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Summer's here, and we've got a brand new giveaway for you!  From May 16th through August 31st, you have oodles of ways you can enter to win a $5 Amazon gift card, as well as an ebook copy of our novella Vic's Tasty Treat!  Here's a taste of what you could win: 

Vic was a godsend. An angel. An unpacking angel. An unpacking angel with killer biceps and a nice ass. Not that she was noticing his ass. Or his biceps. Or shoulders. Yep, not noticing anything. No way. Not her. Nope… no checking out going on here.

 

Who was she trying to kid?

 

She was clit-achingly aware of every aspect of Vic’s fineness. She’d had many a dream featuring them in detail over the last week.

 

Despite her ogling, with his help Paige was able to stop eating off of paper and finally have a functional kitchen. Not that she planned on using it for anything other than making coffee, but… coffee! She didn’t need another reason.

 

After that, the two moved on to painting. If the man was an unpacking angel, he was a frakking painting saint. He could tape a room faster than Ben Kenobi could cut off a hand. And he looked better than Alec Guinness while doing it.

 

Vic’s presence made the monotony of fixing up her house bearable, even if he had abominable taste in music. Who would’ve guessed a hunk like Vic would be into bubblegum pop from before he was born? ABBA, The Partridge Family, The Osmonds! She’d thought that music died in the 70s. When she’d suggested something else that came out in the 70s, like the Star Wars soundtrack, Vic had wrinkled his nose. Who wrinkled their nose at John Williams? John Williams was awesome!

 

But she had to admit, Vic shaking his ass to ‘Take a Chance on Me’ marginally made up for his terrible taste in music. Yep, she definitely had a Vic-ass-fetish.

 

As they finished her living room, Vic paused his phone and cleared his throat. “So, um, I’ve got something to ask you. You can say no if you want! You are under no obligation to say yes.”

 

Paige stared at him, trying to figure out what he was hinting at. Was he about to ask her out on a date? Did she want to date him?


Yes, her subconscious answered. An unqualified, holy hell, yes.

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