WILD CHILD

With: A.S. Green

WILD CHILD is a second-chance romance that was inspired by a weird run-in I had with someone in a grocery store. In my case, we weren’t past lovers or anything, just someone I used to know. When we literally ran into each other, it was really awkward. I got the idea he didn’t remember who I was, so I acted like I had no idea who he was. To this day, I wonder if he was doing the exact same thing to me.

In this excerpt, Jax has arrived on Little Bear Island to provide private security for a celebrity wedding. He’s been instructed to go to the ferry office to pick up a local girl, who will show him the way to the venue. Unbeknownst to him, the local girl is the “girl who got away” six years earlier.

AMAZON

Jax

I flip up the sun visor as a stunning redhead emerges from the doorway. She’s dressed in a Foo Fighters concert tee and tons of silver bracelets. Her black miniskirt is stretched tight across her tanned thighs. F**k. She used to be exactly my type. Back when I had one, that is. Totally rock-and-roll. Like that redheaded ’80s chick from the Whitesnake video.

The old man goes inside while she crosses in front of my car. A gust of wind blows her long red curls across her face, and she quickly piles the heavy mass onto the top of her head, securing it with an elastic she pulls from her wrist.

I toss my paperwork onto the dash before she jumps in. She opens the door and hops onto the seat, giving it a little bounce and bringing with her a faintly floral scent.

“Good morning,” I say.

She turns toward me with a welcoming smile. F**king great mouth. A smile like that once damn near stopped my h— Oh, shit. Oh, f**k no. Impossible.

I knew Little Bear Island had sounded familiar. I thought maybe I’d seen it featured on a travel show or something. But no. Now I remember where I first heard the name. On the lips of Natalie Rip Your Heart Out O’Brien. The one woman besides Gram who ever really mattered to me.

Gone are the bright-blue hair and Poindexter glasses she wore back when I thought she was mine. I can tell there’s more meat on her bones, too, which—f**k me—only makes her look more amazing.

I might not have recognized her so quickly if she hadn’t smiled. Shit, that smile. She used that same f**king smile on me mere seconds before she threw me away—us away.

Well, I’ll be damned if I’m going to give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

The smile has dropped off her face by now—small mercy.

I don’t think about what that might mean, because I’m too far into self-preservation mode. It might make me a coward, it might make me a huge dick, but I reach out my hand and give her the best blank look I can manage. Then I force my mouth to form the words I hope will burn her as badly as she burned me.

“Jackson Sparke. Pleased to meet you.”

About the Author:
I live in the cold, upper Midwest with my husband and three kids. I spend summers on Lake Superior, which is the muse for my contemporary romance, Summer Girl, and I’m a sucker for down-to-earth men who work with their hands (if they play guitar, that’s an added bonus). I love all things Irish—particularly music, dancing, and Jameson. When I’m not writing or reading romance, I’m traveling, camping, visiting book clubs, blogging for Writer Unboxed, and writing paranormal and contemporary young adult novels (under my real name).