Chapter 1
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Grace Bryant stood in the heavy rain, squinting through darkness at the white Volkswagen bug that had her Prius parked in like a brick in a wall.
A monstrous pickup truck beside her dwarfed the other cars, its hulking silhouette having blocked her view of the Volkswagen until she made it out to the driveway.
Her scrubs were soaked and clinging to her skin, the tea she’d been shielding against her chest now filling with rainwater and splashing hot liquid on her arm.
“Damn it!” She dumped the tea, dousing the side of the truck, her hand crushing the thick paper cup as she stormed back up the walk. She hoped the truck’s paint would peel, though knowing her neighbor, it was probably gilded in steel.
She walked up three steps to a small private deck, the mirror image of the one on her side of the duplex. Three empty beer bottles sat on the ledge, along with a cell phone covered in water.
“Idiot,” she spat under her breath.
She pounded on the door with the full force of her aggravation, her hair stuck to her head like a wet mop. Why did he have to do this to her tonight? They were short-handed at the hospital, and she needed to get there, stat.
“Come on, lover boy,” she whispered under her breath.
“Pull out of the prom queen and answer the door.” She pounded again, raising her voice.
“Mr. Champion, I’m blocked in!” What a stupid name, but it suited him—with his steroid-infused biceps and his close-cropped hair, he looked like a man solely concerned with winning.
And prom queens.
And beauticians.
And vehicles that consumed enough gasoline to hold their drivers personally accountable for global warming.
She banged harder. “Mr. Champion, I need to get to work. Answer the freaking door!” Her imagination provided a visual of her arrogant neighbor at that very moment, making out with a trashy blonde half his age with tits the size of her head, telling her to ignore the madwoman trying to break into his apartment.
This happens all the time, sweetie. Now pass me another condom.
Grace huffed and dug in her purse for her keys, slamming the metal against the wood, dents and gouges from other nights like this one marring the surface of the door. “I’m not going away. I can’t go anywhere until you move that godda—”
The door opened. He was shirtless, the button of his jeans open and the fly zipped. He was flushed, like he’d just been exercising, and he smelled like alcohol and musk. His eyes were a piercing gray and narrowed with irritation. “You’re going to have to pay for that door.”
She lifted her chin and put her hand on her hip. “If your friends would stop parking me in, I wouldn’t need to disturb your festivities.”
“Festivities.”
Her face heated, but she wasn’t going to back down.
She’d lived in this duplex three years, and it was the perfect apartment before he came along.
“That’s right. The walls aren’t as thick as you might think, Mr. Champion.
” While she’d been frustrated and had alluded to his encounters before, her tactics had been passive-aggressive at best. “I hear all sorts of things when you have company.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. Your bedroom butts against mine.”
He crossed his arms, biceps bulging. “That’s funny, because I’ve never heard anything coming from yours.”
The unexpected jab stuck firmly between her ribs. Of course this jerk hadn’t heard anything inappropriate. Her boyfriend was a minister, for God’s sake.
Goodness’ sake, not God’s sake.
And don’t say fuck.
She frowned, thinking of every cuss that had crossed her mind or lips since walking outside. She really had to stop swearing if she was going to be a minister’s wife. “That’s because I don’t have a revolving door that connects my bedroom to a bar like you do.”
Now he was smiling. “A revolving door.”
“You like to repeat me, don’t you? How about you repeat this. Move the damn car, and stop your bimbos from parking me in. I have to get to work.”
He left the doorway and she shuddered. Who would sleep with that guy? Lots of women, apparently, but she certainly wasn’t one of them. She preferred her men educated and cultured and emotionally secure like John, not posturing and insinuating and being an all-around putz.
She bit her nail and it ripped, snagging the nail bed with a painful twinge.
She cursed under her breath before shaking her head and staring into Champion’s apartment.
Where had he gone? She’d assumed he was grabbing the woman’s keys, but he sure was taking his sweet time about it.
Lightning flashed. “Can you hurry up, please?” she yelled inside.
“The ER is getting slammed. I have to go.”
He came around the corner wearing moccasin slippers, a set of keys rattling in his hand. He opened an umbrella and handed it to her. “You could have come in, you know, instead of standing out here like a duck.”
She winced, ignoring the umbrella. “I wouldn’t go in your place without a hazmat suit. I’ve seen the kind of traffic that goes through here, remember? It’s like an STD awareness commercial.”
He put the umbrella down. “Funny.” He walked past her, picking up the cell phone and pouring off the standing water. “Shit.”
She followed him down the driveway, noting the way his wet skin glistened in the porch light.
He was ripped, his muscles making his torso look like an anatomical specimen, and she licked her lips despite the rain that wet them.
Real men didn’t look like he did, men with responsibilities and 401ks, health insurance and two-and-a-half-car garages.
No, muscles like that were reserved for guys like this, who slept with easy women and left electronics in the rain.
He backed up the VW bug and she climbed into her own car, the windows instantly fogging up. She rolled hers down to get some air inside, jumping a moment later when Champion appeared. “You have a good night now, Miss Bryant. Go on and save lots of lives.”
She lowered her brow. “You go on and get one more ride on the prom queen before those beer goggles of yours fall off.”
One side of his mouth hitched up in a mocking grin. “You think a lot about the women I bring home?”
She clucked her tongue. “Of course not.”
“Or do you think a lot about me?”
Now she was seething. “You are so goddamn full of yourself. I have a boyfriend.”
He nodded. “Right, the preacher.”
She should leave, drive away from this conversation as fast as her little car would take her. But he was goading her, and she longed to slap that satisfied look off his irritating, soaking wet face. “He’s a good man. Nothing like you.”
“That’s right. Just a good, good man.” He smiled.
She pulled out of the driveway with an angry huff. Brett Champion didn’t matter in her world. He was a gnat, a nuisance, a foul scent on the breeze that only served to ruin everyone’s enjoyment whenever he was around.
John was a good man. Better than she deserved. So what if he didn’t have a bodybuilder’s abs or eyes that could devastate her self-confidence with a single glance in her direction? She didn’t want that anyway. Who in their right mind would want that?
She wanted John, and if she was right, he was about to pop the question.
He’d invited her to dinner at Rosario’s tomorrow night for what he said would be a very special evening, and the church picnic was the day after tomorrow.
What better time to announce to the congregation that he’d be taking a wife?
Her stomach lurched at the thought, and she told herself it was a good thing, a dream come true to marry a man like him.
Nothing would make her happier. And if she wasn’t exactly a natural preacher’s wife, then she would learn to watch her language and be more gracious and put on the perfect face for his congregation.
Her fingers gripped the wheel tightly, and she deliberately loosened her hold. Champion had gotten to her, the obnoxious son of a bitch. She took a deep breath.
Maybe John would agree to a short engagement. Yes. They could be married by fall, get a little house close to the church, and move out of this duplex, leaving her useless waste of a neighbor in her dust.
Nausea rolled in her stomach as she pictured herself hosting the church picnic with John, year after year.
A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and palms. “You’ll get used to the idea,” she said to herself.
“You’ll fit in just fine.” She was just worried about being the perfect wife, filling that role as well as it should be filled.
Yes, surely that was it. “They’re going to love you. ”
The words sounded hollow in the tiny car, and her mouth settled into a determined line. Being John’s bride was all she’d ever wanted, and she was about to get it—Brett Champion be damned.