Spotlight & Giveaway: One Hot Cowboy Wedding by Carolyn Brown

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Carolyn Brown to HJ!

Hi Carolyn and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, One Hot Cowboy Wedding!

 
Ace and Jasmine–the characters from One Hot Cowboy Wedding–and I are so glad to be here!
 

Please summarize the book a la Twitter style for the readers here:

Shhh! It’s a secret! At least it was until it was broadcast on national television; then what happened in Vegas did not stay in Vegas. Jasmine and Ace had to face everyone as a newly wedded couple. The cat was definitely out of the bag.
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

SHHHH! IT’S A SECRET!
That line had run around in Jasmine’s mind all day on a continuous loop. She imagined two little girls playing out on the grassy lawn with their Barbie dolls, and it was a secret where Barbie and Ken were going for supper. Then two middle school girls in her bedroom gossiping about boys, and it was a secret.
Oh, the secrets she and Pearl had shared through the years, and now she had one that she couldn’t share with anyone, not even Pearl.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• Ace was a player who never intended to settle down to one woman
• There really is a Ringgold, Texas.
• The cafe Chicken Fried is named for a song from the Zac Brown Band.
• Jasmine hasn’t always been a cook.
• Pearl, Jasmine’s friend, helps women in need by sending them to Jasmine for jobs.

What first attracts your main characters to each other?

Ace is sexy but he’s just a friend, and besides he’s a player that will never be settled down.
Jasmine is a wonderful friend and downright beautiful, but Ace is attracted to all pretty women.
 

Using just 5 words, how would you describe your main characters”love affair?

Cautious, steamy, wishful, committed, forever.
 

The First Kiss…

Jasmine looked up and he looked down into her aqua-coloredgreen eyes. She hadn’t planned on this part. The preacher would say they were husband, and wife and that would be that. But from the look in Ace’s sexy eyes, he was going to seal the deal with a real kiss.
She shut her eyes and moistened her lips. Lights started flashing and wedding music began playing, this time louder than before and with lots more jazz. Lord, a kiss had never affected her like that before.
Holy shit! That wasn’t supposed to happen! Jasmine thought.
But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t just the sparks of a kiss setting off music and stars. All the people in the church were holding cameras and talking all at once. Someone with a video camera and a microphone on a long stick shoved chairs to one side so they could get closer. Red dots danced in front of Jasmine’s eyes, and she wondered if it was the result of flashes and bright lights or if Ace was really that good at kissing.

Without revealing too much, what is your favorite scene in the book?

