First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (36 page)

Or something like that. Minus the videotape part.

A quick step back into the shadows and I evaded being recognized. Shit. Of all the nights for Sam to be assigned to a different party. Jack was my stripping partner and he was too new to do the job alone. Besides, he was a babyface and these cougars would eat him alive. Charlotte lowered the average age of the women in this room by five years.

Scanning the room, I took inventory of the bride and her friends. Second marriage, I guessed. Or third. You never knew once the women were over forty. That meant this scene could get down and dirty, because there was nothing hornier than a perimenopausal woman at a bachelorette party with sex toys, an open bar, and permission to get naughty.

Nothing
.

“The Determinator appears to be in the lead, ladies!” Charlotte called out. “And you can find the order forms for all the fun toys out in the living room. Twenty percent off on all the twelve-inch models,” she added, winking. The pink Rabbit surged ahead, making a last-minute sprint as my dinner threatened to come up.

My eyes were only for Charlotte, though. Four years had made her just get more luscious. God damn. Ass and tits that made the air catch in my throat and the blood flow south. Professional hazard, that—don’t ever get a hard on at a job. The women took it as an air traffic controller’s signal, like glowing lights pointing them to dock
right there
.

She dressed professionally, wearing a plum-colored fuzzy v-neck sweater that contoured to the swell of breasts I remembered so well, legs encased in a slim pencil skirt that embellished those creamy hips I could imagine naked with a flicker of memory, lips painted fire-engine red and that maniac-inducing fifties pin-up girl look that I’d dismissed as silly when the girls in college wore it—but that made her smoking hot.

Down, boy
.

God damn Charlotte had to be here, of all places.

And she had to be
so
fine.

“Ooooh, honey, you’re one big officer,” said a sultry voice behind me. A hand stroked my hip and hesitated before sliding a bit lower, filling a palm with my ass. “Arrest me, Officer. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

With one look at the source of the voice, my night went from
Oh, man
to
Holy shit
.

That voice? That hand?

That was my
mother
.

Keep an eye out for
Random Acts of Hope
in 2014.
 

And there’s more...

Other Books by Julia Kent

Suggested Reading Order

Her First Billionaire
–
FREE

Her Second Billionaires

Her Two Billionaires

Her Two Billionaires and a Baby

Her Billionaires: Boxed Set

It’s Complicated

Complete Abandon (A Her Billionaires novella)

Complete Harmony (A Her Billionaires novella #2)

Random Acts of Crazy

Random Acts of Trust

Random Acts of Fantasy

Random Acts of Hope

“Share Me” in the anthology Spring Fling

Maliciously Obedient

Suspiciously Obedient

Deliciously Obedient (the trilogy is done!)

About the Author

Text JKentBooks to 77948 and get a text message on release dates!

New York Times
and
USA Today
Bestselling Author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from
Random Acts of Crazy
, she has never kissed a chicken.

She loves to hear from her readers by email at [email protected],
 

on Twitter @jkentauthor,
 

and on Facebook at
https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor

Visit her blog at http://jkentauthor.blogspot.com

Blue Roses

Baker Street Romance #1

MIMI STRONG

Copyright © 2014 MIMI STRONG

All rights reserved.

BAKER STREET ROMANCE SERIES

#1 BLUE ROSES

#2 COMPLICATED GIRL

(for current list, see www.mimistrong.com)

Summary: In this hilarious romantic comedy, a gruff motorcycle repair shop owner tries to win the heart of a jaded florist, despite all the times she’s sent apology flowers to his ex-girlfriends.

Chapter 1

My first love gave me a blue rose. He pinned it to my prom dress with a shaking hand. The woman taking our photograph teased him about being nervous. She couldn’t have known the reason he was shaking.

He went along with it, because that’s the kind of guy he was. He made a joke about getting to first base, then he turned his back to the camera and asked for a minute. I could see the tears gleaming in his eyes.

Looking down at me, he said, “You’ll make a beautiful bride.”

“I shouldn’t have picked this dress.”

“No, it’s perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He kissed me, and then he turned around again to pose for our photo.

The whole night, girls kept coming up to admire my dress. The strapless gown was pale blue, but looked white under the lighting set up in the gym.

“This dress is so wrong,” I kept saying.

Every time, he’d give me that tender look and say, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He died two months after graduation, and I died with him. My friends who’d gone through breakups said they understood completely. They promised I’d get over it.

Years passed, and then a decade.

What does that even mean, to
get over
something?

Does it mean that one day you can sell a corsage to a young man in a tuxedo, and not feel bottomless sorrow?

Chapter 2

I’m almost crying. A bundle of blue roses sits before me on the prep counter. I hold still, waiting for the tears that always come with the memories. But they don’t come.

I pick up one rose, cupping the blossom in my palm as I strip the thorns off with a knife.

I’m not crying, so maybe I’m finally
over it.
Over the loss of my first love. And it only took ten years.

Another possibility is that my tear ducts haven’t recovered from last night’s sad movie marathon. Movies where the dog dies should come with an Ugly Cry warning label. Now my tear ducts are probably permanently damaged. My eyes feel itchy.

I blink hard, waiting for something to happen.

The door chime lets out a chirp. Someone’s walking into the flower shop.

By the sound of the boots, it’s a man, and not a small one.

My eyes go first to the boots. They’re big.

Next, my eyes climb up his jeans. And what a climb it is, over long legs and muscled thighs. My pulse quickens.

The visuals get even yummier. He’s wearing a black shirt with a bike logo, stretched tight across huge muscles.

