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If there’s one thing I really hate, it’s when someone underestimates my intelligence. Especially when that someone is male and inconveniently hot.
A new line of ink, bold, fresh, and burning white-hot like a brand, had appeared on the inside of my wrist. It was her name. And I knew without a doubt that this woman who walked out of my dreams and into my shop on a rainy October night was always meant to show up. Because, somehow, she was part of the curse too.
It’s a time-tested truth that the best-looking men are always the absolute worst.
“What you’re asking for, smart-ass, is a spanking.”
She tasted like sweet dreams and bad decisions. And I was already in too deep.
The only thing worse than a smart-ass woman was a smart-ass woman who was right.
Men got so emotional when they couldn’t be in control of everything.
She was mine. And she was always meant to be mine, no matter how impossible that seemed to either one of us.