The bed was so soft, and Jasmine was so worn out physically and mentally that she wished she could slip beneath the duvet and sheets bare-butt naked instead of wearing plaid boxer shorts and a gray tank top. She’d worked until two that day, flew flown from Dallas to Vegas on a nonstop flight, and gotten married, and then dealt with the fallout all evening. She picked up the tiered server and carried it to the bed. Ace was already on his side of the acre-sized bed, his hands laced behind his head and his eyes on her.
She set the goodie tray in the middle of the bed and settled down, cross-legged, beside it. “You guys cheat. It’s all right for you to go to bed naked from the waist up. Girls don’t get to do that.”
“Hey, I got no problem with you coming to bed naked all over.” He grinned and chose a bite-sized turtle cheesecake from the server.
She bit into an enormous chocolate-covered strawberry. “I deserve every bit of this. Stress destroys fat grams and calories.”
“And there’s a book in the bedside table…”
She air slapped him on the tattoo. “Tell me about that thing. Austin says that Rye’s got one too. I know they protect you from women, but that Rye’s didn’t work with Austin. When did you get them, and are you BFFs or something?”
Even that close, her almost-touch heated the barbed wire up to the burning point.
“In guy language, that BFF crap means something different than you girls’ stuff about best friends forever,” he said.
“What does it mean?”
He ate another cheesecake bite. “Can’t tell you. It’s a big secret and we have to sign our names in blood before we can be a member. Part of the code is that girls don’t get to know what it means.”
“Oh?” She tucked her chin in and looked up at him through heavy lashes.
“Have to prick our finger with our own spur. No sissies or preppies can be in our BFF club,” he said seriously.
“Ace Riley, you are full of pure old stinky crap.”
“That’s what the first letter stands for. Want to keep guessing on the two F’s?” When he grinned his blue eyes sparkled.
“No, I do not. Any members of your club women?” she asked. “I figured a flirty player like you would let women in just to seduce them.”
“Hell, no! This is a guy’s club,” Ace said.
“You wear cute little necklaces to prove it, or do you all have barbed- wire tats?” She tried to decide between a tiny cheesecake or a bite-sized tiramisu.
“Hell no again! And my tat don’t have a thing to do with our BFF club,” he declared.
“Okay, tell me why you and Rye have one, and Wil doesn’t have one, and. I’ve never seen one on Raylen or on Dewar, either. Are they members of your club?”
“We’re all members of it. We meet at least once a month, and everyone tells their wives or girlfriends that they’re goin’ coon huntin’. The tat is something different than the club. Just me and Rye got them.”
She propped up on one elbow. “You better tell me because if Cole or his lawyer ask about it, I need to know.”
“It’s a crazy kid thing.”
She cocked her head to one side, her dark- brown hair curling up on the pillowcase. “I’m listenin’.”
Ace sat up and faced her. His arms were muscled from hard work; , his abs ripped; , and a fine line of soft brown hair trailed from his chest down beneath red- plaid pajama bottoms with a drawstring. Jasmine’s fingers itched to go exploring where that hairline ended. She sat up and laced them together to keep them out of mischief.
He sighed. “It was eleven years ago. Rye is actually the youngest among me and him and Wil. Dewar is just younger than him, and Raylen comes in after that. We all ran around together, but it was me and Wil and Rye who were the same age. Rye’d just turned twenty-one and we’d been down to Mesquite to the Resistol Rodeo. Not a one of us did a damn bit of good that night. None of us had enough points to even go on to the next round of bull riding. Raylen and Dewar are both younger than us, and they ride broncs and would put us plumb to shame. So we were whinin’ around like three little girls. We were big boys so we could go to the bars and Raylen and Dewar couldn’t, so we left them behind and started home.”
Jasmine was reminded of what her mother said about Granny Dale. “Don’t ask her a question because she begins everything with, ‘In the beginning God made dirt,’ and it’ll take her five years to get the answer out.”
“Anyway,” Ace went on. “We were hitting every bar from Mesquite to Dallas. It was very late or very early, depending on how you look at it. But it was way past two because all the bars were shut down. None of us were sober enough to drive, but it was my truck so neither of them was going to get behind the wheel. Rye was carryin’ on about this girlfriend he had. Sabrina? No, her name was Serena. They’d been in love since grade school and she’d up and married another man. Wil had passed out in the back seat, and I looked up to see a twenty-four-hour tattoo parlor right there on our side of the road. I pulled the truck into the parking lot and told Rye all three of us were getting barbed- wire tats around our left arm so no woman could ever hurt him again.”
