I hate Magnus Johanson. He's a rude, grumpy, boss-tyrant who's never satisfied with anything I do at the bar.
Yes, he's got big, delicious muscles that I would normally want to squeeze like I was testing fruit at the grocery store. Fine, his arm tattoos are hot and make me wonder what else he's got going on under the T-shirt that's stretched taught across his pecs. And, whatever. His sharp, gray eyes are sexy, particularly on the rare occasion they've turned smokey and tracked me across the bar. Doesn't change anything. He still sees me as who I was and not who I am. So why do I fantasize about climbing his big, sexy body?
Bethany Roman is the perfect poster child of spoiled entitlement. Princess. Diva. And capable of pissing me off like no other.
I may have noticed that she has warm, rich, chocolate doe-eyes that sometimes hint at a deep vulnerability when I catch her off-guard. And for some reason, when she gets ticked and goes toe-to-toe with me, it makes me hard, so I piss her off at every opportunity. Of course, I've noticed she's got a body that would rock a swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated. But she's only ever cared about herself, and I want no part of that.
Except I can't ignore this driving need to claim her. Make her mine.
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