The very word gave him the bloody shakes. A loving companion, a family, happiness. Those weren’t in the cards for him. Not after he’d taken all that away from Niall.
Too bad his agent’s wacky mother didn’t know that.
“Problem solved.” Mrs. Hilbert punctuated her declaration with a saucy wink.
Her companion, on the other hand, remained wide-eyed and mute. Blue eyes, the color of the cornflowers in his gran’s window boxes, studied him overtly. Potent arousal flickered within their depths before she quickly doused it. Not surprising. He was used to that look from women.
What did surprise him was the swift crackle of awareness that traveled up his spine when their gazes clashed. This woman was so far from his type it was almost laughable. Slim and petite, with a slender chin and pixie-like ears to go with her doe eyes, she was more like one of those wee highland fairies his little sister was always searching for in the garden, right down to the pink hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.
“Actually,” Kurt was saying. “That’s not a bad idea. It could work.”
Dex opened his mouth to object, but the fairy beat him to it.
“Whoa, hold on just one minute.” She jumped from her seat. “I came in here for legal advice.” Those blue eyes grew even wider as her gaze frantically darted around the room. “Sure, my situation may be a little dire, but not dire enough to marry some dude who’s aged out of a boy band.”
Not dire enough to marry who? What the bloody hell did she mean by that? Someone needed to inform the little pixie that women had actually proposed to him, thank you very much. And what was this bullshit behind her ‘boy band’ insult?
“What did you just call me?” he demanded.
She gestured to his plaid. “Halloween is two months away, Jamie Fraser. If you’re not in a boy band, what’s up with the skirt?” Her eyebrows went up a fraction. “Unless you work at one of those strip clubs. In that case, no way am I marrying a man who spends more time getting waxed than I do.”
A low growl escaped the back of his throat as he took a step closer to her. “How many times do I have to tell you Sassenachs? It’s not a bloody skirt!”
“Fireworks already.” Mrs. Hilbert clapped her hands together with glee. “This is going to be one passionate marriage.”
USA Today bestselling author Tracy Solheim writes books with shirtless men on the cover. Some of them are actually best-sellers. The books, not the men. When she’s not writing, she’s practicing her curling. . . bottles of wine, that is. She’s been known to cook dinner but no more than two nights in a row. Most days, she’d rather be reading, which to her is just necessary research. She lives in the suburbs of Atlanta with her husband and a neurotic Labrador retriever. Her two adult children visit but not often enough. (See the note above about cooking.) Check out her romantic suspense series featuring the Men of the Secret Service–shirtless, of course! See what she’s up to at www.tracysolheim.com