Hot & Spicy Romance Bundle

Heat Wave Book One:

Amidst an already unbearable heat wave, things are about to get a whole lot hotter.

She's all about business.
He's all about pleasure.

She likes to play it safe.
He lives life on the edge.

When a breathtaking man steps into her view, Jamie Robertson discovers a side of herself she never knew existed. Even behind a thick pane of glass, the man's harmless flirtation leads to full on seduction.

Heat Wave Book Two:

This standalone erotic romance contains an irresistible alpha, sex toys and a weekend full of experimentation.

Pepper McKay has finally broken free from a terrible relationship. She's found a place of her own and even if it gets a bit lonely, she's glad to be away from her ex-boyfriend. When Breaker Harrington, the incredibly handsome, roguish, black sheep heir to the Breaker Harrington fortune, moves in next door, Pepper finds herself drawn to him. After the heartbreak she's endured, Breaker is the last thing she needs. But some things are just too tempting to turn down.

The blazing temperature outside is just the start. Things are about to get a whole lot hotter.

Cocky Billionaire Fighter:

She's his only weakness.

He’s a billionaire heir. A professional MMA fighter. And sexiest jerk of a stepbrother a girl could ask for.

Max Grady’s menacing build, confidence and extreme masculinity make him irresistible to women. However, the only woman he truly desires is the one he's forbidden from loving. Jessa. When his sister's graduation brings Max's stepsister, Jessa, back to Grady Cove, painful memories are dredged up and his strength is tested. She's his only weakness. She's always been his only weakness.

Although years have passed, Jessa has never been able to forget her attachment to Max. A few days under the same roof with her arrogant, controlling and unbelievably sexy stepbrother, and temptation may prove too strong. Will she listen to her head or follow her heart?

Grumpy Billionaire Cowboy:
He’s a billionaire heir.
A professional bull-rider.
A man who gets what he wants.
And he’s my stepbrother.

Luke Maverick likes his life how he likes his women; wild and uninhibited. He has always gotten what he wants, and he’s never had to deny himself any of the pleasures he’s desired—until now.

When the death of his stepmother, Linda, brings Luke’s stepsister, McKenna into the picture, his strength is tested.

McKenna is no longer the bratty, brace-faced girl Luke remembers, and the irresistibly sexy woman she’s become will test the arrogant cowboy’s self-control.

Despite Luke's seemingly instant dislike toward McKenna, she finds herself inexplicably drawn to his brutally handsome good looks and unbreakable confidence. From their first encounter, the tension between McKenna and Luke is palpable.

Playboy Billionaire Heartbreaker:

He’s a billionaire real estate mogul who plays hard. A man who gets every pleasure he desires. And he’s my stepbrother.

Some men were addicted to liquor or cocaine or fast cars. I loved all those things, but my true drug of choice was women.

Twenty-seven-year-old real estate mogul, Tommy Hawkson, is serious about business, but he never forgets fun. His lavish lifestyle consists of parties, women and any pleasure he desires. Known as a playboy who never lets women into his heart, Tommy is caught off guard when he discovers, Danica, his tempting, younger stepsister has matured into an irresistibly breathtaking woman.

Danica Richards hasn't seen her arrogant, and extremely sexy, stepbrother in seven years, but when a chance job opportunity aboard a private yacht arises, Tommy is suddenly thrust back into her life. He's still the same cocky heartbreaker that she crushed on as a teen. With a failing relationship at home, will Dani finally succumb to her taboo desires?

Chapter 1:

It was only eight in the morning, but each tap of my high heels kicked up sparks of heat from the sidewalk. The triple digit temperatures had limped on for four days, and everyone seemed to be trudging along in slow motion. Evening had brought little reprieve. The nighttime temperatures had been only slightly better than the day, high double digits instead of triple. 

I was sure I looked completely absurd with my tailored coat slung over my shoulder. A meeting I had scheduled with investors today required that I wear one, which would've been perfectly reasonable if they had fixed the archaic air conditioner in the building. The owner of the building, who was also my boss, was as cheap as Scrooge at a Black Friday sale. My office was thirty stories up, which afforded me an awesome view of the city, but in a midcentury high-rise where the air conditioner always seemed to break down the second summer popped up its blistering head, it was that much hotter. 

The door to the building was propped open. Not a good sign. Belinda, the girl behind the receptionist counter, was holding a bottle of water against her forehead. Also, not a good sign. 

"Still not fixed?" I asked, but I knew I was wasting my breath.

