What do you do when he can give you the world and you can only give him your heart?
Desert Breeze Publishing
He was hot and charming. She fell for him hard and fast. They were on the way from Australia to the US to meet the mother-in-law from Hell, the jobs they had lined up didn't pay well, and her engagement ring was cheap, flashy bling, because that was all they could afford.
What did it matter? They had each other, and poor but honest is the stuff of fairytales.
Then Sam admitted he wasn't poor, which meant he hadn't been honest either. Things suddenly looked a whole lot grimmer. A different fairytale all together. The ring Claire thought was fake was real, and the man she thought was real was... well she'd just have to find out.
The footfalls stopped, and a male voice said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Claire’s temper soared. She’d heard too much of that American accent in the last two weeks. Without turning around to look, ignoring all the rules of professional courtesy, she slammed her pen onto the table and shouted. “Go away. You are not allowed in this area. Go back to the tour group and leave me alone. There is absolutely no point in dogging me like this. I’m not going out with you. It’s against company rules, and even if it weren’t, I just plain don’t like you. Is that clear?”
A deep voice, rich with amusement and suddenly — appallingly — obviously, not Dave’s, said. “It’s hard to imagine how it could be any clearer. Have we met?”
Claire spun around in her seat, and stared open-mouthed at the stranger standing near the doorway.
His thumbs hooked into the front pockets of a faded pair of jeans, with his lightly curled fingers drawing attention to the bulge of his groin. He took one step back and leaned against the doorjamb, his dusty boots crossed at the ankles. The long, straight cut of his faded jeans emphasized the long, straight line of his legs. His unbuttoned chambray shirt revealed the play of light and shadow over taut rows of muscle. Sleeves rolled to the elbows highlighted smooth, powerful forearms with corded veins that drew her eye and begged to be…
Claire gave herself a mental slap on the head. She was staring at the man like a starving woman faced with the world’s biggest hunk of chocolate.
A rush of blood heated her cheeks. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I’m sorry. I … I thought you were…” She dropped her head into her hands. “Just sorry.”