YOU is published by Montlake (an Amazon imprint) and won’t be available on other ebook retailers, but you can download a FREE ereader app to read it HERE, or order the paperback.
He jogged down the sidewalk toward the lake. Having grown up in the city, waking to glorious views of the mountains and Sugar Lake was a welcome change. He turned onto Main Street, running parallel to the lake and fairgrounds. A banner announcing the upcoming Peach Festival was strung over the road. The bakery came into view, and he wondered if Bridgette was working. Shirtless and sweaty was probably not their preferred state of dress, so he peered through the window.
“Checking out my sister?”
Bodhi snapped to attention at the sound of Bridgette’s voice, and holy hell was she beautiful in an off-the-shoulder white blouse and jeans that fit like a second skin. She was holding a potted plant and looking at him like he was a Peeping Tom, which bugged the hell out of him.
“I wasn’t checking out your . . . Wait. Your sister? You both work at the bakery?”
Her lips curved up in a smirky smile. “Let’s circle back to you peering through the window at Willow. I’m pretty sure your overnight guest wouldn’t like knowing her man was checking out the hot blonde in the bakery.”
“Christ,” he uttered and wiped the sweat from his brow. Maybe it was safer if she thought he was a pig who had slept with Shira and then checked out her sister. But she was pushing all his buttons, and he couldn’t resist pushing hers right back. He closed the distance between them, taking immense pleasure in the morphing of her smirk into a much hungrier expression.
She tightened her grip on the planter, her eyes drifting down his bare torso.
Oh yeah, this was torture all right.
She squared her shoulders, and her gaze darted up to his, as if she’d caught herself staring.
“Let’s start over.” The dead-calm tone he used when commanding his team came out of habit. “Hello, Bridgette. Do you and . . . Willow . . . both work at the bakery?”
“Hello, Bodhi,” she said with an impressive amount of snark. She lifted her chin, glowering at him. “Willow owns the bakery, and I own the flower shop. But you’re out of luck. She’s engaged.”
He clenched his jaw, lifted the planter from her hands, and set it on the ground, allowing him to step closer and invade her personal space. This pretty little filly was going to learn not to doubt his word. “I said I wasn’t checking her out, and I only say what I mean.”
“Then that makes two of us,” she said sharply.
He felt a smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?”
She crossed her arms, tipping her chin higher. She was a sexy little thing, a solid nine or ten inches shorter than he was, with confidence he admired. Confidence that turned him on. He had the urge to lift her up until they were eye to eye and take the kiss he’d been dreaming about. And then some . . .
“Always,” she said without as much as a single blink.
“I’ll remember that next time I’m in my towel and you ask if I want to eat—”
“Oh God! No!” She whipped her head from side to side, as if she were afraid someone might have heard him.
He chuckled and leaned in closer, inhaling the enticing scent of sinfully sexy Bridgette caught off guard, and said, “Now I know where to find you.”