This excerpt shows the meet-cute between Rose and Owen--but it’s more like a meet-disaster! She returns to her ex-fiance’s apartment while he’s not home to get back the rest of her things, like the gorgeous heirloom bed she inherited from her grandmother. Little does she know that she’s in for one hell of a (sexy) surprise. . .
***
Rose put her key in the lock and held her breath. Her hands shook.
“Stop it,” she muttered under her breath. She couldn’t go falling apart in here. She just could not.
Some part of her was surprised the key still worked. But of course Jason hadn’t changed the locks on her as soon as she’d screamed that she was leaving. It probably never occurred to him that she’d have the ovaries to come back. Especially not without calling in advance, being painfully polite the whole time.
Even her so-called screaming wasn’t really screaming. She only wished she’d raised her voice. Wished she’d done something besides freeze at the sight of her fiance--ex-fiance, she reminded herself sternly--buried between another woman’s thighs.
But no. Because she was Rose Campbell, and she didn’t scream. She didn’t break things. She just pressed her lips together and barely even cried.
Until now, apparently.
Just stepping inside and seeing the familiar light through the curtains was making all those unshed tears threaten to spill.
Not now, she willed herself. Not here. She had work to do. Jason was stuck in a three-hour meeting with the CUBE VIPs. This was the time to reclaim her things.
She touched the empty spot on her finger where a heavy, sparkling diamond had once been and pulled out her phone.
I don’t know if I can do this, she texted her friend Amanda.
You CAN, Amanda wrote back. You’re already doing it. Just measure the bed. I’ll find the movers who can get it to your apartment. Everyone will chip in. Okay?
Rose took a deep breath and typed, Okay. One thing at a time.
Amanda sent her a bunch of flame emojis. Then we’ll set the rest of that loser’s shit on fire.
Rose covered her mouth, as though she didn’t dare laugh even though she was alone.
I can’t afford the lawyer’s fees for arson on top of breaking and entering, she wrote.
Live a little! :)
I’m working on it, she wrote back.
Even if she was still so stuck, it didn’t feel like living at all.
She pushed open the door to the bedroom. She was not here to dwell on all that. She was doing the right thing.
She hadn’t known how tense she was until the exhale rushed out of her, emptying her center from somewhere deeper than her lungs, buried down below her heart. So when she stepped inside and saw the man’s legs hanging over the edge of the bed, she couldn’t quite scream, because she didn’t have any air left inside her.
What was Jason doing home from work in the middle of the day, let alone napping? He never napped. Ever.
She’d watched him walk into that meeting with her own two eyes. She wasn’t naive enough to take his word for his whereabouts anymore. How had she been so wrong?
And then she realized.
There was no way the person lying on the bed was Jason. The legs wore faded, paint-spattered jeans and worn leather boots. Definitely nothing that had come from Jason’s closet, with its immaculate, color-coded rows.
Was he getting the place remodeled? But there were no signs of construction.
What the heck?
She wasn’t sure whether she should work up to that scream again. Wake the man up. Demand to know who he was. Or back away slowly, like she’d never been there.
This wasn’t her home anymore. It wasn’t her business.
But she took a step forward, curiosity propelling her on. She didn’t know why she was being so careful. As opposed to, say, shouting at the top of her lungs.
But nothing in this room could shock her. She could have walked into a full-blown circus rehearsal and she wouldn’t have blinked. Not after seeing another woman on her bed, writhing in ecstasy. And learning there were things Jason Harris’s tongue could do to a woman that he’d never done to her. That no one had done to her.
She took a step closer.
The man was on his back, one arm flung over his forehead. The gesture had lifted his T-shirt, exposing a line of skin between the shirt and his jeans.
Well, hello.
The plane of his abs was smooth and taut. His hips dipped, and the skin hugged them tight as a drum. The edge of Calvin Klein was visible above his belt. And just below the line, where his hips dropped--
Holy shit.
Do NOT look at his crotch.
But looking up wasn’t any better. She could see the outline of his chest through his T-shirt and the curve of his biceps where the sleeve rolled up. He had facial hair, not too long but enough to make her rethink her previous stance against beards.
This guy pulled it off.
It was a shade darker than his hair, which was streaked by sunlight and fell into his eyes. She wondered what color those eyes were. And then wondered what was wrong with her right now, checking out a stranger draped across her bed.
Maybe she’d had more than her heart broken when she’d walked in on her cheating dirtbag ex. Maybe it had damaged her whole brain.
She cleared her throat tentatively, but the man didn’t stir. Even when she tried to be louder, he didn’t open his eyes.
Time to be more decisive about it. She took a deep breath. Be brave.
She stepped forward, clapped her hands over him, and said, as loud as she could muster, “Excuse me?”
The man sprang up, clearly startled. Oops. Maybe she’d overcompensated.
Then gravity kicked in and he fell down, hitting the mattress. It didn’t seem like he’d fallen that hard. But the next thing she knew, there was a deafening crack.
The man looked up, mouth open.
And the whole bed crashed to the ground.
(c) Rebecca Brooks, Entangled Brazen, 2020. Printed with permission from the publisher.
***
Accidental Love Book 3
Rose Campbell is determined to get her stuff from her cheating ex-fiancé’s apartment. There’s just one problem. A sexy stranger is sleeping in her bed. Work boots and scruff so aren’t her type--except when they’re on furniture maker Owen Crowley, who is funny, kind, and speaks his mind.
The prim and proper Rose isn't the kind of woman Owen is usually interested in. But the more he gets to know her, the more intrigued he becomes. There’s passion underneath those stiff suits of hers that he can’t wait to explore.
There’s no reason these two opposites can’t have some sexy fun--except that one thing. Rose works for the very people trying to destroy Owen’s business.
Romance Contemporary [Entangled Brazen, On Sale: February 17, 2020, e-Book, ISBN: 9781682815335 / eISBN: 9781682815335]
Rebecca Brooks lives in New York City in an apartment filled with books. She received a PhD in English but decided it was more fun to write books than write about them. She has backpacked alone through India and Brazil, traveled by cargo boat down the Amazon River, climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, explored ice caves in Peru, trekked to the source of the Ganges, and sunbathed in Burma, but she always likes coming home to a cold beer and her hot husband in the Bronx. She likes outdoorsy guys with both muscle and heart and independent women ready to try something new.
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