“But why would you and Wil get a tat? Serena didn’t break your hearts,” Jasmine asked.
“Did I say we were very, very drunk? And remember, we’d stabbed our fingers with our spurs and written our names on the BFF roster sheet, which is in a bank vault under lock and key and protected by armed guards, so in my drunken state I thought I had to take care of Rye.”
Jasmine giggled. “How on earth did you get home without wrecking your truck?”
“It was a real job, I’m tellin’ you, darlin’. A real trick that took an excellent driver to pull it off, but I can drive anything with four wheels or ride anything with four legs.”
“And two legs?” She raised a dark eyebrow.
“I’m a sweet-talkin’ son of a gun with anything that has two legs.” He grinned.
“Go on,” she said.
“Well, Wil woke up enough to tell us he wasn’t getting no tat and went back to sleep. Me and Rye staggered into the place. Hell, we didn’t even look around to see if it was decent. It’s a wonder we both didn’t catch something horrible, but anyway, we told the lady what we wanted. You should’ve seen her, Jazzy. She had tats all over her body, at least the parts we could see, and that was a helluva lot of skin. She took Rye to the back room, and I followed. She put a barbed wire around his left arm, and I bared mine to get the same thing. Wil didn’t even feel sorry for us when we carried on the next day about them hurting.”
“That was pretty stupid, and I wouldn’t have felt sorry for you either,” she said.
Ace propped the pillows against the headboard and leaned back. “Okay, now you have to share. You got any tats?”
“One,” Jasmine said.
His eyes scanned what he could see. “You’re lyin’ to me—and on our wedding day. I might divorce you in a year rather than you divorcing me.”
“I’ve got a tat. I’m not lyin’ to you.”
“Where?”
To Jasmine, his gaze felt like a blow torch. It had to be that damned dress and veil. She’d been a fool to wear the thing and it was supposed to stop making her hot when she took it off. She should’ve worn her jeans and a tie-dyed knit shirt and sneakers. But there it was hanging in the closet when she’d started packing for the overnight trip and she’d decided to play dress-up.
“Where?” he asked again.
“On my butt, and nobody, not even Pearl or Momma, knows it’s there. I got it when I bought the café.”
He grinned. “I didn’t know they made a tat of a chicken fried steak. Show it to me.”
She shook her head. “It’s not a chicken- fried steak.”
“Then what is it? Show me. You promised to love, honor, and obey me. I’m orderin’ you to show me that tat. I still don’t believe you’ve got one!”
Her eyes widened. “You vowed to love, honor, and respect me. I’m callin’ in that last vow about respectin’ me and my tat.”
He inched over toward her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Oh, okay. It’s not that big a deal,” she said.
“I’m the very first one to ever see it, so it’s a big deal to me,” he said.
She flipped around and jerked down the back of her boxer shorts.
At first Ace couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d expected a butterfly or a heart, or perhaps the Chinese symbol for love, but not what was right there in bright green and yellow high up on her hip. He moved closer and blinked several times, but it was still there. Why in the world would she get a tat of the John Deere tractor logo: a bulging green square with a yellow deer silhouette in the center?
She flipped her shorts back up and turned to face him.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why did I get a tat? Why is it a tractor logo? Which one?”
He wasn’t grinning any more when she looked up. “All of the above.”
“I got it because I quit a six-figure job to buy a café that won’t make half that in a year. And I’ll work twice as hard and twice as many hours to make half that much. A tractor logo because one time back when Pearl and I were teenagers we got into trouble and her dad decided our punishment was plowing a field in a John Deere tractor with an open cab. No air- conditioning and no CD player, not even a radio. And it taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. Either be smart enough not to get caught, or suffer the punishment without bitchin’. But mostly it was to remind me that I’m in control of where this tractor called life is taking me. And if I’ve ever got a doubt, all I need to do is look in the mirror at my butt.”
“Fine-lookin’ butt and fine-lookin’ tat,” Ace said.
“You are a good friend,” Jasmine said.
“Not as good as you, darlin’. You saved the ranch, remember?”

