About the book (provided by Tasty Tours)
Single mother Kyra Kokinos spends her days waiting tables, her nights working on her real estate license, and every spare moment with her precocious six-year-old daughter, Ruby—especially when Ruby won’t stop pestering their grumpy next-door neighbor. At first glance, Dax Bishop seems like the kind of gruff, solitary guy who’d be unlikely to offer a cup of sugar, let alone a marriage proposal. But that’s exactly what happens when Ruby needs life-saving surgery.
Dax showed up in East Beach a year ago, fresh from a painful divorce and looking for a place where he could make furniture and avoid people. Suddenly his life is invaded by an inquisitive munchkin in sparkly cowboy boots—and her frazzled, too-tempting mother. So he presents a practical plan: his insurance will help Ruby, and then they can divorce—zero strings attached.
But soon Kyra and Dax find their engagement of convenience is simple in name only. As their attraction deepens, a figure from the past reappears, offering a way out. Can Kyra and Dax let go so easily—or has love become a preexisting condition?
334 Pgs. |Heat: 3 | Series Info
Montlake Romance| Rel: July 25, 2017
Montlake Romance| Rel: July 25, 2017
Read an excerpt
Seven years later
July
Leave it to a
female to think the rules did not apply to her.
The little heathen
from next door was crawling under the split-rail fence that separated the
cottages again. Dax, who already had been feeling pretty damn grumpy going on a
year now, wondered why she didn’t just go over the fence. She was big enough.
It was almost as if she wanted the mud on her dress and her knees, to drag the
ends of her dark red ponytails through the muck.
She crawled under,
stood up, and knocked the caked mud off her knees. She stomped her pink,
sparkly cowboy boots—never had he seen a more impractical shoe—to make them
light up, as she liked to do, hopping around her porch several times a day.
Then she started
for cottage Number Two, arms swinging, stride long.
Dax watched her
from inside his kitchen, annoyed. It had started a week ago, when she’d climbed
on the bottom railing of the fence, leaned over it, and shouted, “I like your
dog!”
He’d ignored her.
Two days ago he’d
asked her, fairly politely, not to give any more cheese to his dog, Otto. That
little stunt of hers had resulted in a very long and malodorous night between
man and beast.
Yesterday he’d
commanded her to stay on her side of the fence.
But here the little
monster came, apparently neither impressed with him nor intimidated by his
warnings.
Well, Dax had had
enough with that family, or whatever the situation was next door. And
the enormous pickup truck that showed up at seven a.m. and idled in the drive
just outside his bedroom window. Those people were exactly what was wrong with
America—people doing whatever they wanted without regard for anyone else,
letting their kids run wild, coming and going at all hours of the day.
He walked to the
back screen door and opened it. He’d installed a dog door, but Otto refused to
use it. No, Otto was a precious buttercup of a dog that liked to have his doors
opened for him, and he assumed that anytime his master neared the door, Dax was
opening it for him. He assumed so now, stepping in front of Dax—pausing to
stretch after his snoring nap—before sauntering out and down the back porch
steps to sniff something at the bottom.
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Giveaway
phole law, no matter the cost.
and continued with 
.