by Lauren Layne
Copyright © 2016 Lauren LeDonne
Extract from Blurred Lines copyright © 2015 Lauren LeDonne
Cover image © Abel Mitja Varela/Getty Images
The right of Lauren Layne to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Published by arrangement with Loveswept,
a member of Random House,
a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York
First published in this Ebook edition in 2016
by HEADLINE ETERNAL
An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4722 3630 2
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise for Lauren Layne
By Lauren Layne
About the Book
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
An enticing excerpt from Blurred Lines
Find out more about Headline Eternal
About the Author
Lauren Layne is the USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. In 2011, she and her husband moved from Seattle to New York City, where Lauren decided to pursue a full-time writing career. It took six months to get her first book deal (despite ardent assurances to her husband that it would only take three). Since then, Lauren’s gone on to multiple books including the bestselling Stiletto series, with more sexy stories on the way!
Lauren currently lives in Chicago with her husband and spoiled Pomeranian. When not writing, you’ll find her at happy hour, running at a doggedly slow pace, or trying to straighten her naturally curly hair.
Join Lauren at www.laurenlayne.com to get news on her latest books, or keep up to date with her on Twitter: @_LaurenLayne and Facebook: www.facebook.com/LaurenLayneAuthor.
Praise for Lauren Layne’s irresistible romance:
‘Fun, sexy, and sharp as a spike heel’ Ruthie Knox, New York Times bestselling author
‘I absolutely adored this outstanding story’ Sandi Lynn, New York Times bestselling author
‘My kind of book, sexy and witty, and the banter between the characters is off the charts. You’ll fall in love with their chemistry from page one’ Sidney Halston, USA Today bestselling author
‘Lauren Layne is the queen of fun and sexy all rolled into one. She knows how to write smart and hilarious characters that I want to read over and over again’ Cassie Mae, bestselling author of Doing It For Love
‘A raw, no-holds-barred portrayal of two best friends making the choice to become lovers… the best I’ve ever read!’ The Romance Reviews
‘Fresh and fast-paced…a perfect escape/comfort read, and guaranteed to cheer a girl up when she’s feeling down’ Unquietly Me
‘Layne is one of the best authors writing today and I was reminded of that as I read this book… It was hot and sexy and sweet. I laughed and shrieked and cried, exactly what I want from a book’ Obsessed with Romance
By Lauren Layne
Oxford Series
Irresistibly Yours
I Wish You Were Mine
Someone Like You
Blurred Lines
About the Book
A year ago, Jackson Burke was married to the love of his life and playing quarterback for the Texas Redhawks. Now he’s retired, courtesy of the car accident that ruined his career – and single, after a nasty scandal torpedoed his marriage. Just as he’s starting to get used to his new life as a health and fitness columnist for Oxford magazine, his unpredictable ex shows up on his doorstep in Manhattan. Jackson should be thrilled. But he can’t stop thinking about the one person who’s always been there for him, the one girl he could never have: her younger sister.
Mollie Carrington can’t say no to Madison. After all, her older sister practically raised her. So when Madison begs for help in winning her ex-husband back, Mollie’s just glad she got over her own crush on Jackson ages ago – or so she thought. Because as Mollie reconnects with Jackson, she quickly forgets all her reasons to stay loyal to her sister. Tempted by Jackson’s mellow drawl and cowboy good looks, Mollie is sick and tired of coming in second place. But she can’t win if she doesn’t play the game.
Want more fun, fresh, flirty and very sexy rom-com? Check out all the titles in the Oxford series: Irresistibly Yours, Playing For Keeps and Someone Like You.
Can a guy and a girl really be ‘just friends’? You won’t want to miss Lauren Layne’s sexy take on this timeless question in Blurred Lines.
To my assistant, Lisa Filipe, for the long, sometimes thankless hours you put into “the stuff” so that I can live in my imagination, writing the books. I’m so grateful.
Acknowledgments
For a gal who’s never watched a Super Bowl and has no idea when football season starts, I was a little surprised to find that my creative muse was dead set on telling a story about a former football player. I was even more surprised when the muse informed me that this hero fell for his horrible ex-wife’s little sister.
Tricky, much?
The end result, though, is a love story equal parts sexy and sweet, about two people who are absolutely meant for each other in spite of their tricky beginnings.
This, of course, leads me right to the number one person who helped me craft the story from its jumble of words into a cohesive love story: the one and only Sue Grimshaw, who’s become so in tune with my voice over the past couple years that she seems to literally read my mind and nudge me in the right direction.
