About the Book
Loving him was hard. Wanting him was so damn easy . . .
Sofia Mercer may have been sick as a teen, but she’s no delicate flower. And she’s proven it by making it on her own and starting a new life away from the town that turned against her, away from the boy who broke her already fragile heart. But when her aunt Luz dies unexpectedly, leaving Sofia with a mountain of regrets and the keys to a quirky boutique, Sofia has no choice but to return to Cape Cod. Only, this new life in her old town comes with complications.
Burke Wolf was Sofia’s first love—a relationship that burned bright and went up in flames. Seeing him again, Sofia can’t help but get caught up in that all-too-familiar tornado of passion and pain. He’s battled his own demons—that much is clear. But Sofia can’t afford to be careless with her heart . . . and loving Burke again might just break it completely.
“Sofia, what’s going on in that filthy mind of yours? You comparing my instrument to his when you haven’t even seen mine?”
“I’m saying I have a nice, well-rounded life. Sooner or later I’ll settle down with a guy who’s nice and well rounded and stable.”
“I thought you had that already.” A second floated by before he realized he’d spoken aloud. He found her studying him, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“Over the years…I, uh, I thought about you once or twice.” A dozen times. Hundreds. Even that might be a conservative guess. It’d been next to impossible to carve her out when she was rooted so deeply in every element of his existence. “I didn’t ask Luz. I put a picture together of you with some good guy.”
“A good guy?”
“Somebody who’d keep you safe. Somebody who didn’t make you cry—who got you to laugh or at least smile. You’ve got a crooked smile. And I, uh, I figured that good guy would get to see your smile every night. I’ve hated him for years.”
“You’ve been hating someone who doesn’t exist.” There was her familiar, sweet smile, peeking out of hiding for him. “I dated. I have exes—lots of exes. But a good guy didn’t come along, Burke.”
“What about your cellist?”
She hesitated, and her smile disappeared. The brightness between them dimmed. It was as if a jealous cloud had obscured the sun. “He’s nice. Uncomplicated. He took my mind off you.”
“Were you thinking about him when you told me to imagine pouring wax on your naked body?”
She started to get up and he thought she might stomp off in a fit. But she put her sandwich on a paper towel and set it aside, then crawled in front of him. “He kissed me, after our date.”
“Okay. Did you want more?”
“When he kissed you, did you want more?”
Defiance slid across her eyes, then uncertainty and regret in quick succession. “I don’t remember.”
“Then he didn’t do it right. He didn’t kiss you right. If he had, you’d remember what you felt and what you wanted, and for damn sure you wouldn’t be alone in this place with me.” And the dumbass that he was, Burke spread out his legs and folded his hands on her arms to draw her closer. “C’mere and let me show you.”
“You’re not going to kiss me.”
“You already know what to say to get me to back off. Don’t forget, though, the last time you thought about telling me to leave, you said I smell so fucking good.” He barely touched her now. “But if you want me to walk, I will.”
Sofia’s tempting lips slid against each other like two lush, slick bodies. “I taste like mustard.”
“So do I. It was a good sandwich.” He leaned forward, not kissing her but coasting his hand down the line of her back to grab her ass. “Put your hands on me, baby.”
“I’m not your baby. I’m not yours.”
“You will be.” It was neither a request nor a threat. It was fact—naked, bold, and yet vulnerable. “When I touch you and all you care about is how my mouth and hands are making you feel? You’re mine.”
A squeeze of his hand and she planted her palms on his shoulders and seemed to collapse into him, her mouth settling on his.
Finding Sofia’s flavor beneath the spice of mustard and the tang of dill was a game for his tongue. They were tangled, with her kneeling between his thighs and his hands working into the silk of her hair.
“If I’m kissing you right, you should want me to lift your hair and lick down your neck,” he said. “You want that?”
He complied, stopping at the high collar of her tank top. “If I’m still doing this right, you should want me to taste these goose bumps on your arms. Do you?”
About the Author
Lisa Marie Perry encounters difficult fictional men and women on a daily basis. She writes sizzling, deep fiction featuring flawed heroes brought to their knees by the love of complicated women. She has received high praise from USA Today and has been nominated for an RT Book Reviews literary award. She lives in America's heartland, drives a truck, enjoys indie rock, collects Medieval literature, watches too many comedies, has a not-so-secret love for lace and adores rugged men with a little bit of nerd.
For laughs, randomness and occasional inappropriateness, visit LMP at www.perrytalebooks.com.