LITMIR.BIZ

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Francisco Rodriguez Olivier Grant stared at the very petite, very darling woman dressing him down. Suz Hawthorne giving a man hell was an impressive sight despite her five foot two and a half inch size, due to the streaky blue-in-blond hair, strategically placed cheek studs, a tiny diamond stud in her nose and a miniscule silver loop in her right eyebrow. Though they were small and delicately designed, her tats spoke loudly of her rebel status—a fragile red rose on one wrist, and a beautiful, delicate Celtic cross on the other. When a man adored a woman like he adored Suz, being in her line of fire was enough to nail a man’s boots to the ground—and his boots were nailed down good.

      “Here’s the deal, so pay attention.” Suz put her hands on her rounded, feminine hips, guiding his eyes farther down her oh-so-delicious body. Well, he just knew her body would feel delicious—if he could get his hands on it.

      “I’m paying close attention.”

      “All right. I can’t bring myself to call you Frog like everybody else does. I’ve never seen a man look less frog-like or toadly in my life. There’s nothing amphibious about you, beyond your ability to swim.”

      He started to say, “I don’t care what you call me as long as you call me,” then realized that would sound desperate. Or something. “Thanks.”

      “Good. I’m glad that’s settled.”

      Suz’s brain was a wonder to contemplate, and right now, operating about two gears faster than his. Mainly because he was sidelined by what he belatedly recognized as surefire, 100 percent lust. “What’s settled?”

      “Your name.”

      He grinned at the sweet-’n’-sassy bombshell, who was disarming him completely. “You’re going to call me Francisco Rodriguez Olivier Grant every time you speak to me?”

      “No. From now on, you’re just Cisco.”

      He took that in.

      “Perhaps your silence means you’re not crazy about that. But Frog just isn’t working for me.”

      “Fine. I don’t care. Address me as Santa Claus if you want.” He got his swagger back and then some, kind of impressed that she wanted to call him Cisco. There were probably any number of legendary hanging, swinging badasses that had been called Cisco over time.

      Not so many named Frog. He’d been named Frog courtesy of his SEAL brothers, because he could outswim just about every man around.

      “Frog” was fine under certain conditions. But when a man wanted a woman thinking about him—and a dynamite package like Suz most particularly—it was probably better to be a Cisco.

      “Now that we have that settled, you’re going to escort me to the upcoming Bridesmaids Creek swim.”

      “The newly christened Cisco feels like he’s missing a bit of info. We just had a swim for Jade Harper and Ty Spurlock, which is why they’re married, according to the tenets of the fabled charm, right? As I recall, I swam that race pretty quickly.” And he was none too pleased, because the way the rumor mill worked in Bridesmaids Creek, the prize for winning the swim was the woman waiting on the banks at the finish line.

      The woman at the finish line that day had been Daisy Donovan, and a more annoying wild woman he’d never had the bad luck to come across.

      He wanted Suz. Not Daisy.

      But supposedly the legend, charm, magic—whatever you wanted to call it—of Bridesmaids Creek

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