by Nicole Snow
Accidental Hero
A Marriage Mistake Romance
Nicole Snow
Ice Lips Press
Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
First published in May, 2018.
Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.
Please respect this author's hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!
Cover Design – CoverLuv. Photo by Wander Aguiar Photography.
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Note: This special edition includes two more full length alpha male romances, Surprise Daddy and Stepbrother UnSEALed. Accidental Hero is a full length novel and ends at about 30%. Enjoy!
Contents
Description
1. Walking Masterpiece (Izzy)
2. Paint It All Blue (Brent)
3. Spaghetti Night (Izzy)
4. Blank Check (Brent)
5. Thrill of the Chase (Izzy)
6. Surprise, Surprise (Brent)
7. Flirting With Disaster (Izzy)
8. Show and Tell (Brent)
9. Show Me (Izzy)
10. While It Lasts (Brent)
11. Elephant in the Room (Izzy)
12. Dark Formula (Brent)
13. Mixed Up (Izzy)
14. Cross-Bones (Brent)
15. Chasing Ghosts (Izzy)
16. Fires Above and Below (Brent)
Surprise Daddy
Description
1. Morning Glory (Sadie)
2. Little Red Riding Hood (Marshal)
3. Bossypants (Sadie)
4. Lost Again (Marshal)
5. Happy New Year (Sadie)
6. Repercussions (Marshal)
7. Cascade (Sadie)
8. Inspiration (Marshal)
9. Cast Aside (Sadie)
10. Setup (Marshal)
11. Gaps (Sadie)
12. Growling Closer (Marshal)
13. Guide the Way (Sadie)
14. Common Ground (Marshal)
15. Happily Ever One (Sadie)
Stepbrother UnSEALed
Description
1. Bastards and Beach Bums (Delia)
2. On Target (Chris)
3. Truth or Dare (Delia)
4. Landmines (Chris)
5. Over a Ledge (Delia)
6. What Happens in Vegas... (Chris)
7. One Week in Paradise (Delia)
8. Under the Skin (Chris)
9. Unforgettable (Delia)
10. Unnatural (Chris)
11. Distortions (Delia)
12. Sweet Delia (Chris)
13. Alone (Delia)
14. Hearts That Bleed Together (Chris)
15. His (Delia)
Man Enough Extended Preview
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Description
Accidentally engaged. Then he dared me to make it real.
It was one freaking kiss with a stranger.
I wasn't looking for a hero the day Brent Eden charged into my life.
He saw a damsel in distress facing humiliation.
We played pretend. Swore I was his. Baited sweet chaos.
Blew apart everything.
My dating disaster? Gone.
Our kiss? Electric. Divine. Toe-curling.
His mistake? Oh, boy.
Dropping the ultimate F-bomb: fiancé.
Especially when my gossipy cousin tells the whole family.
Forget how he's badass personified.
The ink. The leather. The abs. The smirk.
The lightning eyes and the growl I can't resist.
Nothing changes the fact that he's my favorite student's father.
I'm risking it all for this charade. And I'm losing.
The closer we get, the deeper I fall.
The louder he vows to protect me.
The more we come undone.
Even my questions have questions.
What if I'm not the only one who needs saving?
What if our marriage mistake gets way too real?
1
Walking Masterpiece (Izzy)
I have to bite my lip at how the silence excites me.
This is exactly what I’ve dreamed about for years. A room full of talent. Bright eyes and young souls eager to impress, bleeding creativity.
Every student deep in concentration, glancing towards the drawing on the easel next to my desk only long enough to confirm the next swoosh of their pencil. I hadn’t known what to expect when I accepted this position, other than it would bring me one step closer to my goal. Plus a little more money.
Oh, and it's the perfect escape from the weekly family dinners. Losing those gossip-fests is worth more than the income boost any job brings.
Working with this room full of remarkable young artists is way more fun than listening to mom's tongue-in-cheek 'encouragement.'
Or entertaining cousin Clara's dire warnings about how I'm destined to wind up with a house full of cats and die in my eighties, still a virgin.
That’s my future. Isabella Derby. AKA crazy cat lady.
The fact that my family believes that’s the path I’m on and insists on reminding me so often never fails to piss me off. No matter how many times I hear it.
This is the twenty-first century. Supposedly. I don’t even own a cat, and I’m twenty-three.
Twenty. Three.
Not fifty-three, and pining about what might have been. I have years before I need to worry about getting married. I have ambitions. Always have.
If only everyone else in my life would see that and leave me the hell alone.
