Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta Coming Home To Crimson. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta Coming Home To Crimson. Mostrar todas las entradas
Coming Home To Crimson by Michelle Major
“We’re not friends. We’re not going to be friends.”
No, they’ll be so much more…
It is time to go back to Colorado in COMING HOME TO CRIMSON by Michelle Major
About COMING HOME TO CRIMSON
Escaping from a cheating fiancé in a “borrowed” car, Sienna Pierce can’t think of anywhere to go but Crimson, the hometown she swore she’d never go back to. And Crimson sheriff Cole Bennett has a lot at stake in keeping the town on an even keel. On the surface, they have nothing in common. Unfortunately, there is nothing superficial about their feelings for each other!
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Christmas on Crimson Mountain won the 2017 RITA for Short Contemporary Romance
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Read and exclusive excerpt from COMING HOME TO CRIMSON:
“I’m sorry, officer,” she said automatically, fanning her hand in front of her face. “I was having a bit of trouble taking off my jacket around the seatbelt. I’ll be more careful.”
“License and registration, ma’am.”
The rumbly voice gave her pause and she sat back, glancing up into the face of a man who could have been the direct descendent of some Wild West lawman. The firm set of his jaw and rugged good looks seemed like a throw back to the era of John Wayne, although he wore a modern law enforcement uniform of a beige button down and black tie, khaki pants and a gun clearly tucked into the holster at his waist.
The button clipped above his shirt pocket read ‘sheriff’. Okay then, the real deal.
And not feeling all that friendly if the tight line of his mouth was any indication. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored aviator sunglasses but imagined he was glaring at her.
“Of course,” she said and pulled her wallet out of the Louis Vuitton purse on the passenger seat.
“You know texting and driving is against the law,” he said as she handed him her driver’s license.
“I was having some sort of bizarre hot flash,” she blurted. “Not texting.” Even now she could feel the silk tank top clinging to her skin. “Anger induced, not hormonal,” she felt compelled to add, her cheeks flaming.
One thick brow lifted above the frame of his sunglasses, and Sienna resisted the urge to fidget.
“You were also driving twenty miles above the speed limit.”
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