Misunderstood in Merritt

Release date: September 19, 2016
Misunderstood in MerrittAs personal assistant to the rich and famous Beauford brothers, Sammy Anderson spends his days catering to his employers’ needs—and his nights with the beautiful women who don’t mind using his bed as a stepping stone to his bosses. His life may not be glamorous, but he’s happy enough—until he meets interior design assistant Pam Carson and realizes what he’s been missing.

Surrounded by her glamorous, accomplished family and talented bosses, unassuming Pam tends to blend into the background. She wouldn’t expect Sammy Anderson to look at her twice, so why is it this gorgeous errand boy can’t seem to stop staring at her?

When they join forces to make sure Jackson Beauford’s benefit concert goes off without a hitch, Sammy tries to make Pam see that this connection they share is special. But she’s convinced her ordinary existence could never be enough to make him give up his sparkling life in Beauford.

BUY NOWDuring a star-studded week in Merritt, will these two underdogs finally step into the spotlight to find their own fairy tale?

by Alicia Hunter Pace

Contemporary
Sensuality Level: Sensual

“I absolutely love Alicia Hunter Pace’s books. They have such a quirky sweetness, and the characters always ring true and make me cry!” —Linda Howard

Author Bio:
Alicia Hunter Pace is a writing team who live in North Alabama, where they share a love of football and old houses while having a lot of fun writing romances together. Find Alicia Hunter Pace at www.aliciahunterpace.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter @AliciaHPace.

 

An excerpt from Misunderstood in Merritt:

Cute got him every single time.

Sammy Anderson had no truck with tall women who were all hipbones and cheekbones and looked that they could slice a man in two just by bumping into him. In fact, they scared him with their black clingy dresses, tall shoes, big chunky jewelry, and sunglasses pushed on top of their heads like bug eyes.

But cute. He loved him some cute, and the cutest thing in Cute City had just opened the door to Annelle Mead Interiors in Merritt, Alabama, where he’d been sent to fetch house trappings for Neyland Beauford.

Fetching was what Sammy did—mostly for country music star Jackson Beauford, but really for any Beauford, because the Beaufords were all one big machine. What a lot people wouldn’t have guessed was that Sammy was at the top of the list of people who kept that machine oiled and in good working condition. But the Beaufords knew, and they paid him well and treated him like family. As far as he was concerned, he had the best job in the world. The job came with many, many fringe benefits, but so far none as good as being allowed to cast his eyes on the cute, smiling girl standing in front of him. He tried his best not to think improper thoughts about her; she was probably someone’s wife and mother. He let his eyes drop to her left hand. Ringless and no ridge where a ring had been.

So it wouldn’t hurt to look, as long as he didn’t touch.

Her soft, light red hair brushed her shoulders and was smooth and feathery all at once. It was his favorite kind of hair, though he hadn’t known it until that moment. Technically, having not touched it, he couldn’t be absolutely sure it was soft, but he was sure enough—and enough served him well. It always had. Swear to Thor’s thunder, her big, round eyes were an amazing shade of emerald green. There was a sprinkling of freckles on her nose and across her round little cheeks. He would have loved to run his thumb over her bare suggestion of a double chin, but that wasn’t allowed. You couldn’t just go around touching people you’d never even spoken to.

“Hey. I’m Sammy Anderson.”

Though she rewarded him for introducing himself by widening her smile, he still shouldn’t touch her face—let alone her curvy, little body. He figured she wasn’t quite five and a half feet tall, and her body had been built for cuddling and wearing an apron—maybe at the same time, maybe not. Not that there needed to be any cooking involved in the apron-wearing. He could cook. He just needed her to wear an apron because she would look even cuter. She wasn’t wearing one now, of course, and he could think of no better pastime than picking her up, sitting down on that fancy couch across the way, and settling her on his lap. Parts in his lap region liked that idea, but he was pretty sure that couch was just as off limits to him as she was.

“I’m Pam Carson,” she said.