Belinda shook her head slowly as if the heat had already sapped her of energy. "I should have called in sick."

"We might all be sick soon if this continues." I walked past her to the elevator. The bell pinged, and the door opened. At least the elevator was still cranking. Conversations and movement seemed to be mired in hot tar as I stepped onto the floor where the Luxury Fabric Imports offices were grouped. Heat rose. Being on the thirtieth floor without air-conditioning meant we were all in for a ridiculously hot day with little or no productivity.

"Morning, Miss Tuttle," some of the more kiss-assy workers called from their cubicles. 

"Morning."

Haley, my assistant, came toward me with a bottle of cold iced tea. "Thought you'd be skipping the hot coffee today. And, may I say, you already look wilted."

I grabbed the bottle. "Thanks for the tea—and the encouraging words."

"Speaking of encouraging words—Amy called. She said they're almost done in Paris, so Mr. Charles will be back in the office soon."

"More great news." I untwisted the cap from the tea. Reginald Charles was the owner of Luxury Fabric Imports. Reggie was a crotchety, greedy and often times cantankerous old man who loved playing the "Mr. Burns" character. He took pride in it. Fortunately, for the rest of the company, he spent a good deal of the year abroad chasing down import deals on fine fabrics. 

Haley followed me into my office. The massive windows were a sign of success, of how far I'd come in the company, but today, they just reminded me of the relentless, blazing heat. 

"The investors will be here in an hour," Haley said.

"Yippee," I said without a lick of enthusiasm. "As it is, the old farts already smell like bitter cigars, musty suits and one of them wears an aftershave that reminds me of the Lysol my mom always used to mop the kitchen floor." I dropped my coat over the chair. 

The bottom of some scaffolding lingered above my window. 

"It's window washing day," Haley said unnecessarily. 

"Really? I was hoping it was my prince coming to rescue me from my tower." I took a sip of the tea. It felt refreshing on my dry throat. "This is good. Thanks." I glanced up at the scaffolding. It shifted slightly with the footsteps of the window washer. "What a scary job, and what a hellish one on a day like this."

"I'll say." Haley stepped inside and shut the door to the office. She'd decided to try bangs, and I wasn't sure how not to stare at them. Something about them just didn't work right. I think it had to do with remembering the time that I'd had my best friend, Kylie, cut my bangs. They were so crooked after the first run, I had to tilt my head just to get an idea how real bangs would have looked. Needless to say, she had to keep cutting to straighten them. It was like moving a heavy load back and forth on a boat deck, trying to get it to stand upright. In the end, they were so short, I had to wear a hat for two months. Haley's new look reminded me of that unfortunate incident.

Haley placed the folders she held under her arm on my desk. "How was last night? Did you and Mark talk?" 

I leaned against my desk. My cushioned chair looked hot and uninviting. "No, I could tell he wasn't in the mood, and frankly, I don't have any more energy or enthusiasm for this relationship. I was texting during sex, Haley. How's that for passion? He was taking forever, and I had already given up on my own orgasm, so I decided to send off a few texts." I pushed down a smile.

"There's something else," Haley said. "My boss doesn't usually grin this early in the morning."

"Thanks for making me sound like a bitchy boss. Anyhow, the last text I sent was for him. It said 'once this lousy sex is over, we are over.'"

Her hand flew to her mouth. "No way. Did he see it?" 

"He was still sleeping when I left. But I'm sure he's seen it by now. There's no way he can be shocked. He knows we've just been going through the motions for months. There just isn't anything there." The pulleys on the window washer's cables creaked, focusing our attention back to the window. The platform began its descent. 

I turned back to Haley. The shadow of the window washing apparatus fell over the room. "Perfect. Not only is this office like a sauna, but I have to work with a window washer lurking outside my window like a nosy pigeon on the sill. This is still the only damn high-rise that doesn't have mirrored glass on the outside. It's actually good that the air is broken while the investors are visiting. I want to bring up the idea of moving—" I stopped talking because something behind me had grabbed Haley's attention. Her brown eyes rounded behind her glasses, and her lips parted.

"Holy moly, hot cannoli," Haley muttered.

I turned around. The window washer glanced briefly inside and then continued with his task. His broad shoulders and muscular arms were straining the fabric of his white T-shirt. He stopped momentarily to comb his long, black hair off his face, a face that could rival that of any Hollywood bad boy. His blue eyes swept through the office again as he turned to dunk his squeegee. A smile broke out on his face. It went perfectly with the rest of him. I turned back to Haley. "He knows we're watching him."

