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He’s my childhood bully.
I didn’t plan to see him again, let alone marry him.
But his grandmother had other plans:
She left us a significant inheritance…with strings attached.
We have to get married and live in her small NYC apartment.
For a month.
With just one bed.
When I arrive, he’s not the cheeky, pigtail-pulling jerk I hated. He’s piping hot. Tall. Sinfully tattooed. A stunning villain.
I’m married faster than I can blink.
His stormy kiss spirals me deeper into this grand mistake of epic proportions.
His protective heart dissolves all my defenses.
His fiery touch leaves me aching for more.
I know I’m playing with fire—and I don’t want to get burned.
Say “I do,” get the check, and get out—that was the plan.
I can’t possibly be in love with my real fake husband.
