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Mine To Keep by M.C. Cerny
Release Date: September 29th 2020
Series: Love By Design #7
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Remington Kennedy was out of “bless your hearts” to give. She moved North for a chance at something better. Her compass to success was getting an education and getting out of tornado alley. A failed scholarship led her to tending bar. A lie drove her into the arms of the town football star filled with hopes and dreams. A year later, she found herself with a baby on the way, more lost than ever, alone, and terrified.
Evan Rooney was nobody’s hero. As a good cop in a small town, he felt the daily weight of responsibility. Known as the Preacher’s son, he struggled to keep his faith…but secrets have a way of finding the surface and Evan finds himself drawn to the red headed barmaid with a bun in the oven like a moth to it’s flame.
Both need a little saving…both need love, and a baby needs a family made of more than just DNA.
Book seven in the Love By Design series of contemporary romantic comedies.
Mine To Keep is written to be read as a standalone, but many readers prefer to read the series in order.
{EXCERPT}
Evan
I had an unusual fascination with my not-girlfriend’s breasts. In an effort to not be a pig like my ex-girlfriend enjoyed pointing out, I did anything but look at them. Unfortunately, that left me looking at all sorts of odd things like the tchotchkes all over the walls of Easton’s Pub. Antique growlers, pictures in black and white, and the odd amount of farm equipment bolted into the walls.
It didn’t help that Lia and Whit reminded of the not-kiss we shared months ago when I was on an atypical bender. Apparently, I’d even touched the objects of my fascination before she ran off into the kitchen like a scared cat on a hot tin roof or some other southern euphemism I googled after listening to her whisper the words against my beer-soaked lips. I felt like an idiot—one who took advantage of a sweet girl I hadn’t meant to.
So instead of making eye contact, I tried to be normal. I focused on a space beyond her shoulder and clenched my fists, fantasizing about her delightful blossoming cleavage that left me hungry and unsettled. I forced myself to hang back so I didn’t jump in her way, making her drop the glasses she grabbed off the tables. I tried to be helpful, but my dick was conversing other ideas with my brain as I observed her movements.
Little momma was more stubborn than a mule. There was also a high probability I would get kicked, telling her that. I licked my lips as she walked away and mentally berated myself for not kissing her senseless or just backing away all together, giving her the space her body language said she wanted so badly. I was an idiot. An idiot half in love with a pregnant girl who wasn’t mine.
Remi Kennedy sashayed her pert, round ass past me to another table while I held her bucket of dishes feeling gobsmacked. Yeah, that was the word I was looking for as I noticed her grimace from across the bar. When neither of her bosses, who in their defense were tending their business, did anything to stop her. I felt compelled to take the matter up myself.
She had been shaking her fine ass to a song I hadn’t heard in years. Little school girl outfits and long red-haired pigtails came to mind, the latter not so much the stuff of my adult fantasies but the former in a nice red plaid would have done me fine. Her black apron was tiny, one pocket holding her writing pad for drink orders and appetizers didn’t cover much, and the shorts she wore accentuated the cup of her cheeks, which I very, very badly wanted to touch. I swore there was a little more skin showing out from the frayed denim tonight than on previous nights that made me harder than a steel pole. Thank God for the bucket of dishes parked in my lap, hiding my straining erection. I wasn’t letting those dishes go for anything, no matter how sweetly she begged me.
Tonight, her red hair was up in a messy bun, and the pale skin of her neck showed freckles skimming the delicate surface from the bridge of her nose right down past her collarbone and into her shirt. Curiosity made me wonder if the freckles trailed over her newly curvy body all over, or just down her back like faint leopard spots. I bet I could peek if I got close enough, given how short she was compared to me, but then I would have to smell her. Smelling her could be equally as dangerous.
Being tall definitely had it perks and responsibilities, and as an officer of the law, I made an oath to use my powers for good. However, the tempting thoughts of wrapping my hand around her neck in a loose hold while I pounded into her from behind in tune to the beats of my heart and the music playing from the jukebox in the corner clouded my mind. Thinking of connecting the imaginary freckles on her back with my tongue dried my mouth, and I stopped myself from chugging my beer down. Damn, I was kind of a pervert, or maybe I was overthinking things. I didn’t know.
“Um, Evan?” I hadn’t realized she’d been talking to me until she tugged on the bucket I held. She could beg prettily, pout her kissable lips, but no way in hell was I giving up my armor. This dick of mine might scare her off the way it was standing proud and loud tonight.
“Remi?” I stared into her green eyes, which held me captive, waiting for her next words.
“Can I have that now?” She tugged on the bucket, her bottom lip half bitten, and stupidly I looked down, unrelenting in my grasp. She kept a gentle tug going but I held it firm.
“No.” I didn’t have anything else intelligent or otherwise to say. I wanted her to tug other things inappropriately, but I kept that to myself. Despite her rounded state, her clear, beguiling eyes said she wasn’t experienced in the ways of men.
“But Andy needs that bucket in the back.” Pouting all night would get her nowhere. I didn’t care if she begged me, which I knew she wouldn’t. Remi would huff and puff and walk away first than fight with me. Her face had a pinched look to it like she hadn’t been sleeping. I wasn’t giving the damn bucket to her, but I would be taking this up with Andy and David to find her something else to do at the bar for work or at least giving her better hours.
“Okay.” Still I held on waiting for her to give up. When she blew a breath of air, curling her top lip and lifting her hair, I knew I had her.
“For the dishwasher, since you’ve got it and all.” Remi got the hint, finally backing up, walking off to the next table, her rag slung over her shoulder, leaving me behind. I had to take a tentative step sideways because the angle of my hard dick was bent awkwardly in my jeans, making it difficult to move.
“I’ll take that back.” Mumbling, I turned, leaving her to finish her job refilling the salt and pepper shakers, her back arching over the table to reach them. She was over the table at the perfect angle, her rear curved, showing that lickable crease of skin and nope, nope, nope, I wasn’t going there in my head, even if my cock had gone there, imagining all the things I wanted to do to her.
A cleared throat forced me to tear my eyes away, growling and mentally pontificating the why-nots.
“I got that, lover boy.” Andy Easton, the co-owner of Easton’s Pub, a good friend I shared a great deal of history with, helped me out by taking the bucket in the back. I had it so bad for her there was no hiding my physical evidence with the bucket gone. It took a second to adjust myself before I followed him, giving me something to do, and to keep my dick from getting any ideas like jumping out at a lovely redhead, who was clearly off limits to me.
M.C. Cerny is a USA Today Bestselling author of fresh sexy books. She experienced her first real ugly cry reading, Where The Red Fern Grows, and never looked back. She lives with a menagerie of human and feline fur-babies in rural NJ. When M.C. is not writing, you'll find her lurking in Starbucks, running stupid marathons, and eating all the tacos.
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