An all-new, sexy romantic comedy is coming next week from author Avery Flynn—the third standalone novel in her truly wonderful The Hartigans series—and I have a little sneak peek for you.
“How did you get here?”
Maybe he could go with her. Make sure she got home safe. Watch until she was safe behind her locked front door.
“My friend Tess.”
She was the hot and cold friend of Lucy’s—either totally silent, which was most of the time, or going on and on about some random topic. “Where’s she?”
“Went to get hot cocoa.”
He stepped closer, reached out and pulled one of the hoodie strings free that had gotten caught underneath when Fallon had pulled it on. “Why?”
“Didn’t you know?” Her gaze softened and dipped down to his chest. “Chocolate cures everything.” The words came out a little shaky. “She’ll be back any second.”
He took another step closer. “I didn’t mean for this to happen to you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
His gaze dropped down to her mouth. He didn’t mean for it to, but it happened. All of a sudden it hit him. He was standing between Fallon’s legs as she sat on the desk. His palms were pressed against the dinged-up metal surface on either side of her hips, so close that he’d barely have to move to rub the knuckle of his thumb against the denim of her jeans. Their faces had somehow gotten closer and closer during their exchange, and now his mouth was only inches from hers.
She reached up, the tip of her finger tracing across his collarbone, almost hesitant as if she didn’t want to touch his bare chest but couldn’t help herself. “You have a contusion.”
“Part of the job.” One that he’d feel even more in the morning.
She dropped her hand to her lap, clasping it in the other with a white-knuckled grip as if she didn’t trust what she’d do if she didn’t hold on so damn tight. “Do you like it?”
“Getting banged up?” Maybe if it meant she’d be the one applying the bandages.
“I used to love it.” More than running at full blast in the winter morning air, more than staying up for a full night of sex, more than breathing.
“And now?” Fallon looked at him as if she really wanted to know, not because it could move her closer to some goal, but because she just wanted to know.
Zach had no idea how to answer. People didn’t ask him these kinds of questions. They just assumed—and he let them. But not Fallon.
As if she realized there was more to this than just another question, she reached out again, placing her palm over his heart. A soft pink flush colored her cheeks as she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.
The room went still around them, caught on the edge of something else, something more.
A hot hunger burned its way up his body, as the urge to kiss her moved from being a hint of an idea to a full-fledged want. It was fueled by the post-game adrenaline rush he always got and the added oomph of worrying about her. That’s all it could be. Still, he couldn’t stop imagining the taste of the Chapstick on her full lips, the heat of her body pressed up against his, and the silky smoothness of her hair beneath his fingers. Her hand slid upward, curving around the back of his neck as her eyelids lowered.
The office door banged open.
“Oh my God, there are reporters everywhere.”
Jolted back to reality, Fallon’s hand slipped away from him as Zach spun around. Tess stood in the doorway doublefisting hot cocoa. Fucking A. What in the hell had he been thinking? He hadn’t. Again. And that was the problem. Fallon wasn’t just any woman. She was Lady Luck. No one—himself most definitely included—should be fucking with her.