An ex-con falsely accused of a crime, Braedan O’Connor has spent the past year in jail. Anxious to get home and start his life over, he’s surprised to find his home inhabited by a rather delectable woman --- who's told the entire town she's his fiance?
Ainsley hadn’t expected to get caught in the man’s home. Face to face with the handsome stranger, one who makes her senses come alive, she isn’t sure what to expect. Knowing he was in jail frightens her, but her hands aren’t exactly clean either. Just how far is Ainsley willing to take her charade?
*NOTE: This was previously titled Unexpected Wife*
Braedan had come home expecting to find his land overgrown and his house falling apart. Instead, the grass had been freshly cut, the house looked better than it had when he’d gone to prison, and lights were on inside. Curious, he had stepped in to the scent of apple pie. Following the smell, he’d found himself staring at a stunning woman in his kitchen, barefoot and baking.
“What in the hell are you doing in my house?” he asked in a gruff voice.
She stared at him, incapable of speaking. Her hands trembled slightly.
He dropped his bag on the floor. “I’ll ask you again. What in the hell are you doing in my house?”
“I, um… I can explain,” she stammered, backing up until she hit the kitchen counter, trying to put some distance between herself and this moving mountain of a man.
Braedan stalked into the room. “So, start talking.”
“You see, I thought the house was abandoned, and I needed shelter from the storm,” Ainsley said weakly.
Braedan crossed his arms. “How did you get the utilities on?”
A blush stained her cheeks. “Well, um, I … I went to the utility office in the town square.”
“And they just let you turn on the power in my house?”
“Not exactly,” she muttered. Her eyes darted to the door behind him. She knew she’d never make it. What was he going to do to her?
“What was that?”
She took a breath. “I said, not exactly.”
“Then, how exactly did you do it?”
Her hands fidgeted with her dress. “They might, possibly, be under the impression that I’m your, um, your fiancée,” she finished quietly.
He looked thunderstruck. “My what?”
“Fiancée… they think I’m your fiancée,” she bit out, hating to repeat herself.
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