If only they'd notice accomplishments besides landing men and wracking up babies.
“Ms. Derby?”
I rise from my chair and walk around my desk, happy to have something else to focus on besides my sad, nosy relatives.
Stopping next to her, I look down at the girl and smile. “Yes, Natalie?”
She’s what some would call a child prodigy. Only ten, she has the talent of some people five times her age. Not just in fine arts either.
Her enrollment papers says she’s in eighth grade. Most kids her age are still fourth graders. I kneel next to her. “What's up?”
She gestures to my drawing at the front of the room. “Um, I just noticed...the dog you drew doesn’t have any eyelashes.” Her shy voice comes out in a whisper. “Is it all right if I add some on mine?”
“Of course! Your personal muse is always welcome in this class.” I look at the drawing on her easel, picturing exaggerated Minnie Mouse eyelashes.
Wrong idea.
My breath literally stalls in my lungs at the detail in her creation. This little girl wouldn't be caught dead making anything unrealistic. The collie she’s drawn looks like it's ready to leap into the room. Just like everything she does.
It's more like a black and white photo than a drawing. Especially one done by a child.
Every feathery line she's sketched brings the dog to life in ways I can’t even describe.
Hell, it's almost better than mine. And it took me a Master's degree and years practicing to get where I am.
I glance between her dog and mine. Forget almost.
Hers is far better. A masterpiece.
I choke up as I wa
tch the eyes on her dog come to life as she carefully pencils in a few soft lashes. “Keep going. You’re doing a great job!”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
The way she’s biting the tip of her tongue demonstrates how fully she’s concentrating. I smile again, then stand, making a round of the whole room.
Only six students here this evening. The others are all high school kids. Natalie’s dad had to pull some strings to get her into this class, meant for kids at least in their freshmen year.
That’s what I was told. Since this is my first year with the district, I’m as unfamiliar with the students and their families as I am with the staff. That'll change in time, I'm sure. We’re only three weeks into the school year.
The other five drawings look much like I expect. They demonstrate passion and promise, but honestly, there isn’t another one that comes anywhere close to Natalie’s.
I wonder if her talent comes from her father. The man I try hard not to think about every time she steps foot in my class.
If the last two weeks are anything to go by, he’ll be here soon. A good twenty minutes before class ends. He'll stand in the back of the room with a spiral notebook, open it up, and let his big, rough hands touch the paper.
The first night, I thought he was making a list or notes. But last week, I had a strong feeling he was drawing. Sketching right along with his daughter and the rest of the class.
We’d started the dog last week, drawing the base after I'd gone over my quick anatomy lesson for animals. Tonight, I showed the students how to make the fur have shades of white, black, and gray.
A small, senseless part of me wonders if Natalie's dad will join in without even hearing my lesson. An even crazier part wants to see his drawing.
It could be a masterpiece like hers.
He certainly is. And that's the problem.
Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding is every forbidden male archetype stuffed into one ripped package.
Mysteriously sexy by default. Imposing by gravity. Protective by virtue.
He's the kind of man I'd love to bring to a family dinner.
Just once.
That’s all it would take. He'd render Clara speechless and end mom's needless sympathy looks in one blow. He'd shut them down and then some.
Every Derby woman would be too busy gasping for breath and fanning themselves to give me any crap.
Honestly, I know the feeling. It was my reaction the first time he walked in. And the second.
At least I hid it well.
The military patches on his black leather jacket were no surprise. He has that air.
Straight back, chest forward, chin up. Disciplined. Hard.
Every move he makes, every glance, has a purpose.
Remember what I said? Every forbidden archetype.
The ones good girls are warned about, but never stay away from.
God. I shouldn't be having these thoughts.
Not about a student's father. He's probably married. And if he isn't, why the hell not?
But I didn't see a mother listed on Natalie’s emergency contacts. That makes me feel slightly less guilty about the impure thoughts stirring in my head. It also concerns me.
I hope she isn’t being pushed beyond her limits. Flogged on to greatness by a headstrong father who believes his child should succeed in everything, no matter the cost.
I know the burden.
Just as I arrive back at my desk, the hair on the back of my neck tingles. It's almost like there's a sixth sense before the Walking Masterpiece shows up. I close my eyes briefly, preparing myself for the sight I’ll see after the door creaks open.
My heart jackhammers by the time I turn around, air stalling in my lungs.
Right on time. Sure as shit.
It’s him.
Brent Eden. His hair is the same wavy black as his daughter’s. Natalie has his eyes, too.
Emerald green.
His are colder, though. More seasoned. More cautious.
