by: Kate Meader
Series: Laws of Attraction
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 7, 2019
Publisher: Loveswept
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks | Google Play | Goodreads
In the courtroom, they’re rivals. In the bedroom, they’re... divorced. But could the road trip from hell lead to a second chance at love?
“I love Kate Meader’s books!”—Kelly Jamieson
Aubrey Gates is the hottest divorce lawyer in Chicago, a barb-tongued stiletto with legs that go on for miles. When her cool gray eyes meet mine across the battlefield, I want her like I’ve never wanted anyone or anything. Then I remember who she is: the woman who brought me to my knees. The woman who destroyed my faith in relationships.
The woman I used to call . . . wife.
And she needs a favor from me, Grant Lincoln.
It seems my ex forgot to mention the demise of our marriage to her dear old grammy, and now we’re both expected to attend her ninetieth birthday party. In Boston. And because it isn’t already awkward enough, Aubrey and I are driving there together from Chicago. That’s more than a thousand miles of tension, heartbreak, and barely concealed lust.
A little piece of paper might say we’re over, but this road trip is the true test. I intend to get my wife back . . . and I won’t stop until “I do.”
Kate Meader’s super-sexy Laws of Attraction novels can be read together or separately:
DOWN WITH LOVE • ILLEGALLY YOURS • THEN CAME YOU
My second dirty martini appears before I’ve finished my first. I turn to find him at the end of the bar, and my breath catches just as it did that first day I saw him in the lecture hall. How does he do it? More to the point, how dare he do it?
He raises his beer bottle—Budweiser, Grant doesn’t care for anything crafty—and gives me that slow, shy smile, the one guaranteed to heat me from the inside out and make my panties slip an inch or two. These days, it takes more than that for the full-scale underwear drop. I’ve become more circumspect in my old age.
I raise my glass back and shift my thigh so my skirt rides up a little. It’s deliberate, an invitation. In a few seconds, the seat beside me is host to the most excellent ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of fondling. To think those gorgeous buns were all mine for the exploring and gripping and biting—
Hold up there, Gates.
There will be no butt-grabbing or ass-nibbling shenanigans with your ex-husband!
But said ex-husband has always had a way with words. “Want to screw ourselves stupid in my hotel room?”
I almost choke on an olive. A resounding clap on the back coughs it up from my throat, whereupon I deposit it on a napkin. First off, I give it an accusing glare as if that spherical blob is to blame for the less than sophisticated response to what I just heard.
“Ever heard of foreplay?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Seven hours in the car with your whining cat. All the foreplay I need.”
I laugh my head off. The muscles in my belly constrict, questioning this burst of energy, and I realize it’s been a long time since I let loose like this.
“All right, all right, let’s try again,” he drawls. “Waiting for someone?”
“Yeah, my date. He’s stuck in traffic.”
“Not a boyfriend, then?”
I give him a look, then a sharper one at his Budweiser bottle, playing like he’s beneath me.
“He’ll be here any moment. Weather, y’know.”
“Probably a good idea not to have him pick you up at your place.”
“Oh?”
“He would’ve had to take you, there and then, just inside the door. Lift that skirt and slip in deep and true.”
Just like one of our dates back in ancient times. I abstain from picking up my martini because my hand will shake all that precious alcohol onto the bar.
“I already told you there’d be no funny business, Grant. It’s just too complicated.”
“But you’re not denying that it’s crossed your mind.”
“Hard not to. Sex was never an issue between us. You’re still reasonably attractive, and I’m not dead.”
If anything, he’s become hotter in the last year. Perhaps it’s the slight sadness I imagine in his eyes whenever we meet. Melancholy shouldn’t be so sexy.
“So the only thing in the way is a boatload of history, recrimination, bitterness, and failure.” He sips his beer, a knowing lift to his eyebrow, all while keeping his eyes on me. “Just reasonably attractive, Bean?”
I shake my head. “Confidence was never your problem, Georgia.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I lost a little faith at one point.”
And there it is again, that wall between us that’s impossible to scale.
“Is this the point where I should apologize?”
“No,” he says immediately. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty, simply telling you where I’m coming from. We know each other too well to sugarcoat it.”
He’s right. But our familiarity with each other’s quirks and tics doesn’t make it any easier. If anything, it’s a millstone around our necks. We had something wonderful and it burned to an ash of regrets.
He raises his beer bottle—Budweiser, Grant doesn’t care for anything crafty—and gives me that slow, shy smile, the one guaranteed to heat me from the inside out and make my panties slip an inch or two. These days, it takes more than that for the full-scale underwear drop. I’ve become more circumspect in my old age.
I raise my glass back and shift my thigh so my skirt rides up a little. It’s deliberate, an invitation. In a few seconds, the seat beside me is host to the most excellent ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of fondling. To think those gorgeous buns were all mine for the exploring and gripping and biting—
Hold up there, Gates.
There will be no butt-grabbing or ass-nibbling shenanigans with your ex-husband!
But said ex-husband has always had a way with words. “Want to screw ourselves stupid in my hotel room?”
I almost choke on an olive. A resounding clap on the back coughs it up from my throat, whereupon I deposit it on a napkin. First off, I give it an accusing glare as if that spherical blob is to blame for the less than sophisticated response to what I just heard.
“Ever heard of foreplay?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Seven hours in the car with your whining cat. All the foreplay I need.”
I laugh my head off. The muscles in my belly constrict, questioning this burst of energy, and I realize it’s been a long time since I let loose like this.
“All right, all right, let’s try again,” he drawls. “Waiting for someone?”
“Yeah, my date. He’s stuck in traffic.”
“Not a boyfriend, then?”
I give him a look, then a sharper one at his Budweiser bottle, playing like he’s beneath me.
“He’ll be here any moment. Weather, y’know.”
“Probably a good idea not to have him pick you up at your place.”
“Oh?”
“He would’ve had to take you, there and then, just inside the door. Lift that skirt and slip in deep and true.”
Just like one of our dates back in ancient times. I abstain from picking up my martini because my hand will shake all that precious alcohol onto the bar.
“I already told you there’d be no funny business, Grant. It’s just too complicated.”
“But you’re not denying that it’s crossed your mind.”
“Hard not to. Sex was never an issue between us. You’re still reasonably attractive, and I’m not dead.”
If anything, he’s become hotter in the last year. Perhaps it’s the slight sadness I imagine in his eyes whenever we meet. Melancholy shouldn’t be so sexy.
“So the only thing in the way is a boatload of history, recrimination, bitterness, and failure.” He sips his beer, a knowing lift to his eyebrow, all while keeping his eyes on me. “Just reasonably attractive, Bean?”
I shake my head. “Confidence was never your problem, Georgia.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I lost a little faith at one point.”
And there it is again, that wall between us that’s impossible to scale.
“Is this the point where I should apologize?”
“No,” he says immediately. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty, simply telling you where I’m coming from. We know each other too well to sugarcoat it.”
He’s right. But our familiarity with each other’s quirks and tics doesn’t make it any easier. If anything, it’s a millstone around our necks. We had something wonderful and it burned to an ash of regrets.
Purchase Then Came You from:
The Laws of Attraction Series:
Originally from Ireland, Kate Meader cut her romance reader teeth on Maeve Binchy and Jilly Cooper novels, with some Harlequins thrown in for variety. Give her tales about brooding mill owners, oversexed equestrians, and men who can rock an apron, a fire hose, or a hockey stick, and she's there. Now based in Chicago, she writes sexy contemporary romance with alpha heroes and strong heroines (and heroes) who can match their men quip for quip.
Places to find Kate Meader:
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