Unforeseen Reunion

Decadent Publishing Company

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 22,000
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Home for a high school reunion, Fashion Editor-in-Chief, Cara Stanford has ulterior motives: make childhood crush and womanizing playboy, Brant Thomas, pay for the hell she endured ten years ago.

Except he doesn't remember her.

Though publically embarrassed by Cara at the reunion, Brant is intrigued by the beauty who rejects his every pick-up line and charm. Never allowing a woman through his carefully erected barriers, she stirs up his past with her return, along with an undeniable passion. He sets out to seduce her until a series of accidental mishaps forces him to question Cara’s intentions.

Taken aback by her enemy’s suave attention, will Cara continue with her planned revenge or risk reopening her heart to Brant?

Unforeseen Reunion
0 Ratings (0.0)

Unforeseen Reunion

Decadent Publishing Company

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 22,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Dara England
Excerpt

“I remember you.” He gave her a thoughtful look as if contemplating her words.

She grunted. After all she’d been through, he’d better remember.

“Did we date back then?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. He'd barely noticed her when she wasn't doing his homework or chasing after him at the football games—dating her hadn’t even been on his radar. The nerve! “You're unbelievable.”

“Thank you. Was it sophomore year?”

Her fingers clenched around the stem of the wine glass, quelling the temptation to douse him with her drink. He really didn't remember her. The horrible memories of how he’d used her for his schoolwork, laughing at her with Sheila, and acting like she didn’t exist erupted in her mind, reminding her of what a lovesick fool she’d been. Anxiety and rage boiled in her chest. She couldn't do this. She had to get away. Hopping off the chair, she stood straight.

“Nice talking to you.”

Brant's hand shot out and latched onto her elbow. “Wait. What's your name?”

Cara saw red. Picking up the white wine, she did the unimaginable. Brant sat, open-mouthed, blinking his eyes as the chardonnay ran down his face and seeped into his black, tuxedo jacket and white shirt.

“Maybe that'll jog your memory.”

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