From Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow comes a heart-wrenching, steamy, and laugh out loud funny standalone romance where one growly Romeo puts everything on the line to save his fake fiancée.

He never bothered with hello.
The shrieking hot stranger had me dizzy the instant he said we’re engaged.
Then he chased off the bully on our heels and dragged me back to his place for the night.
Pure insanity, right?

Wrong.
You don’t let pride do the talking when you’re homeless, on the run, and hauling around your sick father in a truck so old it must’ve been on Noah’s Ark.
You definitely don’t complain when Ridge Barnet takes charge.
(In)famous heartthrob. Stinking rich. Fed up owner of one angry rooster. Eyes set to permanent storm.

Of course, it doesn’t end there.
My unexpected Romeo doubles down on this ridiculous “fake fiancée” rescue scheme.
One blazing kiss shatters worlds.
I’m swept up in a small-town fairy tale, wishing I hadn’t lost my faith in wishes years ago.

He’s saving my life. Hero and done. Nothing more.
Prince Charmings don’t really marry pumpkin farmers from Wisconsin.
Give me strength.
Tell me his gaze doesn’t scream obsession.
Save me from his oh-so-believable growls.
Help me believe our little arrangement never, ever ends in “I do.”

Full-length romance novel with a Happily Ever After sure to blow some socks off. Two shattered hearts from opposite worlds find their forever. A damaged heartthrob takes control, lays claim, and protects his sassy stray.

“Thanks, lady. You’re a lifesaver. I just wanted to drop by and say thanks for the Midas touch. You turned junk into gold.”

Her eyes ignite, twinkling pearl-blue stars as she laughs.

“Better not use the j-word around Tobin.”

“Already screwed that up a few times. I’m a better looker than I am a talker when it comes to furnishings, I guess.” I cock my head, mesmerized by her pretty face.

I can’t pull my eyes off her. She’s more than just this sweet wisp of a woman.

She’s adorable, natural, curves in the right places and a heart that never quits. The urge to kiss her, lay down the law on that strawberry-shaped mouth, hits me like a raging bull.

Hell.

It’s not just her junk-fixing skills I’m thinking about. The thought of doing more than just kissing hits my junk hard.

It’s been awhile, yeah, but I’m not so blue in the balls I’ve turned into an antique myself just yet.

“Um, thanks again. I’m really glad you like it.” She breaks eye contact, glancing at the cabin. “I…I have to get inside, Ridge. Dad’s in the bath, and I told him not to get out until I was inside, in case he’s unstable.”

I don’t want her to go. “He felt good enough to take a bath?”

“Yep, he insisted.” Her chest plumps and then shallows again with obvious relief.

Holy melons. The things I’d love to do to those lush, palm-sized, maddeningly perky—

“Hold up. I’ll come with, see if he needs any help.” It just flies out of me.

I had to say something so I could get my fool brain unglued from her chest.

She grasps my arm. “No. He wouldn’t want that.”

She’s right. Seeing an old man in the buff isn’t my idea of fun, either, but I’m not ready to let her go.

“Grace…”

“Night, Ridge,” she says, releasing my arm and quick-stepping her way back to the guesthouse. “Let’s talk more tomorrow about the designs.”

Damn it. It’s like she can sense the heat ray shooting out of my pants.

The fact that I can’t remember the last time a girl walked away when I was this riled just makes me want her ass under me even more.

But I can’t chase after her. Not tonight. Not ever.

Fuck, chase her? What am I even thinking?

I’ve never chased down a woman in my life, and I sure as hell don’t plan to start with a girl who needs more complications in her life like a hole through the head.

Sighing, I spin around and walk back to the house where I spend one of the most miserable nights of my life with balls bluer than Huckleberry Hound.