Wylde (Arizona Vengeance, #7)

by Sawyer Bennett

My eyes do a quick rake over his body. He’s clearly what I’d peg as a part-time jock. He’s wearing high-end athletic gear for his run. His watch is expensive-looking, which means he makes a good living—maybe a financial advisor? One of those guys who likes to stay in shape, so he looks good in his three-piece suit. I bet he’s a member of an exclusive country club where he golfs five days a week and probably plays flag football on the side.

The dude is definitely weird. “I’ll go ahead and get this rung up—” “Another wedding,” he blurts out, then slaps his forehead as if he’d just remembered something critical to life on earth. “I actually have another wedding weekend after this, and I’ll need a gift for that. And come to think of it, one in July, too. So I’ll need two more.” “Oh… okay,” I murmur, setting the wrapped wine opener on the counter and moving out from behind it. Dude is totally weird.

“But… um, well… you’re not my type.” He blinks in surprise, and I can tell in this moment that no woman ever has told this man that. “What exactly is your type?” he asks with a frown.

I met her one day when she breezed in, wearing couture workout clothes that showed off every curve, with expertly applied makeup and looking like a million bucks. Still, I preferred Clarke’s natural beauty any day of the week.

“You have baggage, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. This is probably fated for disaster. But I like you, Clarke. I want to get to know you better.

We meet in the middle for a soft, sweetly tender kiss that says nothing more than, “Hello again… I think I really like you.”

Baden gives an uncomfortable-sounding cough, and Veronica says, “Just so you two know… guys who read are hot.” “Really?” Kane asks curiously. “Really,” she affirms.