Second Chance Charmer (Havenbrook Book 1)

by Brighton Walsh

  Aurora "Rory" Haven's life is in shambles. Her ex-husband's living with the woman he cheated with, her oldest daughter blames her for the divorce, and she's broke. To make ends meet, she partners with the too-young, way too hot local contractor she has absolutely no business fantasizing about.

  Nash King is working overtime so he can take over the family business. He doesn't need the distraction of his best friend's sister, but the hot-as-hell, pearl-clutching divorcée barrels her way into his everyday life. He's managed to ignore his attraction to her for a decade. What's another couple months?

  The summer heat and forced proximity has tempers flaring…and their chemistry sizzling. But Havenbrook's gossip mill is churning full-force, and the last thing Rory needs is everyone speculating over her crush on a man eight years her junior. Except crushing doesn't have anything on what's really going on…

  What would happen if the townspeople found out paint wasn't the only thing being stripped?

  Start reading Hometown Troublemaker now!

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from Hometown Troublemaker!

  HOMETOWN TROUBLEMAKER EXCERPT

  From the moment Rory had said yes via text last night, she’d questioned her sanity. What was she thinking, inviting a man like Nash King into her home—into her life—more than was absolutely necessary? She wasn’t thinking, and that was the problem.

  The trouble was, she couldn’t discuss her concerns with…anyone. It might’ve been something she confided in her best friend about, but her and Sarah Beth’s sharing days were over. As long as you didn’t count Rory’s ex-husband in the mix.

  She certainly couldn’t tell her sisters. They were already privy to her money troubles, to her ex-best friend and ex-husband’s betrayal, and to her strained relationship with her oldest daughter. How was she supposed to tell them that a man made her stupid on top of all that? And not just any man, but one she’d known his whole life? One she’d babysat.

  She shook her head and glanced over at the man in question. He looked like he’d stepped out of one of those inappropriate calendars they sold for charity—the blue-collar edition.

  July in Havenbrook meant near-hell levels of heat, and Rory’s place only had shoddy window air-conditioning units in the bedrooms. Which meant it was hotter than Satan’s armpit everywhere else in the house. Nash had lasted all of ten minutes inside before stripping off his shirt and getting right back to work. And Rory most certainly had not been staring at him every chance she’d gotten, trying to make out the individual designs of his tattoos.

  Currently, he stood clear on the other side of the kitchen with his tape measure out as he scrutinized her cabinets. He mouthed something to himself, then plucked the pencil from behind his ear to jot a note on a piece of scratch paper.

  He was so intense when he worked. So focused. So precise. What would it be like to have all that concentration directed solely at her?

  “What’re you thinkin’?” he asked.

  She snapped her eyes up to his, her cheeks flaming scarlet. Not only had he caught her gawking, but apparently, he was a mind reader too. That was just fantastic. “What?”

  He stared at her for a beat, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he tapped his outstretched tape measure on an upper cabinet. “In here. You gonna try to reuse these or get all new?”

  An exhale left her in a loud whoosh, and she nearly sagged against the wall in relief. “Oh, um, I’d like to save the money and just repaint them. If you think they’re salvageable?”

  “They’re in pretty good shape, so I think you’ll be okay.” He reeled in the tape measure and hooked it onto his tool belt.

  Leaning back against the counter, he crossed his arms over his gloriously hard and bare chest, his biceps bulging at the move. She’d had no idea men looked like him in real life. Heaven knew Sean hadn’t.

  “If you’d like, I can price out adding a short set above these so the cabinets go all the way to the ceiling. That way you can maximize your storage space since the room’s on the smaller side.”

  There was something really wrong with her when her knees went weak over a man talking to her about kitchen cabinets. Of course, it didn’t help when said man was downright indecent. Everything from his broad shoulders, to his cut biceps, to his corrugated abs, to that distracting trail of hair leading straight into his—

  She jerked her gaze away from his zipper. “That’d be great, thanks.” Without another word, she spun back around and continued attacking the wallpaper with a ferocity better suited for war.

  But this was war as far as Rory was concerned. A war between her traitorous body and her absolutely-knew-better mind.

