“I ADORED every single second of this book.” ~Between The Bookends

“In true Ella Fox style I Don't is fan-freaking-tasting! It is intriguing, sexy and has a wonderful story.” ~Reader Review

“I Don’t is a steamy, suspenseful read.” ~Three Chicks

“It's Mr. Gretchen isn't it?” “Um, no,” Ben answered, “This is most definitely not Mr. Gretchen.” “Okayyy,” I drawled.  “You’re acting weird, so I have to assume it’s someone unusual. Is it the President? George Clooney? Oh, wait. I know.  It’s Channing Tatum.  If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a dozen times not to call me at work—" “Not even close. This man—he says he’s your fiancé.” My heart stopped beating for several seconds. When it started up again, I assured myself I was asleep. Yep, that had to be it.  I was having a nightmare. With my free hand, I pinched my thigh, wincing at the twinge of pain.  Dammit, I was awake. No, no, no, I chanted inwardly as I started to panic. I was nowhere near ready to deal with him. Surely he wouldn’t have tracked me down at work. With me gone, he should be living the bachelor life to the fullest, so busy dealing with his social calendar that thinking of me was impossible. I prayed that there was some kind of mistake or that whoever was on the phone wasn’t him. Maybe it was someone calling for another Ava. That could happen, right? “His voice,” I whispered. “Does he sound—” “Spanish?” Ben supplied. “Yeah.” I’d been about to ask if he sounded like a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, but Spanish told me what I needed to know.

“It's Mr. Gretchen isn't it?”
“Um, no,” Ben answered, “This is most definitely not Mr. Gretchen.”
“Okayyy,” I drawled. “You’re acting weird, so I have to assume it’s someone unusual. Is it the President? George Clooney? Oh, wait. I know. It’s Channing Tatum. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a dozen times not to call me at work—"
“Not even close. This man—he says he’s your fiancé.”
My heart stopped beating for several seconds. When it started up again, I assured myself I was asleep. Yep, that had to be it. I was having a nightmare. With my free hand, I pinched my thigh, wincing at the twinge of pain. Dammit, I was awake.

No, no, no, I chanted inwardly as I started to panic. I was nowhere near ready to deal with him. Surely he wouldn’t have tracked me down at work. With me gone, he should be living the bachelor life to the fullest, so busy dealing with his social calendar that thinking of me was impossible. I prayed that there was some kind of mistake or that whoever was on the phone wasn’t him. Maybe it was someone calling for another Ava. That could happen, right?
“His voice,” I whispered. “Does he sound—”
“Spanish?” Ben supplied. “Yeah.”
I’d been about to ask if he sounded like a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, but Spanish told me what I needed to know.