Thanks as always to the copyediting team, especially Janet Wygal, who should be nominated for sainthood for her patience with the tiniest of details.
And how about a shout-out to Ashleigh Heaton and Erika Seyfried, who are legit wizards at creating buzz on a book.
For the rest of the Loveswept team, I’ll confess to not knowing exactly what you do, but that makes it all the more magical. And
appreciated.
Next on my list of shout-outs is my agent, Nicole Resciniti, who never complains when I send her panicked late-night texts about writer’s block, deadline freak-outs, or some manic new story idea that I want to write immediately.
Lisa, my darling assistant, whose excitement for this book inspired me so much.
My parents, who were supremely tolerant about me locking myself in their guest room while finishing edits on this very story.
And lastly, Anth, who no longer bats an eye when the first words out of my mouth in the morning are about fictional men.
To everyone else for your support of me, and for this story, my gratitude.
XOXO,
LL
Prologue
Mollie Carrington was twenty the first time she fell in love.
She’d had crushes before, obviously.
One did not survive high school without at least a handful of those sweaty-palmed, what-if-he-talks-to-me moments. And college, thus far, had even resulted in a couple of short-lived boyfriends.
But it wasn’t until she was twenty, dressed in a blush-colored bridesmaid gown at her sister’s wedding, that she fell really, truly in love.
It was a beautiful evening in late May. Of course it was; the sky wouldn’t dare release a raindrop on Madison Carrington’s wedding day.
The reception was being held at Raven’s Lodge—a sprawling estate with lush green foliage, fragrant flowers, and more twinkle lights than the mall at Christmas.
But while the rest of the wedding guests were gathered under a massive white tent singing along with the band’s rendition of “Oh What a Night,” Mollie had found her way to a quiet bench next to a small fountain where a stone mermaid seemed to be spouting water from her . . . breasts? Was that right?
Mollie was peering closer trying to figure out what the heck was going on with this poor mermaid when a male voice came from behind her.
“A little old to just now be getting curious about the female body, aren’t you?”
Mollie jumped, putting a hand over her thumping chest as she turned and saw him.
She should be used to his good looks by now, but Jackson Burke wasn’t just run-of-the-mill good-looking. No, he was underwear-model, sexiest-man-alive, face-of-the-NFL gorgeous.
At twenty-seven, he had all the cockiness of a star quarterback in his prime but with just enough life experience under his belt to have a quietness to his confidence. As though he was barely aware of his Super Bowl rings or the magazine covers or the modeling contracts.
But Mollie was aware. Heck, all women were aware.
Jackson Burke was six feet three inches of perfect man. His light brown hair was just a little bit long and effortlessly wavy. The hazel eyes were fringed by unfairly long, dark lashes. A strong jaw had just the slightest cleft. And there was the dimple. Just to the left of his mouth, there was a tiny little dimple that flickered when he grinned, hinting at an easygoing sense of humor underneath all the testosterone.
Not that Mollie had been studying him or anything.
And if she’d thought the man was dangerous in a football uniform, he was positively lethal in a tux.
Jackson tilted his head to the side with a little smile, and Mollie winced as she realized she’d been staring.
Sitting back, Mollie pointed at the fountain. “The water’s coming out of her breasts. It makes no sense.”
Her face promptly flooded with heat when she realized what she’d said, but instead of laughing, Jackson merely leaned forward to get a better look.
He stood back and nodded solemnly. “So it is. Maybe the lactation made her mermaid shells uncomfortable, so she got rid of them.”
Mollie let out a surprised laugh that Jackson Burke, starting quarterback for the Texas Redhawks, had just uttered the word “lactation.”
He winked and held out one of the two glasses of champagne he was holding.
She hesitated a moment, and Jackson grinned. “I won’t tell your sister if you won’t tell her I’m providing champagne to a minor.”
“I’ll be twenty-one next month,” she said, accepting the champagne.
“Yeah?” He jerked his chin toward a spot on the bench next to her, and she scooted over.
He sat beside her, and although there were several respectable inches separating them, Mollie could feel him. It had been like that for a while now—this strange awareness of the man.
She tried to tell herself that it was just normal starstruck nonsense; that plenty of females felt this way around a man whose face was on everything from ESPN to E! to GQ ads.
But when he was this close, with just the two of them and a topless, lactating mermaid, it felt like so much more of a crush.
It felt dangerous. Forbidden.
“I thought I might find you out here,” he said quietly as he took a sip of his own champagne.
