Delivered
Fast
Portland Heat #3
Portland Heat #3
By: Annabeth Albert
Releasing May 26th, 2015
Kensington
Blurb
Portland, Oregon, aka Hotlandia, where the coffee shops, restaurants, and bakeries are ready to serve everything piping hot, fresh, and ready to go—like the hard-working, hard-bodied men behind the counters—with no reservations…
Sure, Chris O’Neal has problems. His
restaurant is still co-owned by his ex. His flannel-and-tattoos style is making
him accidentally trendy. He can’t remember the last time he went out and had
fun. But he’s not lonely, he’s driven. And the hot bakery delivery boy is not
his problem, no matter how sweet his buns.
Chris is old enough to know Lance
Degrassi’s sculpted good looks and clever double entendres spell nothing but
trouble. Lance is still in college—he should be hitting the clubs and the
books, chasing guys his own age, not pursuing some gruff motorcycle-riding
workaholic. Especially when he’ll be leaving for grad school in a few months.
But Lance keeps hanging around, lending a hand, charming Chris to distraction.
Maybe some steaming hot no-strings indulgence won’t hurt.
Then again, maybe it will…
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23450162-delivered-fast
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/144476-portland-heat
Author Info
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her
favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a
variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between
searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles
two toddlers.
Represented by Saritza Hernandez of the Corvisiero Literary
Agency
Excerpt
The delivery
boy had sweet buns. Not to mention prize-winning rolls. He wore a pair of those fancy
over-the-ear headphones and shimmied around the white bakery truck, his hips
and ass working in time to what was apparently a killer beat. Even the way he
climbed into the back of the truck was a choreographed dance. I wasn’t usually
one to get distracted by eye candy, but that ass . . .
I’d propped
open the service door at the rear of my coffee shop about fifteen minutes
earlier, hoping to coax a cool breeze into the stuffy storeroom where I’d been
working. I leaned against the door frame, appreciating the unexpectedly fine
view in the alley.
When the guy
emerged from the truck—headphones around his neck, carrying a stack of pink
boxes—I pushed away from the door and met him at the edge of the concrete
steps. I tried to play it cool, like I hadn’t spent the last five minutes
perving on his world-class bubble butt.
“You’re not
Vic,” I said as I ushered him into the hallway that led back to the kitchen and
storeroom.
“Nope. I’m
Lance, Vic’s cousin. I’ll be handling your deliveries from here on out.” His
smile—a wide, toothy grin—was almost as adorable as his butt. The only
resemblance he had to my usual beefy delivery guy was in the chiseled facial
features and light olive skin. He looked like he’d be right at home playing
World Cup soccer for Italy with his wide shoulders, lean torso, muscular thighs
and legs. And that ass.
Which I was
going to stop thinking about right the hell now. He was too young—I could see
that even more clearly under the fluorescent lights of my kitchen. Early
twenties, if that. His gelled-up black hair fell across his forehead in
artfully bleached strands. Too high maintenance for my taste.
“I’m Chris
O’Neal. Here, let me help you with those.” Taking part of the stack from him, I
showed him the metal racks where I stashed recent deliveries.
“Nice setup
you’ve got here.” Lance looked around the cramped but efficient kitchen area.
“Thanks.”
Most of The People’s Cup square footage was devoted to the coffee bar and
seating area in the front, so I made do in the back with my organization
system, which bordered on the obsessive. I’d installed floor-to-ceiling
shelving on every wall, including over the cooktop and counters. The center
prep table was where most of the action happened, and its broad expanse was
covered with the beginnings of several dishes for tomorrow’s Sunday brunch.
“I’ve been
here before with friends from PSU—for your Sunday thing. And during the week
once or twice to study.”
I made a noncommittal
noise. Great. A college kid. As if I
needed to feel like more of an old, cranky perv.
“Let’s get
the rest of the boxes.” I herded him back out to the alley. I was eager to get
him and his distracting ass on his way. I had several more hours of staging
work ahead of me to prepare for Sunday’s buffet. During the week we were just
another coffeehouse, but we were known all over Portland for our Sunday brunch.
“So are you
the owner? This all yours?” Lance asked as he got another load of boxes from
the truck.
“Yeah. Mine
and my partner’s. Business partner.” I fumbled the stack of boxes he handed me.
Why had it felt so necessary to make that qualification? Like the kid would be
in any way interested in my messed-up business relationship with my stubborn
bastard of an ex.
Despite his
pretty-boy looks, the kid was probably straight; he had a confident swagger
girls his age likely found irresistible.
“I’ve been to
your other place, too—the one in Northwest. Did the delivery there earlier. I
like this location better.”
“Me too,” I
said, my voice drier than gin. “Randy give you any issues?”
Randy had his
location; I had mine. Our relationship had turned into something out of a bad
chick flick, except there wasn’t any cute ending coming.
“Randy? Nah. It
was some girl named Becky, with a nose ring and huge gauges.”
I nodded.
That sounded about right for Randy’s taste. And I was not going to care whether he was banging her or how long she’d last
as an employee. His shitty employee turnover wasn’t my problem. I’d washed my
hands of what happened at the 23rd Street store.
“You want a
cup of coffee for the road?” I asked before I could stop myself. It was the
same courtesy I’d always extended to his cousin and to most of our other
delivery people, but somehow my offer felt tinged with more than politeness.
“What do you
have on offer today?” His grin was more than a little wicked.
Wouldn’t you like to know? I bit back the flirtatious retort. And
what the hell was up with that? I did not
flirt. Hell, anything other than bitter and grumpy hadn’t been my MO for
months now.
*****
Can Lance
bring out the softer side of this cranky chef? Find out in DELIVERED FAST!
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