The HOLLY WOODS FILES series:
Twisted Bond
Tangled Bond
Book 3 (coming September 2015)
The BY HIS GAME series:
Blindsided
Sidelined
Intercepted
The CALL series:
Late Call
Final Call
His Call
The WILD series:
Wild Attraction
Wild Temptation
Wild Addiction
The GAME series:
The Love Game
Playing for Keeps
The Right Moves
Worth the Risk
The MEMORIES series:
Never Forget
Always Remember
The BURKE BROTHERS series:
Dirty Secret
Dirty Past
“I’m-a worried about-a your blood sugar.”
“Why?”
“You eat-a all of-a the cup-acakes!”
I roll my eyes and look at Nonna. “When it passes the level my blood pressure reaches when you go all cupid on me, then we’ll discuss this. Until then…” I dip my finger in the frosting of my cupcake and suck it off.
“You need-a a man-a!” She scowls at me, and quicker than should be right for a woman of her age, she leans forward and attempts to swipe my cupcake.
Attempts is the important word there. Pssh. She’s an amateur if she really thought she could get it away from me.
“Nonna, I love you, but no woman needs a man. We already get periods—why the hell do we need something else in our life that’s going to force us to eat copious amounts of ice cream?”
“You should-a be married!”
“I should be working,” I mutter, peeling the case away from the cake.
“Noella!”
“Nonna!” I snap back. “What are you even doin’ in my office?”
She hugs her wrap around her shoulders and tilts her head back slightly so her nose lifts. She looks down at me, the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes more endearing than threatening as her gaze narrows. “I try-a to get-a you a husband!”
“I don’t need a husband!” I sigh, finally setting the cupcake down. “I’m an independent woman. I don’t need anything other than what I want. Least of all a dang husband!”
“Who will-a put-a your-a shelves up?”
“If I can’t use a drill after all my gun training, I shouldn’t be allowed to own a house.” Or a gun, for that matter.
“Build-a your-a furniture?”
I tilt my head to the side as a triumphant smile stretches across her face. “Trent, Devin, and Brody,” I reply. "You know, the crazy-overprotective brothers who still treat me like I’m six unless I bribe them with barbecued pork and beer.”
“What if-a someone breaks-a into your house?”
“Then I’ll chase them off with my gun. Again,” I add pointedly.
So what if I cried after that little incident? Tissue and blankets would have the same effect as crying into Detective Drake Nash, I’m sure.
It’d be a hug without abs and biceps…and a sexy, frustrating attitude.
“Is-a not-a safe!” Nonna fumes. “You need-a a man!”
“Nonna. I do not need a man. Thank you for your concern, but I still have nineteen months until my birthday, and that is enough time to find a boyfriend.” I take a bite out of my cupcake and look back at my computer screen.
I have no idea why she’s in my office except to bug me. Maybe she got off at the wrong bus stop.
“You need-a a man!”
“Nobody needs anything unless they actually want it, and I won’t settle for anyone less than perfect for me just because you’re afraid I’ll become a zitella, comprende?”
“You are-a a pain, Noella.” She huffs and heads toward the door. “You will-a be-a the death-a of me!”
I smile when she opens the door and shuffles through it. “Ti amo, Nonna.”
She pauses and glances over her shoulder. “Ti amo, bella.”
My smile grows even as she turns fully and meets my eyes again. So I resist the urge to roll my eyes like a petulant teenager, but same thing, right?
“What-a about-a Detective Nash?”
My smile drops. Holy hell, what’d she have to bring him up for? “Don’t worry about him.”
“You been on-a that-a date yet?”
“Nonna. I said don’t worry.”
“Is-a no,” she mutters with a heavy sigh. “I book-a you a table!”
Good luck getting that past Drake.
She closes the door behind her this time, and I get up to lock it. No more random drop-ins from her, thank you. Least of all when she has a bee in her bonnet. No—screw this. Where Detective Drake Nash—my sexy, pain-in-the-ass nemesis and guy I owe a date to—is concerned, Nonna has a swarm of freakin’ hornets in her bonnet.
There’s a small chance I may be ignoring his calls. And texts. And e-mails. And hiding in the bathroom under the masquerade of being “busy” whenever he drops by unannounced.
See, here’s the thing. There’s nothing wrong with the man. Physically.
He’s pretty. Real pretty. He has the awesome dark hair that’s floppy and fingers-running-through-until-forever soft and silky. He has the most arresting smile I’ve ever been faced with, not to mention that quirky little smirk that’s both sexy and intimidating. And the jaw… Oh, the jaw. That perfectly carved specimen of a jaw that’s always covered with the right amount of stubble. Let’s not forget the eyes now—the eyes that would give a snow queen a run for her money with her iciness. And that’s just the color of them. The emotions the man can portray in them are unreal. Anger, frustration, happiness, determination… Heat… Desire… Lust… Pleasure…
I shake my head. Snap the fuck out it, Noelle. Screwing the man on your kitchen table is not a case for repeated dreamy blackouts at lunchtime. Well, if we want to be technical, he screwed me, and what a damn fine screw it was.
So what is my problem?
Him.
We’re oil and water. Chalk and cheese. Snow and sun. Equally, though, we’re fire and gasoline, burning matches and fireworks, kindling wood and a bonfire. We’re opposite but explosive. Opposite but unhealthy. Opposite and possibly a little bit toxic.
A lot toxic, because the man riles me up like no other.
He’s arrogant and infuriating and oh-righteous-me. He’s the definition of Mr. Right, except he’s Mr. 50% Wrong At Least.
This I know, because when he’s wrong, I’m right.
I’d raise this to seventy-five percent, but I figure I have to give him some kind of personality trait.
Ugh, Noelle, you bitch.
I grab the cupcake and shove it in my mouth. The man makes me want to eat all the cupcakes and skip the treadmill. Put simply: I have no idea how I feel about Detective Drake Nash. And that’s scary.