  It was just a dumb infatuation, that was all. Rory’s libido was sick and tired of being shoved into the bottom drawer along with the pocket vibrator she should’ve thrown out—the one Nat had gotten her as a gag gift one Christmas. No doubt for the sole purpose of watching Rory lose her mind when she’d opened it.

  But, well, when your orgasms had only ever come by your own hand—despite having been married for more than a decade—sometimes it was nice to spice things up a bit. And keeping that little toy was a hell of a lot easier than worrying about ordering something new. How were those items packaged, anyway? Would it show up on her credit card bill? Did the shipping label spell out SEX TOYS in huge block letters for all the world to see?

  It made her heart leap into a gallop just thinking about what Edna would have to say about delivering something like that to one of the Havens. That woman was nice as could be but was a huge gossip, and the last thing Rory needed in her life was more of that directed at her.

  “I’m surprised you’re takin’ down the wallpaper,” Nash said from right beside her.

  Rory jumped, bracing herself against the wall so she didn’t totter off the chair. She’d done well so far today, making sure to keep a decent distance between them while they worked. And now he’d gone and shot it all to hell.

  He stood so close, she could feel the heat pouring off his body. What would all those hot muscles feel like under her hands? Or her mouth? The thought lit a match inside her, stoking a fire in her lower belly that hadn’t been kindled in far too long.

  With her standing on the chair, her breasts were nearly eye level with Nash, and absolutely nothing good would come of that. She was already primed, the apex of her thighs growing warm as her nipples tightened beneath the ridiculous excuse for a top she wore. Thankfully, she’d had enough forethought to don her most heavily padded bra so her body couldn’t give her away.

  “What?” she asked, not recalling a word of what he’d said.

  One side of his mouth lifted in a cocky grin, his eyes never leaving hers. “The wallpaper.” He tipped his head toward it. “I’m surprised you’re gettin’ rid of it.”

  That snapped her out of her stupor. The wallpaper in this house was horrendous and covered every square inch of it. Rainbows and lily pads and geometric shapes. No rhyme or reason to the designs at all, which was a nightmare in and of itself. Nothing went together, and it drove her absolutely mad. In the kitchen and dining area? The walls were covered from top to bottom with a farm scene, complete with barns and enough roosters to fill them.

  “I’m offended by that. Why in heaven’s name would you be surprised? It’s hideous.” She gestured toward the remaining paper on the wall. “Do I seem like the kind of woman who likes hideous things?”

  He shrugged. “Not really, no. I just figured eve
ry woman needs a good cock in the house.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know anything at all about a good cock.”

  It took her half a second before she realized what she’d said, and she whirled toward him on a gasp, the move upsetting her balance and sending her teetering toward Nash. Without missing a beat, he caught her before she could fall, but that might have been better than the current situation.

  His thick arms held her flush against his body, her feet dangling off the floor like she was nothing more than a rag doll. And why did the proof that he could manhandle her if he wanted send shivers up her spine?

  She rested her arms against the chest she’d been daydreaming about all morning. It was hard. And hot. And the light dusting of hair that covered it was so soft. Softer than she’d imagined. She knew that because she couldn’t still her fingers. They smoothed over his pecs, ran back and forth in an almost unconscious effort.

  All the while, he stared at her, his eyes dark with lust, his breath sweeping across her lips. And then, before she could blink, before she could push away or tell him to put her down, he inched his face forward. Slowly. So slowly there was absolutely no excuse for her allowing it to happen. Yet she did. She didn’t say a damn thing as she waited for Nash’s lips to touch hers.

  Start reading Hometown Troublemaker today!

  OTHER TITLES BY BRIGHTON WALSH

  Reluctant Hearts series

  INTERCONNECTED STAND-ALONES

  Caged in Winter

  Tessa Ever After

  Paige in Progress

  Our Love Unhinged

  Havenbrook series

  INTERCONNECTED STAND-ALONES

  Second Chance Charmer

  Hometown Troublemaker

  Pact with a Heartbreaker

  Captive series

  INTERCONNECTED STAND-ALONES

  Captive

  Exposed

  Stand-alone titles

  Dirty Little Secret

  Plus One

  Season of Second Chances

  The Neighbor

  HAVE YOU READ LONDON HALE?

  Filthy, taboo, smart erotic romance is what you get when Brighton Walsh and Ellis Leigh/Kristin Harte team up. Ready to set your e-reader on fire?

