He was someone who belonged in my wildest fantasies instead of a rest stop in the middle of Nebraska.
A sexy, cocky, Australian named Chance was the last person I expected to run into on my cross-country drive.
When my car broke down, we made a deal. Next thing I knew, we were traveling together, spending sexually-tense nights in hotels and taking unplanned detours.
My ordinary road trip turned into the adventure of a lifetime. It was all fun and games until things got intense.
I wanted him, but Chance wouldn’t make a move. I thought he wanted me too, but something was holding him back.
I wasn’t supposed to fall for the cocky bastard, especially when I knew we’d be going our separate ways.
All good things must come to an end, right?
Except our ending was one I didn’t see coming.
A knock at the door made me jump.
With a huff, I got out of bed and stood on my tiptoes to look out the peephole. Why were those things always so high on the door anyway? I was surprised to find no one standing on the other side. Maybe I’d imagined it.
Another knock.
I flicked on the lights. The sound wasn’t coming from the entrance door. It was coming from an interior door I hadn’t even noticed before.
Chance’s door.
I unfastened the top lock and cracked it open just enough so I could see what he wanted. And there he stood.
Shirtless.
Wearing only dark gray boxer briefs that hugged him like a second skin.
It took a minute to understand what he was doing there, even though he was holding up a toothbrush in question.
“I thought we had established I wasn’t a serial killer already.”
I opened the door wider.
He smiled.
Oh lord. Stop that. Right now.
“I must have left my toothpaste in my saddlebag in the car.”
I swallowed hard. “Uh huh.”
He cocked his head to the side, and his brows dipped in. “Can I borrow yours?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.”
He walked past me and let himself into my bathroom. I waited at the door.
“You got an awful lot of girly crap in here for one night,” he said with a jumbled mouth full of toothpaste from the bathroom. “Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia.”
He was reading my Estee Lauder perfume bottle.
I heard him rinse and spit. Then there was a gargling sound. He used my mouthwash, too. Sure, help yourself.
He walked out and flicked off the bathroom light. “Is tuberose a rose?”
I shook my head, still confused by the whole situation going on.
“That’s why,” he murmured.
“Why what?”
“I couldn’t figure out what you smelled like all day. Not sure I ever smelled a Tuberose before.” He shrugged and walked back into his room but not before turning back. “Even those little black lacy underwear smell like tuberose.”
My eyes bulged. I’d taken off my bra and panties and left them on the bathroom counter.
“You…you—”
“Relax. I’m teasing. Do I look like an underwear sniffer to you?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe?
“Night, Aubrey.” He graced me with a dimple and disappeared.
AH-BREE. Damn him.
I locked the door and checked it twice, unclear if it was for my safety or his. His voice saying my name was on audio replay inside my head, getting softer and softer like a soothing lullaby with each breath as I drifted off to dreamland.
Until the knock came again.
Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn't change for the world. She is a bookworm and has been known to read her kindle at stop lights, while styling her hair, cleaning, walking, during sporting events, and frequently while pretending to work. She is a boring attorney by day, and an exciting smut author by night!
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Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 10-year-old girl with autism and a 9-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.
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