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would be absolutely crucial to include?

The bed was so soft and Jasmine was so worn out physically and mentally that she wished she could slip beneath the duvet and sheets bare-butt naked instead of wearing plaid boxer shorts and a gray tank top. She’d worked until two that day, flew flown from Dallas to Vegas on a nonstop flight, and gotten married, and then dealt with the fallout all evening. She picked up the tiered server and carried it to the bed. Ace was already on his side of the acre-sized bed, his hands laced behind his head and his eyes on her.
She set the goodie tray in the middle of the bed and settled down, cross-legged, beside it. “You guys cheat. It’s all right for you to go to bed naked from the waist up. Girls don’t get to do that.”
“Hey, I got no problem with you coming to bed naked all over.” He grinned and chose a bite-sized turtle cheesecake from the server.
She bit into an enormous chocolate-covered strawberry. “I deserve every bit of this. Stress destroys fat grams and calories.”
“And there’s a book in the bedside table…”
She air slapped him on the tattoo. “Tell me about that thing. Austin says that Rye’s got one too. I know they protect you from women but that Rye’s didn’t work with Austin. When did you get them, and are you BFFs or something?”
Even that close, her almost-touch heated the barbed wire up to the burning point.
“In guy language, that BFF shitcrap means something different than you girls’ stuff about best friends forever,” he said.
“What does it mean?”
He ate another cheesecake bite. “Can’t tell you. It’s a big secret and we have to sign our names in blood before we can be a member. Part of the code is that girls don’t get to know what it means.”
“Oh?” She tucked her chin in and looked up at him through heavy lashes.
“Have to prick our finger with our own spur. No sissies or preppies can be in our BFF club,” he said seriously.
“Ace Riley, you are full of pure old stinky bullshitcrap.”
“That’s what the first letter stands for. Want to keep guessing on the two F’s?” When he grinned his blue eyes sparkled.
“No, I do not. Any members of your club women?” she asked. “I figured a flirty player like you would let women in just to seduce them.”
“Hell, no! This is a guy’s club,” Ace said.
“You wear cute little necklaces to prove it, or do you all have barbed- wire tats?” She tried to decide between a tiny cheesecake or a bite-sized tiramisu.
“Hell no again! And my tat don’t have a thing to do with our BFF club,” he declared.
“Okay, tell me why you and Rye have one, and Wil doesn’t have one, and. I’ve never seen one on Raylen or on Dewar, either. Are they members of your club?”
“We’re all members of it. We meet at least once a month, and everyone tells their wives or girlfriends that they’re goin’ coon huntin’. The tat is something different than the club. Just me and Rye got them.”
She propped up on one elbow. “You better tell me because if Cole or his lawyer ask about it, I need to know.”
“It’s a crazy kid thing.”
She cocked her head to one side, her dark- brown hair curling up on the pillowcase. “I’m listenin’.”
Ace sat up and faced her. His arms were muscled from hard work; , his abs ripped; , and a fine line of soft brown hair trailed from his chest down beneath red- plaid pajama bottoms with a drawstring. Jasmine’s fingers itched to go exploring where that hairline ended. She sat up and laced them together to keep them out of mischief.
He sighed. “It was eleven years ago. Rye is actually the youngest among me and him and Wil. Dewar is just younger than him, and Raylen comes in after that. We all ran around together, but it was me and Wil and Rye who were the same age. Rye’d just turned twenty-one and we’d been down to Mesquite to the Resistol Rodeo. Not a one of us did a damn bit of good that night. None of us had enough points to even go on to the next round of bull riding. Raylen and Dewar are both younger than us, and they ride broncs and would put us plumb to shame. So we were whinin’ around like three little girls. We were big boys so we could go to the bars and Raylen and Dewar couldn’t, so we left them behind and started home.”
Jasmine was reminded of what her mother said about Granny Dale. “Don’t ask her a question because she begins everything with, ‘In the beginning God made dirt,’ and it’ll take her five years to get the answer out.”
“Anyway,” Ace went on. “We were hitting every bar from Mesquite to Dallas. It was very late or very early, depending on how you look at it. But it was way past two because all the bars were shut down. None of us were sober enough to drive, but it was my truck so neither of them was going to get behind the wheel. Rye was carryin’ on about this girlfriend he had. Sabrina? No, her name was Serena. They’d been in love since grade school and she’d up and married another man. Wil had passed out in the back seat, and I looked up to see a twenty-four-hour tattoo parlor right there on our side of the road. I pulled the truck into the parking lot and told Rye all three of us were getting barbed- wire tats around our left arm so no woman could ever hurt him again.”