  MAY-DECEMBER ROMANCES

  Daddy’s Best Friend

  The DILF

  Nanny With Benefits

  OPPOSITES ATTRACT ROMANCES

  Sinner (formerly Sinful Temptation)

  Cuffed (formerly Sinful Attraction)

  Talk Dirty to Me (formerly Sinful Distraction)

  FRIENDS TO LOVERS ROMANCE

  Reunion

  ONE NIGHT STAND TO MORE ROMANCE

  Tapping That Asset

  TEACHER/STUDENT ROMANCE

  Seducing His Student

  STEPBROTHER’S BABY ROMANCE

  Knocking Her Up

  BILLIONAIRE BOSS ROMANCE

  Bedding the Billionaire

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book was more than a year in the making, and it was one of the hardest years of my life (and subsequently books of my career). Recently, The Fresh Prince made me aware of a pretty amazing quote by Rumi: “Set your life on fire, and seek those who fan your flames.” Or, in Philly terms, “Don’t be hanging with no jank-ass jokers that don’t help you shine.” No jank-ass jokers in my tribe, and I owe them my eternal gratitude.

  To Christina, your suggestion to set this in your little pocket of Mississippi was the best idea you’ve ever had (and you’ve had a lot), because it meant fiiiiiiiiiinally meeting in person, which was long overdue. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and that’s no exaggeration. I’m certain I would spend my days staring blankly at a white screen, because when I hit a snag or a block, you’re the first one I go to. And you always, always talk me through, usually while making me laugh. There’s no one I’d rather twin with than you.

  To Jeanette Grey, my CP, conference wife, SSLP, and 2050 Paris Partner, nine years we’ve been doing this, and I’m so glad we’re going through this wild, ridiculous madness that is publishing together. And that we finally got our shit together and coordinated our schedules enough to mesh so I could put my eyes on your pretty words again and vice versa. No matter how many books you’ve helped me through, you still manage to teach me something with every single one. You make me and my books better because of your input and guidance, and I love you for it.

  To my bitches, who not only fan my flames, but make it like a damn inferno in our group. Ann, Elizabeth, Ellis, Esher, Helen, Jen, Laura, Melly, and Suz, not a day goes by that you don’t make me laugh. What started as a one-time retreat with the hope we’d at least get along well enough to share a house for a few days blossomed into lifelong friendships. We’ve supported each other through triumphs and tragedies, and I’m so very thankful we somehow managed to find each other through some miracle of the universe. You’re the craziest, most beautiful, unique, and wonderful bunch of women I’ve ever known, and my days would be a hell of a lot more boring without you in them. Also, FYI: I call the Hannibal Lecter mask next year.

  To Ellis (yes, again), for being by my side over the past year as we traversed this weird, anxiety-inducing new world and decided fuck it, let’s write tropey smut. I had the most fun writing London books with you, and I honestly don’t know where I’d be or if this book even would’ve been completed if I hadn’t gone through that process. Thanks for writing blowies with me in Corner Bakery.

  To Mandy Hubbard, for your unwavering support in my career, no matter what path it takes.

  To Lisa Hollett, Editor Extraordinaire, thank you for your eagle eyes and suggestions to help make this book shine.

  To Nina Grinstead, thank you for your help, input, and guidance, not just on this book, but on my career as a whole.

  To the Brigaders, thank you for sticking with me as I took 2017 to be London Hale and set my books on the back burner. Thank you for hanging out in the group, for clamoring for my next release, and for being the best dirty-minded cheerleaders I know.

  Last but never least, to my guys. You each push me in your own ways to be and do better, and your support in my career is unfaltering. For that and so many other countless things, I love you. (More.) (The most.) (The supercalifragilisticexpialimostest.)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Brighton Walsh spent nearly a decade as a professional photographer before deciding to take her storytelling in a different direction and reconnect with her first love: writing. When she’s not pounding away at the keyboard, she’s probably either reading or shopping—maybe even both at once. She lives in the Midwest with her husband and two children, and, yes, she considers forty degrees to be hoodie weather. Her home is the setting for frequent dance parties, Lego battles, and more laughter than she thought possible.

  www.brightonwalsh.com

  brighton@brightonwalsh.com