Only in His Sweetest Dreams
Can this found-family find forever…?
After a neglected childhood, Mercedes Kimball treasures the apartment that comes with her management job in a retirement community. It’s strictly no-kids, but she doesn’t plan to have any—until she takes in her niece and nephew. Her job is on the line even before a handyman with bedroom eyes shows up.
When his teenaged son breaks into a senior’s complex, L.C. Fogartyconvinces the too-cute Mercedes to let him repair the damage. He hopes working with his son will repair their rocky relationship, not expecting to fix toasters for penny-pinching grandmothers or help Mercedes navigate parenthood.
Mercedes can’t afford mistakes and L.C. might be one, but their white-hot attraction is irresistible. Just as L.C. dreams of a future with her, however, his past catches up to him, forcing him to leave when she needs him most. Can he find a way to fix the heart he didn’t want break?
This is a stand-alone slow-burn family drama romance with laughs and a guaranteed HEA. No cliffhangers. No cheating.
354 Pages | 6 Hours | 85k words
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EXCERPT
Mercedes had understood from Harrison that four young men had broken into the back units of the complex, but only one stood across the room. He looked surprisingly clean-cut for a B&E artist.
However, if the man beside him was a relative—and he must be since they shared the same dark coloring—then it explained everything. The older brother or uncle or whatever he was, looked like cheap beer, dirty talk, and sweaty sex.
He smiled at her as if he knew she possessed a learning disability where guys like him were concerned.
Clenching her stomach against flutters of intrigue, Mercedes dredged up a cool smile and approached with her hand extended. “I’m Mercedes Kimball, the Manager of Coconino.”
In his mid to late thirties, the man straightened from a slouch against the wall, giving the impression he was on the wrong side of pulling an all-nighter. His hair was in need of cutting or combing. Both really, and his jeans looked clean, but were faded and frayed. He hadn’t shaved in days and he had to know that old-fashioned senior types like the ones in this room expected a tidier appearance for important meetings like this.
Then again, a man like him didn’t usually give a damn.
“L.C. Fogarty.” He shook with an all-encompassing grip that could easily lead her to the nearest broom closet. He kept her hand while he said, “My son, Zack.”
“Son,” she said with mild surprise and eased her tingling hand free, smiling at Zack.
Zack didn’t meet her gaze, too busy giving his father a weird look.
“What?” L.C. asked.
Zack shook his head, held out his hand for Mercedes, and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kimball.”
Really the kid was too much a contrast to the punk father, his hair freshly cut, his slacks and collared shirt clean and ironed, his attitude respectful rather than knowing and wicked. He had shaved. Maybe the wrong Fogarty had been copped for the crime.