“But why would you and Wil get a tat? Serena didn’t break your hearts,” Jasmine asked.
“Did I say we were very, very drunk? And remember, we’d stabbed our fingers with our spurs and written our names on the BFF roster sheet, which is in a bank vault under lock and key and protected by armed guards, so in my drunken state I thought I had to take care of Rye.”
Jasmine giggled. “How on earth did you get home without wrecking your truck?”
“It was a real job, I’m tellin’ you, darlin’. A real trick that took an excellent driver to pull it off, but I can drive anything with four wheels or ride anything with four legs.”
“And two legs?” She raised a dark eyebrow.
“I’m a sweet-talkin’ son of a gun with anything that has two legs.” He grinned.
“Go on,” she said.
“Well, Wil woke up enough to tell us he wasn’t getting no tat and went back to sleep. Me and Rye staggered into the place. Hell, we didn’t even look around to see if it was decent. It’s a wonder we both didn’t catch something horrible, but anyway, we told the lady what we wanted. You should’ve seen her, Jazzy. She had tats all over her body, at least the parts we could see, and that was a helluva lot of skin. She took Rye to the back room and I followed. She put a barbed wire around his left arm and I bared mine to get the same thing. Wil didn’t even feel sorry for us when we carried on the next day about them hurting.”
“That was pretty stupid, and I wouldn’t have felt sorry for you either,” she said.
Ace propped the pillows against the headboard and leaned back. “Okay, now you have to share. You got any tats?”
“One,” Jasmine said.
His eyes scanned what he could see. “You’re lyin’ to me—and on our wedding day. I might divorce you in a year rather than you divorcing me.”
“I’ve got a tat. I’m not lyin’ to you.”
“Where?”
To Jasmine, his gaze felt like a blow torch. It had to be that damned dress and veil. She’d been a fool to wear the thing and it was supposed to stop making her hot when she took it off. She should’ve worn her jeans and a tie-dyed knit shirt and sneakers. But there it was hanging in the closet when she’d started packing for the overnight trip and she’d decided to play dress-up.
“Where?” he asked again.
“On my butt, and nobody, not even Pearl or Momma, knows it’s there. I got it when I bought the café.”
He grinned. “I didn’t know they made a tat of a chicken fried steak. Show it to me.”
She shook her head. “It’s not a chicken- fried steak.”
“Then what is it? Show me. You promised to love, honor, and obey me. I’m orderin’ you to show me that tat. I still don’t believe you’ve got one!”
Her eyes widened. “You vowed to love, honor, and respect me. I’m callin’ in that last vow about respectin’ me and my tat.”
He inched over toward her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Oh, okay. It’s not that big a deal,” she said.
“I’m the very first one to ever see it, so it’s a big deal to me,” he said.
She flipped around and jerked down the back of her boxer shorts.
At first Ace couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d expected a butterfly or a heart, or perhaps the Chinese symbol for love, but not what was right there in bright green and yellow high up on her hip. He moved closer and blinked several times, but it was still there. Why in the world would she get a tat of the John Deere tractor logo: a bulging green square with a yellow deer silhouette in the center?
She flipped her shorts back up and turned to face him.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why did I get a tat? Why is it a tractor logo? Which one?”
He wasn’t grinning any more when she looked up. “All of the above.”
“I got it because I quit a six-figure job to buy a café that won’t make half that in a year. And I’ll work twice as hard and twice as many hours to make half that much. A tractor logo because one time back when Pearl and I were teenagers we got into trouble and her dad decided our punishment was plowing a field in a John Deere tractor with an open cab. No air- conditioning and no CD player, not even a radio. And it taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. Either be smart enough not to get caught, or suffer the punishment without bitchin’. But mostly it was to remind me that I’m in control of where this tractor called life is taking me. And if I’ve ever got a doubt, all I need to do is look in the mirror at my butt.”
“Fine-lookin’ butt and fine-lookin’ tat,” Ace said.
“You are a good friend,” Jasmine said.
“Not as good as you, darlin’. You saved the ranch, remember?”

