Mr. August

ISBN Digital: 978-1-62830-109-0
Page Count: 137
Word Count: 35314
Rating: Spicy(PG13)

Fashion designer Libby Griffin has had the week from hell--terminated from her job and heart-wrenching news from the doctor. Hoping for time alone to regroup, Libby rents a cabin on Grand Lake St. Mary's for five months. Right away she meets the most irritating man on the planet, who also happens to be drop-dead delicious.
Recently divorced author Maxwell August has a book due, and his muse has gone into hiding. With a chip on his shoulder, his writing in stuck-mode, he heads to the lake only to encounter a monumental distraction with blonde hair and hazel eyes.
Will these two right-brainers allow the off-the-charts attraction brewing between them to grow? Or deny it to focus on the things they think are more important and miss a chance at forever?

Rating: Spicy
Page Count: 137
Word Count: 35314
ISBN 978-1-62830-109-0


Libby squared her shoulders. “I was here first. He’d shooed her away twenty minutes ago and was trying to do it again in the grocery. She matched him frown for frown.

“Maybe so, but you can’t stand there for ten minutes reading the side of the carton.”

“I can take as long as I need.” She’d only been there a minute or two. Clearly the man had no concept of time.

“You’re holding everyone up.”

Libby looked around. There was no one else waiting for her to move. She took a half-step away from the juice and motioned for him to go at it.

“Seriously?” He crossed his arms at his chest.

How much room did he need? Libby stayed exactly where she was and they engaged in a childish game of who would blink first. In the span of those few seconds, her subconscious filtered more information. Actually, it poked her hard enough to make her the first to blink. While this guy was a giant pain, he had a voice that was part gravel, part silk. She’d missed it when they spoke at the cabin, now it was all she could focus on; well, that and his scent. Libby tried not to breathe him in. His musky fragrance floated in front of her nose until she had no choice but to take a few whiffs.

A momentary look of amusement raced across his features, like he knew she was taking stock of him. A low growl formed in the pit of Libby’s stomach and she was close to hitting him with her cart. “Are you stalking me?” Oh my God, she didn’t say that, did she?

Maxwell narrowed his eyes so tight they almost closed. “You wish.”

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.