Myla Rose McGraw may be twenty, single, and pregnant, but she’s no damsel in distress. She doesn’t need a man. After all, her Grams taught her a thing or two about making lemonade out of life’s lemons.
Then she meets Cash Carson.
Reeling from a bad breakup, Cash has sworn off love. It led to nothing but pain and misery, and he’s determined to move forward alone.
Until a redheaded Southern beauty crashes into him. With her shopping cart. At the local Piggly Wiggly.
If love wasn’t for him, why did his heart beat a little faster every time Myla Rose sent that sweet smile his way?
He was no knight, and she didn’t need saving.
But damn if he didn’t want to try anyway.
COMING UP ROSES is a sweet, Southern fairy tale—with a twist.
She grasps my hand, and like an instant replay from dinner, her body slides down mine. The contact is somehow more intimate than it was earlier, making her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, only noticeable due to the moonlight peeking between the branches of the oak tree in her yard.
“Okay, Cash.” Her voice is nothing more than a rasp.
We make it to the porch, and the inner battle begins. Is she expecting a kiss, or will she slap me for trying, what with how our last kiss ended? I war with myself a little longer before settling on a hug. A nice, safe hug.
“Well, goodnight then,” she whispers, looking down as I start to pull away.
Is that disappointment I hear in her voice? Well, hell. I can’t have that.
Keeping my right arm around her waist, I bring my left hand to her cheek, placing my thumb just below her jaw. Using that position, I pull her closer to me.
“It was a good night indeed, Myla Rose,” I murmur just before I press my lips to hers.
Her lips are soft, so damn soft, even more so than I remember. I nip at her bottom lip, causing her lips to part. I use that small opening to deepen the kiss, and Myla Rose digs her nails into the base of my neck.
Slipping my hand from her waist and down over the curve of her hip, I hike her dress up and settle it on the smooth bare skin just under her ass, pulling her closer—closer—closer. Trailing my fingertips across her cheek and through her hair, I tug on it just a little, just like I’d imagined doing at the start of our night.
Damn, she likes that. It’s like I flipped a switch. She’s no longer kissing me—she’s devouring me.
I hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist. The front door is the only thing keeping us upright. I press my hips into hers, showing her just how much I want her before pulling her hair again. She throws her head back, hitting it on the door with a loud thump.
That breaks the spell. She lowers her legs and untangles herself from me, and I step back, unsure of what comes next. Is she going to ask me in or send me on my way?
“Do . . . do you want to come in?” She looks up at me expectantly.
“Lead the way, darlin’,” I rasp out—because really, is there any other response?