Readers should read this book …

To make them believe that everything happens for a reason, and everything works out just as it should.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m working on a women’s fiction that will hopefully be out in 2024, The Sawmill Book Club is the working title.
Upcoming releases are:
The Mother’s Day Crown (ebook from the IN BLOOM anthology), April 25
Chasing Dreams (Audible Original), May 12
The Wedding Gift (anthology of novellas), June 27
The Lucky Shamrock (women’s fiction), July 4
Paradise for Christmas (southern contemporary romance) Oct. 10
On the Way to Us (reissue of An Old Love’s Shadow), Dec. 12

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

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Excerpt from One Hot Cowboy Wedding:

SHHHH! IT’S A SECRET!
That line had run around in Jasmine’s mind all day on a continuous loop. She imagined two little girls playing out on the grassy lawn with their Barbie dolls, and it was a secret where Barbie and Ken were going for supper. Then two middle school girls in her bedroom gossiping about boys, and it was a secret.
Oh, the secrets she and Pearl had shared through the years, and now she had one that she couldn’t share with anyone, not even Pearl.
“No one in Texas is ever going to know. Not even Pearl. I’ll go home and everything will be the same. I’ll wake up Monday morning, open the Chicken Fried Café, and business will go on as usual and by then I’ll forget all about this wedding. It’ll be a secret, all right, but between me and Ace, and no one else will ever know.” She talked to herself as she flopped her suitcase on the hotel bed and unzipped it. Her hands were shaking. A fine bead of moisture covered her upper lip, and second thoughts were about to smother her plumb to death.
She and Ace had taken different flights. He’d flown out of Dallas on Friday and gotten their rooms. She’d arrived late Saturday afternoon and caught a taxi to the hotel. It was down to the wire, swim or drown time, red light or green light. Her hands were clammy, and sweat was pooling up around the band of her bra. Nervously, she looked at the clock. The hands whipped around so fast that it made her dizzy. Where had the time gone?
She took a quick shower, washed and dried her long, dark hair, and applied makeup. Then it was time to dress. Thank God the plane had been on time, or she would have been rushed. She couldn’t have stood a dose of nervous and one of hurry-up at the same time.
The white satin dress fit tightly to the waist with a hem that stopped right above her knee. Filmy illusion was attached to a white Stetson hat in a big bow with the streamers hanging to her waist. The dress was sprinkled with pearls and edged with lace. The shoes were white satin with beadwork on the high heels. But Jasmine didn’t feel like a bride. She felt like an imposter.
A rapid rat-a-tat-tat on the door said time was up. She opened the door to find Ace smiling from ear to ear and holding a black Stetson. He was sexy in his black western-cut jacket, creased black Wranglers, and white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His blond curls were almost tamed with a healthy dose of gel, but a few still escaped to float playfully on his forehead. But then it was common knowledge that Ace Riley was a player, so he would know exactly how to dress, how to swagger, how to use that Texas drawl, and how to smile to attract the women.
He braced an arm against the doorjamb and let his gray-blue eyes slowly scan her from high heels to Stetson. That didn’t surprise Jasmine either. Flirting came as natural to Ace as breathing. The first thing he did when he walked into the café was scope it out for new skirt tails; the second was turn on the charm.
“Whew! You clean up pretty damn good, Jazzy.” His sexy Texas drawl was deep, and his words came out slow. Most women melted when he walked through the door and swooned when he opened his mouth. He’d never affected Jasmine that way, not until that moment.
She’d seen him before in dress jeans and crisply ironed shirts but never as fancy as he was that day. Most of the time he came into the café in his scuffed work boots, faded jeans, and shirts with the sleeves cut out; the barbed-wire tat around his arm was a constant reminder that he never intended to let a woman anywhere near his heart. A motel bed or her bed, yes, but never his heart or his bedroom.
“Those are two places I’m saving for the love of my life if I ever meet her,” he’d told Jasmine once while he was eating hamburgers in her kitchen.
Jasmine struck a pose for him. “Do I look like a blushing bride? You know you shouldn’t be seeing me before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
He fanned his face with his black Stetson and whistled through his teeth. “Oh, darlin’, you look every bit the part, and don’t worry about bad luck. We’re in Vegas and no one knows what we’re up to. You know what they say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! We ain’t got a thing to worry about. Let’s go get married?”
She looped her arm into his and pulled the door shut.
The elevator was right across from her room and opened immediately when he pushed the down button. “See, it’s an omen. Nothing bad is going to happen because I saw you in that cute little dress. Besides, the rules are different in Vegas.”
She looked up at him. “Oh yeah?”
“Sure, they are. Didn’t you read the rule book in the drawer right beside the Gideon Bible? God, Jazzy, this ain’t your first time in Vegas, is it?”
“Hell, no! I’ve been here before and you are full of crap! There is no rule book in the drawer.” She giggled.
“Did you even open the drawer and look?” Ace demanded.