Haley stepped closer to the window. "So? Let him know. He is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Can I bring my computer in here to work?"

"No, you can't. And I need an hour to myself before I have to meet with the investors and put on my fake smile and forced charm."

"Unfair. My only view is of Connor Kirkendall's smug face as he glances around the partition of his cubicle to brag about his awesome night out at the sports bar." Haley trudged out of my office. 

I sat at my desk. The window washer's amazing physique reflected off my computer monitor. I allowed myself the pleasure of watching him for a few seconds before clicking the mouse to wake up the screen. 

The air inside the office was stifling hot already, and a bead of sweat rolled down between my breasts. I unbuttoned the sleeves of my blouse and rolled them up. Last week's reports made a decent fan as I waved the folder up and down in front of my face. 

I clicked on my personal email. After the lousy night at home, wasting time with the man I no longer wanted to spend another minute of my life with, I wasn't in the mood for work.

The first email was from my sister, Rebecca. With pictures. She always sent pictures. She and her wonderful husband, Tyler, had moved out to the country. They were growing organic vegetables and raising chickens and enjoying themselves immensely from what I could see in her weekly photo journal. 

I clicked open the first photo. Rebecca was sitting with a baby goat in her lap and laughing at something. God, she looked happy. We'd been close growing up, but we were so different. Different priorities. Rebecca had bummed around the country in an old van with a bunch of friends after high school. I'd spent the summer getting ready for college. I'd been the one everyone expected big success from. Rebecca had balked at college. She and Tyler struggled to pay the mortgage on their tiny run-down farmhouse, and I was living in a million-dollar apartment in the city that I was close to paying off. Why did Rebecca look so much happier than me?

I clicked out of her email, realizing I wasn't in the mood for it either. The squeak of the rubber squeegee dragging down the glass vibrated through my office. I spun my chair around. The hot window washer's lower half was directly in front of my face. Again, his blue gaze drifted down into my office. I was about to spin back to my desk but then stopped. I would never see the man again. What would it hurt if I watched him work for a second? After all, the man was dangling hundreds of feet in the air performing what had to be one of the most hazardous jobs in the city. Even from this side of the glass, I sometimes got dizzy looking down at the sidewalks below. I couldn't imagine what it was like on the outside, perched on a strip of wood that dangled precariously on cables. 

Screw it, I thought. I leaned back in my chair and stared out at the pretty man cleaning my windows. As he stretched his hand up, the snake tattoo on his muscular arm twisted with the movement as if it was coiling to strike. Slowly, and with more care than Mark had ever taken with foreplay, the window washer, or Hollywood, as I was now thinking of him in my mind, dragged the squeegee along the glass. As he lowered his hand and his gaze, his attention landed on me. 

His eyes were shaded by long black lashes as he stared openly at me. At first, a small jolt of shock made me gasp and then I reminded my outraged self that I was staring openly at him as well. A small smile tilted his mouth, a mouth that looked as if it could coax cream from the most frigid pussy, which, due to my lackluster sex life with my even more lackluster boyfriend, mine had become. 

Hollywood gazed at me through the window for a moment longer, and in those few seconds, I was already more turned on than I had been in months. He dropped his squeegee in the bucket and leaned over for his water jug. He had the balance of a tightrope walker, and the steely nerves that went with it, too, apparently. He lifted the jug to his mouth. His Adam's apple moved up and down along his throat as he swallowed. I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath until he lowered the jug back to the platform. He smiled again, and again, I sighed along with it. For a man standing hundreds of feet in the air, and directly beneath a brutal sun, he seemed quite content.

Without warning, he reached back to the collar of his T-shirt and dragged it off over his head. He was shirtless. And I'd changed his name from Hollywood to Adonis, he was a Greek god, a fucking Greek god. A mythological creature of beauty was cleaning my office windows. 

His stomach muscles were directly across from my vision. They rippled as he returned to his work, and I found myself hoping for a flock of pigeons to fly overhead and poop all over my windows. Then he might have to dangle out there all day with his hard, taut stomach and bulging shoulder muscles. The higher he reached, the lower his baggy jeans sank on his hips, exposing a gray pair of boxer briefs, a hybrid form of men's underwear that I approved of heartily.

He reached diagonally across, and my attention fell on the dark line of hair that bisected his tight abdomen and trailed down, disappearing under his waistband. For a second, my eyes drifted shut, and I imagined myself yanking open those jeans with my teeth and sliding down his underwear. I opened my eyes. He was watching me. I fanned myself again, certain it was the heat in the room and not a blush that had made my face so warm.

