Abbi Haas likes them big, bad, and out of her bed the next morning. So when a smoking hot firefighter shuts down a possessive ex by pretending to be her boyfriend, she’s happy to play along—and stay for the no-strings-attached sex under the stars. But her knight with bulging biceps had better not think she’s some damsel in distress. She’ll handle her ex like she does everything: on her own.
Wildland firefighter Tyler McCall is supposed to be taking a break from danger. First step to having fun: pick up a sexy stranger by pretending he’s her man. Too bad his fake girlfriend is also his new coworker…and their little white lie has already spread. Tyler knows he should walk away before he gets burned. But he can’t stay out of trouble, and there’s no way he’s letting her go.
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Rebecca Brooks is the author of contemporary romance novels HOW TO FALL and ABOVE ALL. She lives in New York City in an apartment filled with books.
She received a PhD in English but decided it was more fun to write books than write about them. She has backpacked alone through India and Brazil, traveled by cargo boat down the Amazon River, climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, explored ice caves in Peru, trekked to the source of the Ganges, and sunbathed in Burma, but she always likes coming home to a cold beer and her hot husband in the Bronx.
Her books are about independent women who leave their old lives behind to try something new—and find the passion, excitement and purpose they didn’t know they’d been missing.
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He was tall and chiseled, with muscles that looked like they’d rip his T-shirt if he flexed them hard enough—and if the fabric wasn’t so faded and soft. His hair was cropped short but he had a few days of stubble to counteract the clean cut. He looked like he’d been living in that T-shirt and jeans for a while, but Abbi didn’t mind.
She’d noticed him across the bar, thinking that if he needed to change his clothes, she’d be happy to help take them off.
But then she saw the bartender pour him two drinks and had to extinguish that little fantasy. Clearly he was meeting someone. Back to figuring out how to get Russ out of her life. Not just for tonight, but permanently.
Only now it looked like she had her answer to that problem. And if it wasn’t typically the way she’d choose to handle a situation…at least it gave her a start.
She realized Russ was staring at her, having no idea what to do with this intruder. He’d had his back to the bar and hadn’t noticed Tyler nursing his whiskey, busy being quite obviously not Abbi’s boyfriend. She should say something else, make this sham more legit. She cleared her throat. “So, sweetheart. How’s it going?”
That wasn’t going to win any Oscars. Or convince Russ to leave her alone. She touched the guy’s arm in a way that she hoped projected girlfriend levels of familiarity and not shock—and delight—at how his skin felt to her touch.
Russ gave an exaggerated frown. “Who the fuck are you?”
Which, props to Russ, was an excellent question.
“Where are my manners?” The guy stuck a hand out to Russ. “I’m Tyler.”
“My new boyfriend,” Abbi said, in case Russ was too thick to get the point.
Russ stared at Abbi. “You don’t have a boyfriend.”
Abbi slid closer to Tyler, pressing her body against him.
Minus one for needing a man to save her. Minus another one for perpetuating all sorts of “You can’t have me because another man already claimed me” bullshit when saying no to Russ wasn’t enough.
Plus eleventy billion for getting to feel Tyler’s muscles up close and personal.
“I’m pretty sure I know who my boyfriend is.” She added a hand to his knee.
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