A vulnerable young widow down on her luck. A narcissistic millionaire with all the right resources. Will scorching sexual tension lead to unlikely love?

Harlow Hart didn’t think life could get any worse. After risking a return to dating and getting catfished in Asia, she winds up broke and on the first flight out. Surprised by the airline’s sexy CEO offer to help her, she refuses to fall for his charming tricks.

Laiken Cash takes exactly what he desires. Irritated that his potential conquest is ungrateful for the assistance, he disciplines her by making her work off her debt as his PA. But when her fiery disdain swells, so does Cash’s desire to rip off her clothes.

Harlow has never been with a man who can navigate a woman’s body quite like Cash, and his expertise is increasingly difficult to refuse. But a past tragedy closed off Cash’s heart and he struggles to open up to the woman driving him wild.

Will Harlow and Cash stop butting heads long enough to give into their deepest temptations?

First Impressions is a sultry standalone contemporary romance novel. If you like sizzling power dynamics, enemies-to-lovers’ trysts, and smoking-hot men, then you’ll love this passionate tale.

Excerpt:

It’s not like I didn’t know places like this existed or people like Cash lived in them. I just never expected to have an up close and personal encounter. It’s so far removed from my world. I’ve spent my life in the poorest parts of the world with my parents, traveling in pop-up clinics where they would treat and vaccinate, and I’d teach. Since graduating university, that is my life: six months abroad, six months in the UK raising money to do the next six months abroad.

Sniffing, an unpleasant thought crosses my mind. I push it to the back and lock it away.

“What?” Cash narrows his eyes, watching my face for clues. It’s probably written in broad stokes with a big fat Sharpie pen across my forehead, but I force a flat smile and shake my head.

“Nothing.” I silently remind myself: Not the time, Harlow. Not the time to point out that his furniture probably cost more than I will make in my lifetime.

He drops his pile of letters, irritation clipping his words nice and short. “Okay, we might as well get this out of the way if you’re going to be working for me.” He straightens himself to his full height and walks closer to me. I straighten too. I’m not intimidated by his height. It’s his aura that has me shaken, and he damn well knows it. So much so that it takes a few long sec- onds for my brain to process what he’s just said.

“Get what out of the way? Wait a minute! What do you mean, work for you? Why on earth would I work for you?”

“Because, sweetheart, You. Owe. Me.” He steps closer with each carefully pronounced word.

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” He cocks his head and leaves me utterly speechless. He can’t be serious. I mean, he looks deadly serious, but really? What a complete fucking arsehole.

My blood is boiling at this point, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to knock that smug expression off his face. I storm over to the desk in the corner of the room with a flashy desktop Mac and wiggle the mouse to wake the screen. He walks up behind me, his body brushing mine. I ignore the sparks of electricity that crackle between us. He’s too close to think. Leaning over, I find I have to bend with him or he’ll crush me while trying to reach the switch on at the wall. The screen lights up. It’s a compromising position, and I happily elbow him in the gut to give me some space. He steps to the side, and a clearly amused, throaty laugh rumbles from him. I sit. It takes a moment to open my bank’s website and a few seconds more to remember my log-in details.

“So how much do I owe you exactly?” I ask.

“Twelve thousand dollars for the flight and let’s say two hundred for the transfer and accommodation. I’ll throw the food in gratis,” he says matter-of-factly. I snort.

“Oh you’re such a gentleman, but you can do one, if you think I’m paying twelve grand for a flight I already paid for. I didn’t ask for the upgrade.” I’m standing now, indignation prick- ling my last nerve raw.

“But you took it,” he states.

“You didn’t give me a choice.” Exasperated, I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s playing me. It feels like a game, yet it doesn’t.

“Oh please. You had a choice. It just served your 52

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goody-two-shoes ideals to pretend you didn’t.” He arches a knowing brow. Even if this was a game, I’m done playing, and the last thing I want in the world is owe this man a single damn penny.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse. Now pay up, princess.” He cups his hand as if waiting for me to hand over the actual cash into his expectant palm.

“How do you sleep at night?” I snark and sit back down.

“Butt naked with the AC on full.”