I spun back around to my desk, deciding my little field trip was over. I had to pull up the reports for this morning's meeting. The thought of a long meeting in a stuffy room with the stodgy, grumpy investors was enough to douse any of my erotic daydreams. 

I clicked on my reports and searched for the latest ones to print. Business had been good, and the reports would make the investors smile. Now, if they'd just consider letting us move to a newer building. 

The sun behind me was rising higher in the sky, and it seemed the mercury would be busting past the hundred-degree mark before lunch. Behind me, a finger tapped the glass. For a second, I wondered if I'd imagined it. I spun my chair around. The Hollywood Adonis was standing with his hand on one rope staring in at me. There was a sheen of sweat on his chest and arms, making it look as if he glowed. He raised up an arm and wiped some beads of moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand. That simple, innocent gesture sent a rush of heat between my legs. And this time, I was sure it had nothing to do with the sweltering temperatures. 

He was being cheeky now, and I decided to meet his cheekiness head on. I walked up to the window. There was only a small amount of actual space between us and one large transparent barrier, the thick windowpane, which was now sparkling clean. It was an odd sensation, but we stared into each other's eyes like two people who knew each other intimately. I realized, with some shame, that I gazed at this man, this complete stranger, with much more adoration than I'd ever looked at Mark with. 

Hollywood stared down at my lips and then his long lashes lifted. His blue eyes seemed darker now as if he was feeling the same sensations as me, the tiny jolts of electricity that seemed to be coursing through my entire body. 

My Hollywood Adonis reached up, and, like the hottest mime on the street corner of Venice Beach, he pulled an imaginary clip from the back of his head. My hair. He was telling me to pull the pins from my bun. I'd adopted the severe, schoolteacher style bun two years ago. I'd found that it helped me fit in better with the men. Less ogling and more listening to my ideas. It seemed archaic and silly at first, but damn, if it hadn't done the trick. My neatly tailored, conservative suits were all part of the routine too. I wasn't going to climb to the top by flashing major cleavage and tossing around my long blonde locks. I wanted to get there with my brains. 

Hollywood lifted his chin to prod me into action. 

"What the hell?" I said. He smiled as if he could read my lips, which with the way he was staring at them … 

I reached back and pulled the pins, the same three tortoiseshell pins I stuck through my bun every morning. My long hair rolled out of the tight knot and around my shoulders. He nodded approvingly. I was flirting with a man through a window. And it was the best flirt session I'd had since college, when my favorite professor, a man I'd had sex dreams about, came into the school cafeteria where I worked. Even wearing a hairnet and ugly uniform, I'd flirted with the man so wildly he finally kissed me after class one day. It had been a disappointing kiss, and that was where my professor fantasy had ended. 

My sex god behind the glass sat down on his scaffolding and pulled an apple out of his lunch pail. I returned, wild hair and all, to my desk. I faced my computer and printed out some reports, all the while watching the faintest reflection of him in my monitor. In a few minutes, the scaffolding would scoot down to the next floor, and I'd never see him again. He was probably the most exciting thing to happen in my life in months, and he'd soon disappear for good. As ridiculous as it was, it left me feeling a little blue. He tapped the window again, and this time I twisted my chair around faster. 

My forward and slightly lascivious mime was motioning for me to unbutton my blouse. He waved his hand in front of his face to remind me how hot it was, as if that was needed. I could feel drips of perspiration rolling down the skin of my back. I smiled and shook my head at him.

He put on what I considered to be an extremely appealing look of disappointment. Then his blue eyes focused on me, and suddenly, it was as if we were having a conversation. There was so much emotion in his face, it was as if he was telling me his life story. There was glass between us, but I could almost hear him speaking to me with that powerful blue gaze. 

I reached back to my intercom and pushed it. "Haley, hold my calls."

"What calls?"

"If some come in, hold them." I turned back around. I'd lost his attention. He was cleaning off his squeegee, and it seemed he was ready to lower himself to the next window. I tapped on the glass, and he glanced up. Christ, I already knew his face.

I looked down at the long line of buttons on my starched, white blouse. With slow, deliberate movements, I opened the buttons, moving down to below my bra. I pulled the tails of the blouse out from my skirt and stared up at him as I continued to the bottom button. Long black lashes curtained his eyes as he stared between the two sides of the open shirt. He might as well have been touching me with his gaze because even in the stuffy heat of the office, I could feel my nipples harden behind the lace of my bra. He lifted his face. I sucked in a long breath. "Holy shit, you are so fucking beautiful," I mouthed to him. Again, he seemed to read my lips. He shook his head and pointed at me, then nodded. 

