shower, and one pink-haired crazy Harajuku girl.
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About the Author:
Carmen Jenner is a thirty-something author, doctor, pilot and CIA agent.
She's also a compulsive, flagrant prevaricator who gets to make things up for a living.
While Sugartown may not technically exist, Carmen grew up in a small Australian town just like it, and just like her characters, she always longed for something more. They didn't have an Elijah Cade, though. If they did, you can be sure she would have never left.
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“Sammy. We’re not eighteen and twenty-four anymore. You’re not my type, and I’m pretty sure I’m not yours.”
I nod and lower my gaze to my coffee. She couldn’t be more wrong about her not being my type. Truth is, I’ve only ever had one type: Pepper Ryan, whether she was a sweet-faced redhead with a bad attitude, or a blue-haired manic-depressive emo little shit. It doesn’t matter how old she is, or how many times she changes the colour of her hair, every fibre within me screams out to touch her when we’re in the same room. Living with her would be absolute fucking torture.
When I glance up, Pepper’s rubbing at a spot on my countertop. Her wild pink hair shakes out all around her shoulders. Beneath her worn T-shirt, her breasts jiggle in time with her violent scrubbing. It takes several deep breaths—and an insane amount of luck—not to come in my pants.
I need my head checked for agreeing to this. “You can stay, but you sleep on the couch, you pick up your shit, and you don’t complain when I have people over.”
“You know people other than Jake?” she teases but I send her an “I’m still not one hundred per cent on you invading my space so don’t fuck with me” look and the smile quickly disappears.
“Oh, I have another bag in the van, would you mind getting it for me? It’s parked out front,” she says as she props herself up on my kitchen bench, folding one leg under the other and sipping her coffee.
“Can I get rid of my morning wood first?” I say under my breath, not expecting her to hear me.
“Yeah, you should probably take care of that shit. It’s distracting.”
I set down my coffee cup and head for the bathroom.
“Maybe we should work out some kind of roster?” she calls after me. “Like I get a masturbation break Tuesday, Thursdays, Saturdays and twice on Sunday, and you get—”
“You really need to stop talking about this.” I slam the door shut behind me and whip out my cock. Pepper’s been here all of five minutes and already it’s begging for that little tease’s touch. I piss—though it takes a lot longer than it should have because I keep thinking about her tits in that top and my hard-on just won’t go down. I stare at myself for a long time in the mirror, as I wash my hands. What the fuck did I just get myself into?
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