His features add to his presence. A tiny faded scar here, an inked muscle there, a calloused hand. Things a normal person wouldn't notice unless they're gawking at him like me.
Beautifully rough finishes for a man cut from Heaven's most twisted fabric.
The thick trimmed beard circling his jaw must feel as dangerous as it looks. Delicious torture on any woman’s skin. Especially mine since it’s as virgin as the rest of me.
Fucking-A. Last week's after-dinner talk with Clara clearly messed with my mind.
Left me focused on things I’ve never worried over before. Namely, finding a man to take home to mother. And maybe to bed while we're at it.
What the hell am I doing? I pinch my thigh. Ogling a man who's nothing but trouble, apparently.
He eases the door shut and quietly moves along the back wall, taking the exact same spot where he’s stood the past two weeks. Leaning against a desk, he unclips a pen from his notebook's cover and then flips it open.
Look away, Izzy.
I sense he’ll look up any second. Naturally, I can’t. It's like someone telling you to not think about a pink elephant.
There’s too much gorgeous mystery in front of me. Too much temptation.
The heat rushing to my cheeks tells me I’ve been caught staring even before my eyes travel all the way up to meet his. Damn!
“Ms. Derby?”
Tad Gomez calls my name, one of the older students, but a snail could beat me turning around.
Brent’s gaze is intense. Heated. Almost like he's challenging me not to look away.
I'm not a daring person. I just don't want to lose this staring contest. But duty calls.
Lifting a brow, I rip my gaze off his, and scuttle towards Tad’s seat.
I'm grateful for the few seconds I have to find my voice. “Having trouble?”
“Yes, ma'am. I can’t get the nose to look 3-D. Not like yours.”
I point towards Tad’s drawing, which is good, but as he said, a little flat. “It's the angle. Here, let me show you.”
He nods, handing me his pencil. I lightly outline how to angle the nose downward in order to give it depth. “See? One little change works like magic.”
“Yes, Ms. Derby. Yes, I do. Thanks!” He takes his pencil back and continues filling in the outline.
“Light strokes, remember. They'll flesh it out even more.”
Barely touching the paper with the edge of his pencil, he nods bashfully. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Tad. Keep it up. You're off to an awesome start.”
He pushes his thick glasses up his nose. “I really like this class, Ms. Derby.”
Such a sweet boy. How could I do anything but smile? “We all do.”
The door squeaks again. This time, it’s Ester Oden’s mother. She works as a custodian at the school and stays late in order to drive Ester home after class. I smile at her as I make my way around the room, checking on the progress of each student, offering a helpful hint and words of encouragement.
It feels good to do my job. And to find a perfect distraction from the man I shouldn't be staring at.
“Five more minutes,” I say, once I'm back at my desk.
There are no audible groans, but I can sense each student’s disappointment, knowing this week’s class is almost over. I’m honored they don't want to leave.
This, right here, is the reason I sunk a lot of time and money into getting my credentials. It's why I spent years doing every part time job in the known universe. It's what I've dreamed about, working at the most prestigious academy in the Phoenix area.
“Ms. Derby?”
“Yeah, Ben?” I reply. Ben Pritchard is a typical teenager. Tall, thin, and a bad case of acne.
“Is it all right if I snap a picture of your drawing at the end of class so I can work on mine later?” he asks, holding up his cell phone.
“Go for it! But no Snapchat filters on me, and you'd better believe I'm watching. Only warning I'll give.” I bite my lip and sh
ake my finger, making them laugh.
I nod towards the others in the class and step out of the way, assuring them they can all take pictures. I hear the digital click-click-click of their phones and a few snickers.
Then my gaze, all on its own, drifts to the back of the room. Brent's head is down this time, thankfully.
He's sketching again. Furiously.
I have a different reason to bite my lip. This time, not so playfully.
There's something admirable in his focus. Something sexy.
I'm waiting for him to look up, after the older kids are done taking pics. At ten, I doubt Natalie has a cell phone. I assume he’ll want to get a picture for her.
He never looks up, though. Never throws his eyes my way. Even though I sense him wanting to behind his determined, subtle smirk.
I suck a deep breath and hold it, hoping it eases the heat coursing through my system. I glance at the clock and then smile at my students. “Okay, guys and gals! Time to start putting your stuff away. Please bring your completed drawing back to class next week.”
Every student, except Natalie, finishes taking pictures of my drawing, either before or after they’ve packed up their belongings. While saying goodbye to each of them, I start gathering my things, too, but leave the drawing on the easel.