He turns his body sideways to squeeze past the ferns.

Damn it, he’s perfection.

The sight of his strong, square jaw in profile makes my palms sweat.

That’s funny, because big, manly men aren’t my type at all. I usually go for skinny geeks, because I’m more comfortable.

When I see a bunch of muscles, I get stupid and giggly. I can’t even buy men’s underwear as a Christmas present for someone, because the hunky beefcake on the packaging makes me feel funny.

This guy looks artfully scruffy, like an actor between movies. He’s got about a week’s worth of beard, light brown like his wavy hair.

I’ve never seen this man before, but I know exactly who he is.

Luca Lowell.

He steps up to the flower shop’s counter, and I stop breathing.

The man has the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They point right at me like headlights. I can no longer inhale or exhale. Luca Lowell’s eyes are the definition of breathtaking.

“I see I’ve caught you at a bad time,” he says.

His voice is deep, yet surprisingly gentle, given his gruff appearance. He looks like the kind of guy who doesn’t need a beer bottle opener. He’d use those big fists of his, or his teeth.

“This isn’t a bad time.” I pick up another rose and whip the knife through the thorns. “I’m just stripping.”

He looks over the counter, down at my feet. “No, you’re not stripping.”

I can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks at my tennis shoes, then up my bare legs to my jean shorts. He raises his eyebrows and continues his sightseeing journey, over my red scoop-necked shirt.

He looks with interest at my curly, medium-brown hair, which falls around my shoulders in my usual style. Most people think I have a perm or use rollers, but my hair’s naturally curly, and I don’t fight nature anymore.

His eyes linger on my neck, and then my lips. I curse myself for not putting on lipstick after eating lunch—not that I usually wear makeup to work.

Watching my mouth, he says, “If you think this is stripping, you’re doing it all wrong.”

I drop the flowers and knife from my hands in a fit of giggles.

Giggles, for crying out loud? Tina, pull yourself together. You’re almost thirty!

“I am stripping,” I say, composing myself. “Stripping thorns.”

“You have a great laugh.” He leans on the counter, reaching over with his hand outstretched. “I’m Luca. I bought the garage down the street.”

I shake his hand, my small palm disappearing in his warm embrace.

“I’m Tina, and I’ve heard all about you. People are not very happy about the changes. The whole neighborhood has been getting their cars serviced at Baker Brothers for generations. Now what are they going to do?”

“Get bikes.”

I laugh, then stop abruptly. “You’re serious!”

“I am. Once we re-open, we’ll service all kinds of bikes. And scooters. You look like the scooter type.” His blue eyes break away from mine to travel back down my body.

“A scooter? I’ll think about it.”

I’m telling the truth. I’ve never considered owning a scooter, but Luca makes it sound sexy and fun. Maybe I’m a scooter kind of girl. In high school, I was on the wrestling team. I’m not afraid to get physical.

“Tina, I have a question for you.” He’s back to looking at my legs. “What do you know about women?”

“I know a few things, since I am one. Why?”

“I’ve got another one mad at me.”

My heart sinks. Luca Lowell is way out of my league, but knowing he has a girlfriend won’t help my fantasies.

“That’s why you’re here,” I say, nodding. “You need flowers to apologize with.”

“Does that actually work? I can’t believe women are that easy.”

I raise an eyebrow in response.

“Exactly what did you do?” I ask.

He snorts. “Nothing I won’t do again.”

He looks around the small shop, a skeptical look on his handsome face. He’s so big, but not in a scary way. He resembles a younger version of the tall country singer on The Voice, Blake Shelton.

I ask him, “Have you considered… not doing that thing anymore?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Maybe it’s one of my favorite things.” He grins, dazzling me with great-looking teeth.

“So, you need an apology arrangement?”

“That depends. Do you offer a money-back guarantee?”

“No, but if she kills you, we’ll do your funeral for half price.” I chuckle at my joke. “Florist humor.”

He keeps smiling, but doesn’t laugh.

“Can I get something by closing tonight?”

“Absolutely. Do you have a budget? A type of flower that holds a special meaning for the two of you?”

“Surprise me.” He lays some cash on the counter. “Is this enough?”

My eyes bug out at the money. The bike garage business must be profitable. I also notice he doesn’t wear a wedding band.

“That’s more than enough,” I say. “If she doesn’t take you back, you can marry me, and I’ll throw in my sister, too.”

“Beg pardon?”

I point my thumb toward the door to the office. “That joke makes more sense if my sister’s actually here.”

“I’m sure it does,” he says.

The door chimes with another customer coming in.

Luca gives me a funny look, and then he turns and walks back out again.

I stare at the door for a few minutes. The scent of his masculine cologne lingers in the air.

I offer the customer help, and she replies that she’s just looking for now.

I pick up the money and smell it. I expect the stack of bills to smell like Luca, but it just smells like money.

The woman gives me a funny look and then leaves.

Luca Lowell is every bit as handsome as people have told me. And he’ll be working right down the street from me, day in and day out.

The first thing I need to do after making Luca’s flower arrangement is… purchase a scooter.

Obviously.

Chapter 3

It takes me two hours to create the apology bouquet. I consider making it ugly, just so she’ll break up with him.

And then what will you do, Tina?

Luca and I would just be friends at first, on account of his recent breakup. Our friendship would become intimate, but not physical at first. Then one day he’d walk in here, lock the front door, and take me in his arms. He’d knock all the paperwork off the desk in the office, and demand to have me immediately.