Without another thought, I slid the blouse off my shoulders. Surprisingly, even though the air wasn't working, my skin felt cooler. What I did next could have been blamed on the extreme temperature and lack of fresh air, which were making me lightheaded. Or maybe I was just dizzy because of the way the man on the other side of the window was gazing at me. I couldn't remember the last time a man had looked at me the way he looked at me. I reached up behind my back and unclasped my bra. I peered into his eyes as I slid it off my shoulders and to the floor. He stared hungrily at my naked breasts and dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. He pantomimed to me again. He wanted me to touch my breasts. Now I was sure the blush that heated my face was not from the warmth in the room. He was asking me to do something I'd never done before. He was the voyeur, and I was the unsuspecting neighbor with her curtains opened. Only I wasn't unsuspecting. I knew the man was watching me, and damn, if it wasn't making me incredibly horny. 

I shook my head, and he tilted his face just enough to make it seem like a plea. I'd never see the man again. The night before, I'd been completely naked in bed with a man, and having Mark between my thighs had not caused any of the stirrings I was feeling now. My panties were sticky and wet. The words "harmless fun" drifted around my head in a lazy circle. The office was hot and humid, and the lack of circulating air, along with the heavy, intense gaze of the man on the scaffolding, made me feel nearly drunk. 

I stood behind my desk, half naked, in front of a man who I'd never spoken to and who had just stepped into view ten minutes ago. I looked out at the city below. My hair tickled the naked skin of my back and shoulders. He reached back and the muscles of his arms bulged as he used his fingers to comb the long hair off his face. I laughed and reached up to do the same with my hair and got the reaction I wanted. His face smoothed to a serious expression. I didn't need to hear him speak to know exactly what he was thinking. He reached up with his palms and wiped them over his incredible pecs as if he was wiping away the sweat, but I knew his motive. He was baiting me into a game of mirrors. I reached up just as he had done, and I smoothed my hands over my breasts. My nipples reacted to the way he watched my hands caress my naked skin. It seemed his chest was rising and falling faster now, and I would have given anything to hear his deep, coarse breaths. Or feel the warmth of it on my skin as he devoured me. Or have it tickle my cheek as he looked at me across a pillow. 

My eyes drifted shut again, and in the suffocating heat of my office, my important office with the big shot view, the office I'd worked hard to get to, I pinched my nipples between my finger and thumb. I tried to imagine my Hollywood Adonis's large callused fingers teasing them to nubs, making me arch toward his touch, toward his mouth. There was no way this man out on the scaffold wasn't a genius in bed. He had me close to an orgasm just by standing outside my window making erotic suggestions. 

My own breathing became rapid and frenzied. I needed to be satisfied. I wasn't going to present reports to the grumpy, old investors in this state of arousal. I dropped my hands and sat in my chair. He looked disappointed, but I was feeling that same disappointment tenfold. How had he done it? Yes, he was magnificent to look at, and most ordinary women would've reacted to him in some way. But I was going clear out of my mind. This innocent game of flirting had passed into full seduction, and he seemed to sense it. Or perhaps it was what he'd planned all along. 

I faced him in my chair, my nipples hard and pink from my own fingers teasing them. Only, it felt as if he'd done it. He'd brought me to this state of delirium without ever speaking to me or touching me. And he wasn't done. He gazed pointedly down at my knees, which were clamped shut because that was how I'd been taught to sit. "Sit like a lady," my mom would remind me if my legs were even the slightest bit parted. Even if I was wearing jeans, my knees should touch, she would say.

My tight, pencil skirt held my legs together properly, but I was feeling anything but proper. Once my prim, tight bun had come down, and I'd allowed myself the luxury of standing behind my desk with my long hair hanging in a state of dishabille, some of my inhibitions had flowed out through the strands. 

His massive chest lifted and fell with a deep breath, and he blew me a kiss. His hand reached up and took hold of the safety latch on the rope. He was leaving. My Hollywood Adonis was going to sink below view to the twenty-ninth floor. I had no idea what compelled me, except that the ache in my pussy was so strong now I had to stop it, but I yanked my skirt up above my panties. He stopped and locked the latch again. 

