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About the book
A runaway bride. A handsome stranger. Two pasts to put behind them.
Parker is ready to marry the man of her dreams. But he isn’t ready to marry her. It would be helpful if he didn’t choose their wedding day to tell her this. But as she flees from the travesty behind her, she literally runs into the arms of a handsome stranger. The southern drawl, the dreamy eyes, she can’t fall for another man after being left at the altar – can she?
When Liam agreed to go to go on a date he didn’t expect to leave with the bride. Nor did he expect to take her the emergency room. Immediately he’s drawn to her fiery spirit, her kind heart and beautiful smile. Liam’s got a whole host of problems and a past that keeps coming back, now can’t be the time to fall in love, but Parker might just be the one to break down his barriers and let him live a little – if she’ll let him in.
Will these two strangers allow serendipity to put them together, or will their fears keep them apart?
‘Can I help?’
She scrunches her face, obviously uncomfortable with this entire situation. ‘Close your eyes.’
‘You want me to close my eyes and unlace this?’ I ask now walking around to the other side of the bed to see what the challenge is. ‘With my eyes closed it’s gon’ be slower than a herd of turtles.’
‘Excuse me?’ She grunts a laugh.
I run my hand through my hair, resting it on the back of my head. I heard exactly how southern that sounded. I’m not deaf to it. For whatever reason, women seem to bring it out in me. No idea why either. ‘I’m sure the person who laced this wasn’t blindfolded? Am I right? I’ll close my eyes if you want but it’d be a lot easier with my eyes open and I’ll close them as soon as it’s unlaced.’
‘Fine.’ She sighs to herself as I start to unlace the dress. ‘I just thought that one time seeing my underwear today is probably enough, don’t you think?’
‘Considering it’s the first day we’ve known each other I’d have to agree. Maybe tomorrow it’d be OK though.’ I laugh to myself, slowly pulling the laces loose. I’ve got just about zero experience with dresses or weddings so put the two together and you’ve got a complication bigger than just unhooking a bra, which is pretty much my extent of undressing women for the most part.
‘What’s with the accent anyway?’ she asks.
‘What accent?’ I say in my best west coast impersonation.
‘Funny,’ she says, without a laugh.
‘Born and raised in Fort Worth, Texas, miss. I guess the last two years in Portland hasn’t been quite long enough for it to fade.’
She turns her head to the side, attempting to watch me but eventually giving up.
‘Done.’ I walk back around and sit in the chair against the wall, dramatically closing my eyes, even covering them with my hands as extra precaution, as she requested.
‘Thank you. Now, do not peek,’ she commands, the dress rustling as she slides it off and allows it to drop to the floor with a swooshing sound.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I say. I sit silently, my eyes closed the whole time, listening to her curse to herself in a near whisper as she fumbles around for a few seconds. A groan here, a damn it there, and finally…
‘Shit,’ she blurts out. ‘Listen, do not open your eyes but I need help with my pants.’
I laugh to myself. ‘You want me to help with your pants?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t but I’m kind of in a pickle. So yeah… with your eyes closed.’
‘OK… this feels like one of those trust exercises businesses use to make their workers more of a team. You ever done those?’
‘No,’ she says flatly. ‘Here…’ She touches my hand, pulling me to a standing position. ‘You hold the pants like this, right here…’ She puts the pants in my hands how she wants me to hold them. The bed creaks as she hops back onto it. ‘Now… I’ll just slip my feet in… and…’ I feel her weight on the pants, which honestly ain’t much, as she slides her feet in. She puts her good hand on my upper arm, her scent washing over me. She smells like a summer day from my childhood. Sweet coconut and ocean water.
‘I’ll just hop off the bed and you pull them up,’ she says as if it’s a plan well thought out.
‘OK…’
When she hops off the bed she moves forward. Her ass does not and the elastic in the pants catches just under her butt, shoving her forward into me, knocking me back against the wall and causing me to let go of the pants. I wrap an arm around her to prevent her from hitting the floor and injuring herself more. All with my eyes mostly closed, per her request. She’s petite enough that I’m able to steady her on her feet as I take a step back and do the same.
The room door slides open and a nurse walks in, stopping in her tracks when she notices my arm around her and her pants around her knees. She thought she was in a pickle before…
‘We do not allow visitors to have sex with the patients.’
About the author
Aimee Brown is a writer of romantic comedies set in Portland, Oregon, and an avid reader. She spends much of her time writing, raising three teenagers, binge-watching shows on Netflix and obsessively cleaning and redecorating her house. She’s fluent in sarcasm and has been known to utter profanities like she’s competing for a medal. Aimee grew up in Oregon, but is now a transplant living in cold Montana with her husband of twenty years, three teenage children, and far too many pets. She is a lot older than she looks and yes, that is a tattoo across her chest. (In the Portlandia spirit, yes, I lived many years in PDX and I do indeed have a bird tattooed on me (2!)) Aimee is very active on social media. You can find her at any of the networks below. Stop by and say hello!
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Twitter: @AimeeBWrites
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Facebook: @authoraimeeb
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