“Yes, I did,” she lied.
“Well, crap!” Ace teased, “If it had been there you would have seen that on page five, paragraph six, it says that the groom can see the bride on the wedding day and that it will bring them good luck. Paragraph seven says that the only thing they have to be careful with is the blackjack tables. If the bride is wearing her wedding dress, they will lose their money there. So, all we have to do is stay away from the blackjack tables. Besides, what bride and groom would spend their time gambling anyway? They’d be rufflin’ up the sheets with some hot-as-hell sex,” Ace said.
“Nothing, not even a fake marriage, will ever change you, Ace,” she said, laughing.
The elevator doors slid open, and he strutted out with her on his arm. Heads turned as they walked past the blackjack tables, the roulette wheels, and the slot machines. One woman fanned herself with the back of her hand; another licked her lips as if she could taste his kisses; and at least two wiggled as if they needed to make a dash to the bathroom and change their underpants.
Men seemed to be ogling Jazzy as if they’d like to lay her down on satin sheets and peel that tight-fittin’ dress off her slow and easy. Truth was that Ace was thinking about how those full lips would taste; if that long hair would feel like silk as he tangled it up in his fingers; or how slick those legs would be wrapped around him in a Jacuzzi. He shook his head to knock out the vision, and another kinky blond curl fell down on his forehead. He didn’t bother pushing it back. After the wedding he would settle his black Stetson on his head, and that would keep the pesky curls away from his eyes.
At the curb, he raised his hand and a taxi pulled right up. “See, more good luck. Elevator right there waiting for us and now a taxi is Johnny-on-the-spot. I tell you, this is our night, Miz Jazzy.”
“Okay, I believe you, Ace. Nothing can go wrong, and what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Shhh, it’s a secret.” She held one finger to her lips.
He opened the door and held the streamers from her hat while Jasmine crawled into the back seat and then he followed her.
“Yes, it is a secret. Our secret and we’ll leave it right here, so don’t worry, darlin’,” he whispered.
His warm breath started something boiling down deep in her stomach. But that shouldn’t come as a surprise. She had dated four men in the past year and a half. One of them got past the second date. None of them went further than a good-night kiss.
“Cupid’s Wedding Chapel,” he told the driver.
“I’ll have you there in twenty minutes. Traffic is pretty bad this time of night,” he said.
“We need to be there at seven.” Ace checked his watch. They had fifteen minutes. Dammit! He’d forgotten to figure in traffic. He’d just figured on getting there right at the time, doing the deed, and getting back to the hotel where he would play the slots for a couple of hours and go to bed.
“Then we’ll take a shortcut. Hang on to your hats.”
“What happens at the chapel?” Jazzy asked.
“I bought a package deal. Pictures. Bouquet for you. License in a cute little folder with a seal on the front. And the ceremony. The lawyer said to bring him a valid marriage license, but I’m taking pictures so Cole can see it was a real wedding. I appreciate you getting all dressed up, Jazzy,” he said softly.
She punched his arm playfully. “What are friends for?”
He grinned. “God knows I don’t want you to back out, but I wouldn’t blame you, and we’d still be friends if you are about to change your mind.”
She shook her head emphatically. “Hell, no! That sumbitch Cole isn’t getting the farm. But I do have one question, Ace. How is it that he won’t be tellin’ the whole family anyway?”
Ace graced her with his brightest smile. “Ranch, darlin’. Not farm.”
“Okay, let’s put it this way: That sumbitch Cole ain’t gettin’ your Texas dirt whether you grow potatoes or Angus calves,” she said.
He chuckled. “I like the part about sumbitch Cole, and I’ll stick to Angus. And I’ll explain the Cole situation to you after the wedding. Don’t worry. He won’t tell a soul about the ranch if he doesn’t get it.”

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

It was supposed to be a secret wedding…

Followed by a quiet divorce.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

That is until it’s shown on national television and then all hell breaks loose

Hunky cowboy Ace Riley wasn’t planning on settling down, but his family had other plans for him. The only way to save his hide, his ranch, and his playboy lifestyle, is to discreetly marry his best friend, Jasmine King.

Fiesty city-girl Jasmine was just helping out her friend…that is, until their first kiss stirs up a whole mess of paparazzi trouble, and suddenly discretion is thrown to the wind.

One hot cowboy, one riled up woman…

And they’ll be married for a year, like it or not!
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Meet the Author:

Carolyn Brown is a New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, Publisher’s Weekly and #1 Amazon and #1 Washington Post bestselling author. She is the author of more than 100 novels and several novellas. She’s a recipient of the Bookseller’s Best Award, Montlake Romance’s prestigious Montlake Diamond Award, and a three-time recipient of the National Reader’s Choice Award. Brown has been published for more than 25 years, and her books have been translated 21 foreign languages, and have sold more than 10 million copies worldwide.
When she’s not writing, she likes to take road trips with her husband, Mr. B, and her family, and she plots out new stories as they travel.
Visit her at www.carolynbrownbooks.com
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