Hot For Preacher – Anne Marsh

Girl dries him off and definitely catches feelings. Jack The rain starts early Wednesday morning. First it rains all morning. Then all afternoon. Now, with the sun just down, it’s still raining. I run for my front door. There’s a moment of forward momentum— followed by confusion—when it doesn’t open. “She locked me out.” I slap at my jeans pockets for a key.

Deacon hoots with laughter somewhere behind me. We’ve spent the last hour up on the church roof, hammering on a tarp while it rained hard enough to make me wonder where I parked my ark. I’m soaked. And apparently locked out of my own house by the woman I’m falling for, which seems about right for how this day’s been going. “See you tomorrow,” I holler and Deacon honks the horn of his truck as he drives past. He doesn’t even wait around to make sure I get in safe—he’s a terrible date.

I end up having to fish the spare out of the key frog sitting on the top step. As soon as the lock turns, I barrel inside. I’m more interested in being somewhere less rained on than in playing it cool, which is probably good because I’m about as far from cool as a man can get right now.

The second I step inside, I discover my living room’s been replaced with a tropical sauna. Georgia Peach is wilting in her dollhouse. She barks a cranky hello as I shut the door behind me and halt on the doormat. If I track mud and water all over the house, I’ll have to clean it up. And explaining to Dixie why there are boot prints on her freshly mopped floors would require admitting I noticed she mopped them, which would require admitting I notice everything she does, which is a conversation I’m not ready for.

So, it makes sense to strip down by the door, except I’m not alone and Dixie and I have established a no-one-gets-naked rule. A rule that seemed sensible when we made it but feels increasingly stupid every day I live with her. Walking away from last night’s kiss wasn’t my smartest move. I toe my work boots off while I debate how far I can push that rule. Boots, yes. Socks, 100 percent. But what about my flannel or my T-shirt?

Pants, I decide regretfully, have to stay on. Pants are a roommate requirement. Speaking of which, where is my roomie? She’s hard to overlook, thanks to the constant singing and chaos.

Also by Anne Marsh The Code for Love Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.com.au for more titles. OceanofPDF.com Hot for Preacher Anne Marsh www.millsandboon.com.au OceanofPDF.com NOTE TO READERS This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings: Change of font size and line height Change of background and font colours Change of font Change justification Text to speech OceanofPDF.com For the bookworms, the page-turners and the happily hermit-hearted—may you always find yourself lost in a good story.

OceanofPDF.com This is a fun, flirty romantic comedy featuring an ordained minister who most definitely has sex, a heroine who battles rheumatoid arthritis with humor and stubbornness, and a whole lot of small-town charm. That said, life isn’t all meet-cutes and swoony moments—despite its very happy ending, this story also touches on parental dismissal, religion and religious authority figures, financial and housing insecurity, career anxiety, and living with a chronic illness.

Please decide for yourself if these story elements will affect your emotional well- being. OceanofPDF.com CONTENTS One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Twenty-Five Twenty-Six Twenty-Seven Twenty-Eight Twenty-Nine Thirty Thirty-One OceanofPDF.com ONE Girl meets town (and preacher) Dixie My van dies in the middle of the smallest main street in Tennessee. Check your text messages for a second, and you’d miss the place, it’s that small.

“We’re so close to Nashville.” Lie. We’re hundreds of miles away. I doubt it works, but I pump the gas pedal hard. Here’s to threats taking the place of routine automobile maintenance. “Don’t you dare—” Blanche’s engine rattles once, the automotive equivalent of the finger, and falls silent. She’s picked now to hit the pause button on the soundtrack of my life.

“Screw you, too, Universe.” I coast to a stop next to a weathered sign boasting WICKHAM HOLLOW—POPULATION 403. The number 3 has been recently painted over a 2. My phone lights up with another text from Dear Old Dad: Still waiting on your answer, Dix. Christmas album won’t record itself! Tell me you’re in!

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: ae146ac0d25a69cc
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,408,087 bytes (1.343 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 242
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 376.36 minutes
• Total Words: 75,271
• Total Characters: 417,562
• Average Words per Page: 311.04
• Average Characters per Page: 1725.46

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