a sexy Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedy by Tawna Fenske | book 1 | May 2018
Temptation’s never been this tasty.
Sean Bracelyn can whip up a saffron-laced lobster risotto in his sleep, but relationships? That’s one recipe he hasn’t nailed. Not that he has time, between launching a new restaurant and building a luxury resort with his awkwardly-blended family. But when his dream girl nearly knocks him unconscious with a dead turkey, it’s all Sean can do to keep his eyes on the gazpacho and off Amber King’s perfect curves.
Amber’s done with guys propping her on a pedestal. Transforming her family’s reindeer ranch into a country chic wedding venue is consuming enough, and the last thing she needs is an extra serving of love drama. So what is it about the stupid-sexy chef that gets her desires bubbling like a pot of hot spaghetti?
Keeping their distance is tough enough before Sean and Amber get tossed together by wacky weddings, lingerie mishaps, and a surly three-legged cat. When Sean’s mom shows up to dish out huge helpings of family drama, a big secret threatens to spread faster than a kitchen fire.
Can Sean and Amber find the right blend of sugar and spice, or will love fall flat as a burnt soufflé?
I smile, touched by her concern. “Sean. Sean Bracelyn. I’m one of the owners here.”
“Oh. You’re the chef?”
“That’s me.” I try not get too excited that she knows who I am.
Her forehead is still creased with a frown. “Are you sure I don’t need to call anyone? An ambulance or maybe Bree?”
The thought of my sister storming in to tell me what a dumbass I am has me clambering to my feet in a hurry. I pull Amber up with me, not wanting to leave her sitting on the floor next to a dead turkey.
“What’s with the bird?” I ask.
“My sister asked me to bring it.”
“Because showing up with a plate of cookies is cliché?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Your sister wanted it for some photo shoot. Don’t worry, it’s stuffed. I didn’t just drop a freshly-killed animal on your floor.”
“Too bad. I’ve got a killer recipe for spatchcocked turkey with anise and orange.”
“Spatchcocked,” I say, putting a regrettable emphasis on the last syllable. “It’s where you lay it out flat with its legs spread wide and the breast—you know what? Never mind.”
Christ, I need a do-over. It’s not every day a guy comes face to face with the girl he’s had a crush on since he wore Batman Underoos. I rake my fingers through my hair and try again.