She snort-laughed. “If I craved any more sex, I’d never leave the bed.” Then she looked at the tub…and me…and considered. “Hey…”
“Yeah?”
“Do you, um…want a bite?” she asked.
She was so freakin’ adorable. I laughed. “Nah. Let the baby have it.”
She relaxed, then grinned at me. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”
“I love you too, Emily.” Then, since it was Bouncy Bare Monkeys, I kissed her for a sweet taste.
——
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Want more laugh-out-loud funny romantic comedies?
Then check out Stealing the Bride!
About Stealing the Bride:
When the hottest woman I ever slept with leaves me fifty bucks and sneaks out of my bed, I’m completely stunned and left feeling a little…dirty.
Most men might let it go. But I’m not most men. This woman has left her mark and I have to track her down.
Imagine my surprise when I discover that she’s getting married…
So I do what’s most logical: steal the bride. Except…am I even at the right wedding?
Stealing the Bride is a standalone full-length romance novel with a sexy AF billionaire, smart geeky heroine, identical twins and mistaken identity. No cheating, no cliffhanger. Just lots of heat, heart and humor. Grab it today!
????? Excerpt ?????
The bride is over my shoulder, wriggling like a trout caught between a bear’s paws. And it’s true: my paw is on her butt, so maybe she feels like a trout, even though we’re on a beach and there are no bears in Maui. And she’s screaming like a banshee.
I sprint down the aisle, past the tropical flowers lining each side, feet churning the sand. Somewhere a Chihuahua is barking insanely. The bride’s head bounces on my back, the white veil brushing my thighs and knees. The guests in semi-casual beachwear are too stunned to move. They just stare, their mouths open. It looks comical--like something from a third-rate chick flick.
“Stop!” comes from behind me. The groom’s finally pulled himself together.
Sissy. I didn’t even push him out of the way that hard. I look over a shoulder to give him a superior smirk.
He’s started after me, his feet pounding the sand. But the guy’s not fast enough. Even with a struggling woman over one shoulder, I can outrun him. I didn’t get my muscles from one of those jiggle dumbbells that simulates you-know-what.
Oh yeah. You aren’t getting married. Not until pigs win the Super Bowl.
Besides, he’s going to thank me. As soon as the fact that his intended and I slept together only two weeks ago sinks into his microscopic brain.
My getaway Maserati convertible is waiting. Yeah! Stealing this bride in style.
I dump her in the passenger seat. Cursing, she struggles against the tangled veil and a small sea of white fabric.
I start the car. The engine roars like a lion, while the bride screams like I’m Hannibal Lecter coming off a month-long fast. The Hawaiian breeze ruffles my hair. I smack the wheel in triumph and give the car some gas.
Someone in red runs right in front of the car. Crap! I slam on the brakes.