When we were eleven, Oliver Ford Pemberton dared me to jump off a barn roof. He said you couldn’t break a leg from a 12-foot-jump.

He lied.

(You can also break a collarbone, which served him right as far as I was concerned.)

I wish I could say it was the last dare I ever took from him, the last bet I ever made with him, the last time I ever trusted Oliver Ford Pemberton.

But it wasn’t.

Because he had the nerve to grow up gorgeous, charming, and sexy. And as we got older, the dares only got dirtier—and the betting stakes higher—until finally, he left me in pieces. I swore I’d never talk to him again.

But twenty years after I took that flying leap, he’s back in my life, daring me to risk everything for him: my job, my self-worth, and my heart.

How many chances does true love deserve?

Book Type:

Second-Chance Romance

Excerpt: Undeniable

“So what do you say? One drink for old times’ sake? I promise I’m not carrying any rubber snakes, nor will I dare you to jump off the roof.”

“Your promises mean nothing to me, Oliver Pemberton. Because you never keep them.” I frowned at my crappy cocktail. “But I would like a good drink before I go.”

He laughed, taking the full glass from my hand and setting it alongside his empty one on a nearby service tray. “You got it. Let’s go. One drink, and then I’ll get you an Uber.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

We made our way toward the hotel elevators, and I stumbled slightly on the long hem of my dress. Oliver immediately took my arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I borrowed this dress, so it’s not a perfect fit. My roommate is taller than I am.”

“Who isn’t?”

I glared at him but let him keep my arm in his grasp. I didn’t necessarily like him touching me—my body always reacted to his touch—but I didn’t want to face-plant, either.

Side by side, we rode the elevator in silence, and when the doors opened, Oliver led me through them. A woman waiting to board the elevator smiled at us. “What a beautiful couple,” she said.

“Thank you,”Oliver replied.

“But we’re not a couple,” I added, taking my arm back. I lifted up the hem of my dress as we walked across the lobby to the bar.

It was crowded, and I didn’t see anywhere to sit except for a few tables with Reserved signs on them. “Should we go somewhere else?” I asked.

“No. Give me one minute.” Oliver went over to the host, took some cash from his wallet and slipped it to him. A moment later, he was back.

“We can sit anywhere we’d like,” he said confidently.

I was annoyed and relieved at the same time. My feet were killing me. “How about over there?” I pointed to a small corner booth with a round table.

“Perfect.” He took my arm again and guided me toward the spot.

We slid into the booth, and I immediately took off my shoes. A waiter came over and asked what we’d like, and Oliver looked at me. “What sounds good? Vodka?”

“What are you having?”

“Probably scotch.”

“I’ll do that too.”

He discussed the selection with the server and made his choice. When we were alone again, he leaned back and put his arm along the back of the seat, just above my shoulders.

I glanced at it, then at him. “Really?”

“Is it bothering you?”

Grumbling, I shifted on the plush bench seat. “It’s fine. As long as you understand things are not getting romantic between us tonight.”

“When have things ever been romantic between us?”

“You know what I mean. Nothing is going to happen. I’m having one drink, and I’m going home.”

Our eyes locked, and a slow smile crept onto his lips. “Okay.”

Needless to say, something happened.

I’m not even sure how. One drink turned into two. Then three. We caught up. Laughed about old times. Asked about family. We shared stories, looked at pictures on each other’s phones, discussed the scotch.

When our glasses were empty, Oliver paid the bill and we walked out to the elevators. I was pleasantly tipsy by then, but I still caught him hitting the up arrow.

“Hey,” I said. “I have to get my coat. The ballroom is on the lower level.”

“I know.” The doors opened, and he stepped inside. The car was empty. “But my room is upstairs.”

I didn’t move. He held his finger on the button, keeping the doors open, and met my eyes. The look on his face dared me to get on. Go up to his room. Get naked.

I wished he didn’t look so fucking good in that suit.

“One,” he said.

I held my ground, but felt it cracking under my feet.

“Two.”

I clenched my stomach muscles, remembering how big he was, how he used his mouth, how quickly he made me come.

“Three.” He took his hand off the button. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

The doors began to close.

My hand shot out.

The doors opened again and I stepped through them, breathing hard. “You’re fucking impossible,” I told him.

“And you’re fucking predictable.” He lowered his voice. “But I’ve been waiting for this a long time.”

The doors closed behind me, and we went at each other like wolves.