Severely scarred during a disastrous mission, ex special forces Flynn Swann is home after three years of avoidance. By his own admission, he’s no good with women and the last thing he expects or wants is the attention of a curvy little brunette, who’s just passing through.
With apparently no fear or revulsion of his scarred face, the boisterous woman bounds into his life and destroys all hope of a quiet visit. It is obvious to literally everyone that she wants him—all of him.
Worse still, despite her atrocious taste in fashion and Stetsons, she appears to have won the hearts of the entire town.
Scientist Liberty Sophia Glennon is on a mission to find a man before she has to return to the loneliness of the New Zealand outback where she has already spent eighteen lonely months doing research.
A ticking hormone bomb, Liberty feels time is running away with her. Outwardly she is a bouncing ball of over-confidence, but inside she is still a frightened little girl with horrific memories of her childhood and a desperate need to be liked.
Completely unfazed by his external scars, her seduction of Flynn is not so difficult, but follow-through proves painful as Liberty realizes Flynn’s wounds run further than just skin deep.
With apparently nothing in common but their passionate attraction, how will these two damaged souls deal with each other’s fear of rejection?
He was pretty sure the sun was affecting his brain as he took a few swift gulps of water and readjusted himself as the thought of Liberty made him harden and swell, making him pretty uncomfortable in the armchair of a saddle.
Sunlight burned the back of his retinas, so after four hours of riding, he could have sworn blind he was hallucinating when those scorched-out eyes focused on a spot of bright, glowing white almost on the horizon. A little beacon.
He strained his vision in the vain hope he might be wrong, but as he approached, he knew fucking well it was the bouncy brunette with another goddamn awful excuse for a hat perched upon her head. Some ignorant bastard had taken a perfectly good Stetson and colored it up white. Stark white.
The yellow one with the dead bird wrapped around it had been an obscenity and had been quickly squashed. It wasn’t deliberate, and he still had the pretty little feathers in the breast pocket of his shirt for some reason beyond his own comprehension. But this hat was even worse.
He scanned her campsite as he advanced on her. She seemed to have managed to unsaddle the horse and unload the pack pony and was seated on a deep pink blanket on the ground, leaning comfortably with her back up against the saddle.
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