Unexpectedly Mine, an all-new steamy and swoon-filled marriage-of-convenience romantic comedy from bestselling author Erin Hawkins is available now!
Emma
Since the man I thought I would be walking down the aisle with broke up with me, I’ve been focused on my business.
As the designer of Emma Belle Bridal Gowns, headlining the Blushing Bride Convention in Las Vegas has been the highlight of my year. And the legendary editor of The Dress magazine wants to feature me in their upcoming issue?
A dream come true.
And it’s my birthday! Nothing can get me down…except maybe my ex’s engagement splashed across social media.
What’s a girl to do other than drink a truck load of champagne and see a male revue show?
When a dancer pulls me up on stage, the chemistry between us is undeniable.
Forget holy matrimony, I’m going to lower my expectations for one night.
One night that just may last forever.
Griffin
One last night…
After twelve years raising my baby sister, Sophie, and dancing for Las Vegas’s top male revue in order to pay bills and ensure she graduates college, I’m ready to hang up my tearaway pants and start a new life.
My intentions were to protect Emma, a captivating and tipsy woman at the show, from doing something she regrets. With chemistry neither of us can deny, the night takes an unexpected turn and we find ourselves waking up married.
It happens. We’ll correct our mistakes and move on.
But with a viral wedding video, our nuptials end up on Page Six, and Emma needs me in New York to play the part of doting new husband for a career-boosting interview.
I’ll play the part, do what she asks, then we’ll part ways.
Emma’s smart, enchanting and beautiful…and completely unexpected.
But right now, I have nothing to offer a woman like her, let alone forever.
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“TWO MONTHS!! WTF!!!” I say as I type it out.
From somewhere in front of me someone clears their throat.
Caught off guard, my phone slips out of my hand and I lunge forward in an attempt to catch it. With my body no longer being used as a door stop, the metal door slams closed behind me. The ominous sound of an automatic lock clicking into place doesn’t stop me from checking the handle anyway. Yup, locked. Oh shit. The waitress said not to close the door. But then I remember the throat clearing and my attention is drawn behind me. A man has stepped from the dark corners of the rooftop toward the door where the single overhead bulb illuminates him just enough to display his large frame.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He reaches out a hand. My brain isn’t receiving messages as to what for because it’s too distracted by the cords of muscle that make up this man’s forearm. The light brown hair and the prominent vein that runs the length of said arm are the ultimate accessories to his god-like forearms. It’s a body part that shouldn’t make me flustered, but I’ve never seen forearms like his before. Surely this is some illusion, a trick of light or a flex pose made possible by the weight of my phone, a mere five ounces. That’s the reason he’s got his arm outstretched. “I thought you were talking to someone. I wanted you to know you weren’t alone up here.”
“I was talking to myself,” I say, finally accepting my phone. “Not in a weird way. I was processing out loud. I do that sometimes. Okay, a lot.”
His response is a deep chuckle, which draws my attention upward to his face.
How have I not even looked at his face? Oh, that’s right, I was too busy drooling over the forearm porn he was providing me with. My eyes roam up his body. And in case anyone’s wondering, he’s no Popeye. His forearms are perfectly proportionate to the rest of his muscular frame. He definitely works out. Maybe even plays a sport. Back to his face. It’s good. Better than good. Square jaw, defined nose, enough scruff on his chin to tell the world he’s got plenty of testosterone pumping through his veins. Thick, sandy brown hair that’s long enough to have a slight wave in it. I can’t tell what color his eyes are in the dim light, but when he smiles, they fill with humor and a dimple appears in his left cheek.
I know that because he’s smiling at me right now.
“It’s my birthday,” I announce out of nowhere.
He’s probably thrilled that he’s stuck out here with an excellent conversationalist like myself.
“Happy birthday.
”“Thanks.” The goofy smile that forms on my face is surprising. Why is this guy making me feel giddy? Maybe it’s the champagne.
I realize that I’m a little too excited about being trapped on a rooftop with a stranger. A man with muscles like that could easily overpower me, yet there’s nothing about this man’s demeanor that makes me feel that way. In fact, it’s the opposite. The way he stands with his hands buried in his front pockets, casual and sweet. I’d expect a guy that looks like him to be cocky and self-possessed. My eyes drop to his crotch, then quickly away. Why did I just do that? I was thinking about being cocky and that made me think of…my eyes lower again to the bulge in his jeans. The alcohol running through my veins apparently gives them free rein to ogle men’s crotches.
“Did I just lock us out here?” I motion to the shut door behind me.
“Nah. I’ve got a key.
”“Oh.” I nod. That should be a relief, yet I’m suddenly disappointed that we aren’t stuck out here together. That this isn’t some fated romantic encounter destined for me on my birthday.
“So, we won’t need to lie in each other’s arms to stay warm when the desert temps fall later tonight?”
When I realize what I just said, my cheeks burn with embarrassment, or maybe that’s the champagne gone to my head. And this guy’s sexy smile has gone straight to my lady parts.
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