Mollie snuck a look out of the corner of her eye. He’d come looking for her? She hadn’t thought anyone had noticed she’d slipped away.
“I messed up the toast,” she said quietly.
“Nah,” he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him and slouching down a bit to get comfortable. “Just think how many people you educated on the mating ritual of parasitic worms. They should be thanking you.”
Mollie groaned. “It was supposed to be romantic. I did a paper about them for my systematics and biotics diversity final. They’re unusual because they’re bonded for life. Most organisms sleep around or, you know, the male dies after mating—”
Jackson winced, and Mollie wished she could wither and die just like a male bee.
Mollie knew she had lots of useless trivia in her head, but she didn’t normally go spouting it out like this. Not that she was a smooth talker or anything, but she was usually pretty quiet and normal, if a bit nerdy.
But tonight she felt . . . off. Starting with the fact that the dress Madison had picked for her was the exact color of Mollie’s complexion, so she looked like a mole rat. And then there was the fact that she’d tripped a bit as she’d been going down the aisle, courtesy of the five-inch stilettos her sister had insisted on.
Add in an awkward maid-of-honor speech where she’d gone on for a good five minutes about Schistosoma mansoni worms and how they mated for life, just like the bride and groom, and . . . oh God. Why had nobody stopped her?
Mollie scrunched down on the bench with a moan as she took a sip of champagne. “Madison’s going to kill me.”
Madison was in a mood anyway. She’d been a bridezilla from the moment Jackson had put a ring on it, but Mollie had figured when the actual day came around, her sister would relax.
Nope.
She’d been pissed about the flowers being ivory instead of true white to match her dress. Had bitched about the fact that Lily, one of her bridesmaids, had styled her hair in a way that was too close to the bride’s style.
Then Madison had vented about how the bracelet Jackson’s mother had shyly presented as Maddie’s “something old” was dumpy.
That one had gotten under Mollie’s skin. Mrs. Burke was the closest thing to a mother that either of them had. Their own mother had died of an overdose years ago, and Mollie would have given a kidney to have a surrogate as lovely and kind as Jackson’s mom.
“Maddie won’t kill you,” Jackson said, putting an arm around the back of the park bench and smiling down at her. “She loves you, even if she doesn’t get your whole triple-major, science-camp vibe.”
Mollie withheld a snort. That was an understatement. She loved her sister, but the closest Madison ever got to science was her monthly chemical peel.
Still, Mollie felt a fierce need to make sure that Jackson Burke knew she was an adult. “I’m twenty. I do not go to science camp.”
He lifted an eyebrow, and Mollie pointed her champagne flute at him. “Okay, I used to go to science camp. But I’m not the one who used the word ‘lactation’ in relation to a mermaid.”
“Hey, you’re not the only one who t
ook bio in college.”
“But you were a communications major. Journalism,” she said.
He gave her a surprised look, and Mollie looked away, mentally kicking herself. That was exactly what Jackson Burke didn’t need—another groupie stalker.
She snuck another glance and saw that he’d slumped even farther, matching her own crappy posture, and Mollie was surprised to see that he looked . . . exhausted.
“Are you okay?” she asked. Because she couldn’t not ask. Not after she’d seen the weariness around his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders.
Jackson turned his head so their eyes locked and he frowned before returning his attention to the mermaid. “Nobody ever asks me that.”
Her heart squeezed at the lost note in his voice. It was strange to think of someone as big and important as Jackson Burke being lonely, but somehow . . . somehow she knew he was. Even here, among all these people, he was somehow alone. Apart.
Like her.
“Let’s just say that it’s been a long day,” he said quietly. “A long year, really. But yeah—yeah, I’m okay. I’m great.”
He gave her a half grin, and Mollie smiled back even as she got the sense that he was trying to convince himself as much as her. Why else would Jackson Burke be out here with her staring at a mermaid fountain when there were five hundred guests, most of whom were far more interesting than her, waiting for his attention?
“What do you think—should we get back before they miss us?”
“Miss you, you mean.” Mollie frowned down at her nearly empty champagne glass. It was making her feel warm and fuzzy—and making her say things she shouldn’t.
“Hey now.” He moved his knee to the side so it nudged hers. “None of that. I missed you.”
She shook her head. “Yeah, well, I suspect you’re just uncommonly nice.”
He laughed at that. “Mollie, hon, please don’t tell anyone that. You’ll kill my reputation.”
They were quiet a moment longer, both staring at the mermaid and her weird water-spouting nipples. Neither moved.
Mollie knew why she didn’t want the moment to end. But why was he still here?
