Excerpt
CHAPTER 1

The words of a co-worker bitch started the whole thing.

She hadn't done a very good job of tracking my whereabouts that morning, and obviously didn't know I was in one of the restroom stalls, with my pants on the ground.

"I wonder if that little redneck, Twila will be able to find a half-decent man to bring to the picnic?" Snickers from the other bitches. "She's gotta be a lesbian, or something. I've never seen her even look at a man, and besides, what man is going to want to be seen with fat white trash like her?"

Those pants were pulled up and zippered quicker than a gunslinger can draw his revolver, but not quick enough. If she had still been there when I burst out of my stall, I would have kicked her ass to kingdom come, but she had left, and the opportunity had passed.

The only thing I could do now to save face was go to the picnic, which I had previously not intended to do, and bring a man twice as hot as any of the pasty faced city boys they would drag along. I just happened to know the perfect one.

It would break the promise I had made to myself never to have anything to do with any man ever again, on account of what Jimmie-Ray did. But what harm could it do, I asked myself. I couldn't let them get the better of me. After the picnic, it would be Sayonara to Harland O'Connor.

Despite all that, I still couldn't believe this was me at a corporate picnic. Surreal wasn't the word for it! It was...well...super surreal. If you knew me, you would know that the last place in the world I would ever be was at a corporate anything. Especially not in Yankee territory.

And that wasn't all. Not only was I lying on a checkered blanket--probably a designer brand blanket if there is such a thing--at a corporate picnic, but despite all my best intentions, I was lying beside a man, probably the man of most women's dreams, and at that moment he was all mine.

Harland--who names their kid Harland?--was tall, probably around six three or four, and ripped. I mean, There wasn't an ounce of fat on his body. It was all lean muscle, and he had the tightest little buns. His shoulders were broad, and his arms, one of which was rubbing against my shoulder, were tanned and hard. His hair was brown, with sun-bleached yellowish highlights all the way through, and the way he wore it all messed up like a surfer dude who had just been out riding the waves was smoking.

His eyes were mesmerizing. I had to avoid looking into them because once they locked with mine I couldn't tear my gaze away. They were deep, deep brown, with long brown lashes, and so warm,--the most bedroomy eyes I had ever had the good--or bad--fortune to stare into. It was like looking at a bed with a down comforter on a cold night. I was in dangerous territory, and I was amazed at how the close proximity of a hot male body had changed my attitude.

He had high cheekbones and a strong, square chin, but it was his lips that held my attention the most. They were not too thin and not too thick, and there was always the hint of a smirk on them, like he was mocking me somehow. I had not yet had the pleasure of feeling them on mine, but I knew I was close.