Genre: Small Town Romantic Comedy

When I went back to that dingy motel room with the tempting stranger from the bar, I had no idea that he was my older brother’s best friend. And my soon-to-be roommate.

I’m Karli Brighton, reigning Queen of Epic Screw-Ups.

With twelve med school rejection letters burning a hole in my back pocket, I’m back in my quirky hometown for the summer. Grumpy and shame-faced, I’m not exactly in the mood to make new friends.

Having a wild one-night stand with the charming pretty boy I meet at a local bar to feel better about myself? Probably not the smartest idea.

But in the morning when I crawl out of his sweaty motel sheets, I take comfort in knowing that I’ll never see the gorgeous stranger again.

Until he strolls into my family home one hour later.

Suitcases in hand. Shock painted on his perfect face.

Gasoline, meet Dumpster Fire. Ka-boom!!

The mystery man is my brother’s best friend. He just moved to town to help out with my family’s medical clinic.

Dr. Walks-Around-In-His-Bath-Towel is off-limits to me. But now, he's staying in the bedroom across the hallway.

Just my luck.

Mason and I are at a stalemate.

I need a place to lick my wounds while I figure out my next move.

He needs a roof over his head while he builds a new life for himself.

We each have so much to lose. Especially if my brother discovers our secret.

So we both promise to keep our hands to ourselves.

Lines are drawn in the sand. House rules are signed in ink.

The bathroom schedule is sealed with a handshake.

This won’t be so bad. Right…? Maybe…?

We’ll see.

But then our ‘snarky banter’ leads to 'heated kisses’ leads to ‘more’…Yikes. We’re headed for disaster.

Wild Thing is a steamy, laugh-out-loud, small town, forced proximity romance. It is set in small town Iowa and is part of the Wild Westbrooks series.

Excerpt

Karli:

The unused bathroom pipe coughs melodramatically before spewing out a heavy stream of rusty water. When the water clears up, I stand under the hot spray, allowing myself to breathe for the first time in days.

But as I start scrubbing my body, the heavy ache between my legs reminds me of the sexy stranger from the motel. Shit.

Still trying not to think about him. It’s not working.

Full disclosure—I wasn’t myself last night. That girl who threw herself at a random dude in a dingy dive bar parking lot? That’s not Karli Brighton.

I wasn’t lying when I told Mr. Pretty Boy that I don’t do one night stands. No shade on anyone who does, but the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am thing just isn’t my jam.

Last night, though? Something just came over me. I think that, after all the rejection I faced these past few days, I wanted to feel…wanted. Come on. Twelve different fuck you’s from twelve different medical schools? Ouch.

Pretty Boy on the other hand…well, there was definitely no rejection happening there. Touching him and letting him touch me felt good in the moment. But in the after-sex stillness, as he basked in the happy-making hormones of his own orgasms, I found myself struggling not to give in to the razor-sharp talons of my guilt.

Sigh. Why are us girls so hard on ourselves?

Still trying to shove all thoughts of the mystery man from the motel far from my mind, I get out of the shower. I dart to my bedroom wrapped in my towel, and dig through my backpack. I find a few more pairs of clean underwear identical to the ones I shucked off earlier. Pink and white tiger-stripes. Cotton with lacy ruffles. So cute. And who can pass up a six-for-$10 deal? Especially in this economy? Sheesh!

As I apply some moisturizer, I go over my plan for this morning. Unload my car. Get settled in. Do a quick grocery store run. Maybe drive across town to check on my bestie. But first, breakfast. Because after skipping dinner last night then ‘doing the dirty’ well into the wee hours of the morning, I’m in desperate need of sustenance.

I tug my college sweatshirt back on, pop in my earbuds and turn on my favorite Rockhard Butterflies playlist. On my way to the kitchen, I say a silent prayer that there’s something edible in this house.

Not surprisingly, there isn’t much in the fridge, but I thank my lucky stars when I find some coffee beans at the back of the pantry. I’m on my tiptoes, reaching for my favorite old mug on the top cupboard shelf when I feel the air shift around me.

I pause. I don’t hear anything different because my music is still blasting through my earbuds, but I can sense it immediately. Someone is in the house with me. Shit. Oh, shit.

My panicked brain immediately snaps to all the self-defense moves my five older brothers forced me to learn in my childhood. I spin around, ready to do some made-up, on-the-fly form of kung fu, when I come face to face with…

Him.

Sexy stranger from the motel

My mouth gapes wide. My cherished mug slips from my hands. It hits the tile floor with a crash.

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About the Author

Cassie-Ann L. Miller is an Amazon Top 10 bestselling author. She writes steamy contemporary romance with a dash of angst and a sprinkle of humor. And if her toddler weren't rebelling against his bedtime right now, she'd have a minute to write her author biography, too ;)

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