Sweat rolled along his shoulders and over the curves of his chest and the hard ridges of his abdomen. I didn't take my gaze off of him. He didn't look away either. The hell with propriety and sitting like a lady. I slid my panties to the floor and spread my knees apart. He sat down on his ledge, perhaps for safety but more likely to get a better view. And having him stare at my pussy made me moan with need as if he'd reached through the glass and stroked the hot, wet slit with his rough fingertips.  

I reached down and slid my fingers through the cream covered folds. I lifted one leg up over the arm of my chair, my five-hundred-dollar shoe dangling in the air, and laughed thinking if only the stodgy, old investors could see me now. I moved my fingers over my throbbing clit, making sure to dive into the slippery wetness of my pussy in between strokes. His lids, the stranger who watched me, were heavy as he gazed at me, not flinching, not moving a muscle. And there, in my ergonomic office chair, with the temperature rising every second and the blistering heat of the sun burning through the windows, the man, the stranger with the face and body that'd walked out of Greek mythology, watched as I fondled myself to climax. In shuddering waves that felt like mini explosions pulsing through me, I came.

As I relaxed and pulled my hands away from myself, my head cleared some. I was still trying to understand what had just happened. The window washer stared at me through the glass. It seemed the sheen of sweat had grown heavier on his solid, muscular chest, and his breathing was faster than it should have been, even standing outside in the hot sun. 

Suddenly, feeling ridiculously wanton, I quickly reached for my panties and slid them on. I got up and grabbed my blouse and bra and hurried into my office bathroom, another perk for having made it so far in the company—a private bathroom and a private office where I'd just masturbated in front of a complete stranger. I washed my hands and face, and, with shaky arms, I tucked my hair back into a bun. It looked hasty and not as neat and tight as my usual hairstyle, but then how prim and proper could I be after what I'd just done? 

My green eyes stared back at me from the mirror. They were still glassy from the highly sensual minutes I'd just spent in my office chair. My face and neck were still flushed pink. I was a stranger. I'd just done something completely out of my scope of thinking. I never liked to show my vulnerable, feminine side to any man, and I'd just collapsed into a pool of simpering, horny girlishness right in front of him. The man who had descended from the top of the building to wash my office window had seduced me with just his eyes and a few simple gestures. He'd controlled me from behind the thick glass pane. What would he be like in person? The question sent a shiver through me.

I stood in the bathroom, looking slightly less put together than when I'd first walked into my office this morning. My panties were still wet, and they clung to my slightly aching pussy. 

I heard the buzz of my intercom. Haley's voice was muffled, but I was certain she was letting me know that the investors had arrived. I was terrified to leave the bathroom, to face him, the man who'd brought me to the edge of an orgasm just by looking at me. I took a deep breath and double checked the buttons on my blouse. I wouldn't even look in the direction of the windows. I would never see the man again, and I needed to push it all from my head. 

I opened the bathroom door. Warm air rushed past me. With tiled walls and floors and no massive windows, the bathroom was much cooler. Perhaps I'd move my desk in there during the hottest part of the afternoon. It might cool me off, and I definitely needed that—in every respect. 

I stared straight ahead and marched across the floor to my desk, but it was unnecessary. From the corner of my eye, it was easy to see that Hollywood had gone. The taut cables were still visible. They moved with the weight of the man who now washed windows on the floor below, an advertising company. I briefly entertained the notion of visiting that floor. No. I'd allowed myself this small fantasy, and it was over. He was back to work, and I had to do the same. I would never see him again. 

I gathered up my reports and noticed a voicemail blinking on my phone. It was Mark. I decided to see how he'd taken the breakup news. He wasn't the type of man to worry about anyone else's feelings, but I was sure this would be a blow to his ego. "Hey, Jamie, sweetie, I got your text. Couldn't tell if you were serious or not. But how about we go to a nice romantic dinner and talk about it? I know we're both just working too hard. See you tonight."

The word romantic lost all its meaning when it came from Mark's mouth. That was how clueless he was about my feelings. We were through, and there was no way to ever turn it around. Haley knocked impatiently.

"Coming," I called to her. I glanced back at the window one last time, tucked a rogue strand of hair back behind my ear and headed to the meeting.

Upon purchase, you will immediately receive an email from BookFunnel with links to the Ebook(s) you purchased.

Click that link and follow the instructions to read online or download the Ebook to your preferred eReader device. Easily read on your iPhone, Android, Kindle Nook or Kobo device.

If you have any issues accessing your new Ebook, there is a Need Help? link in the top right corner of each book download page.

If you do not receive a download email, visit https://bookfunnel.com/help/.

All sales are final. Unfortunately, we do not accept Ebook returns.