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He's going above and beyond the call of duty...
Avery Yeung's biological clock just went off early. Thanks to her family's medical history, she's running out of time to get knocked up. And the only guy within donating distance? Her overprotective-and irritatingly hot-best friend. So clearly she needs an anonymous donor...
Anonymous donor? Over Sheriff Drew Flannery's dead body. While daddyhood will never be in the cards for a man with his past, Drew won't let Avery shop for a "popsicle pop." He'll do what's right for his best friend by doing his best friend. But only if they do it properly.
But there's nothing "proper" about it. Between the bed, the kitchen counter, and against his squad car, Avery and Drew are having the hottest sex ever. They can't get enough of it-or each other. And without knowing it, they've crossed the one line that could ruin their friendship forever...
Well, she refused to be a coward, and there was never a better time than now. She dialed, hating herself for holding her breath, and nearly hung up in a panic when he answered,
Her nervous energy got away from her, and words popped out of her mouth before she could think better of them. “Morning! Just calling with your daily sex status report.”
A heartbeat, and then he laughed. “Okay, I’ll bite. How’d I do?”
“Oh, you know, just fine.”
“Fine?” A car door slammed somewhere in the distance.
“Sweetheart, that was a far sight better than ‘fine.’”
She was going to get through this with sheer bravado. The only other option was to sit down and talk about their feelings, which so wasn’t on the menu if Avery had anything to say about it. A little more relaxed now, she settled onto the rocking chair and propped her feet on the chest. “It was a solid six.”
“That’s so cute when you mix up your numbers. Yesterday was a ten.”
She paused, pretending to consider. “Oh, no, definitely not a ten. I would have noticed if Sam Elliott or Sean Connery showed up.”
“You have seriously questionable taste.”
“I do not. I have excellent taste. Those voices…” She sighed, putting a little extra breathiness into it. “Actually, I’m adding Benedict Cumberbatch to that list. He’d be a ten.”
“No. Absolutely not. I draw the line at being outranked by a man with better cheekbones than most women. He is not attractive.”
“Don’t be jealous that you can’t make women come just by talking to them.”
“Two words—phone sex.”
Her laugh died. After what they’d just done, she didn’t like the reminder that he’d rocked other women’s worlds, but she’d better get used to it. This was Drew, and he’d never had a problem with the ladies. “Kudos to you, then.”
His tone shifted, the playfulness disappearing. “What are you doing for lunch?”
You. No, wait, she couldn’t say that. She still didn’t know where they stood. She couldn’t just assume they were going to keep having sex because they were joking about yesterday.
Avery twisted her hair. “I hadn’t decided.”
“I’ll make it easy on you—my place, noon.”
The growl in his voice made her shiver, but she forced a laugh. “Are we going to walk twenty paces and have a shootout?”
“If by shootout, you mean you’re going to come screaming my name, then yes.”
Katee Robert learned to tell stories at her grandpa’s knee. Her favorites then were the rather epic adventures of The Three Bears, but at age twelve she discovered romance novels and never looked back.
Though she dabbled in writing, life got in the way—as it often does—and she spent a few years traveling, living in both Philadelphia and Germany. In between traveling and raising her two wee ones, she had the crazy idea that she’d like to write a book and try to get published.
Her first novel was an epic fantasy that, God willing, will never see the light of day. From there, she dabbled in YA and horror, before finally finding speculative romance. Because, really, who wouldn’t want to write entire books about the smoking-hot relationships between two people?
She now spends her time—when not lost in Far Reach worlds—playing imaginary games with her wee ones, writing, ogling men, and planning for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.
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