I Wish You Were Mine (Harbor Village #2) Read Online Jessica Peterson

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Harbor Village Series by Jessica Peterson

Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)

A smoking hot standalone romance in the small-town Harbour Village series, featuring a single dad, a nanny, and an accidental pregnancy...

I know Tuck Monroe is trouble the second I walk in to interview for the nanny position. Six-four and covered in tattoos, he’s distractingly hot. He’s also grumpy as hell. But I need to pay for school, so I take a job as his daughter’s live-in caretaker and move into the apartment above his garage.

I fall hard for Katie, his adorable four-year-old. But I never expected to fall for my new boss, who’s a decade older than I am. Turns out there’s a heart of gold beneath Tuck’s broody exterior, one I work to reveal bit by bit. Casual small talk leads to late-night conversations I can’t get enough of.

No surprise our simmering sexual tension explodes with one deep, toe-curling kiss.
He tells me I’m his good girl; I tell him I love the praise. We give ourselves one night, and one night only, to explore the fiery attraction between us.

It’s the best sex of my life. But when I wake up, Tuck is gone, and life goes back to normal. Or at least I think it does, until I start to feel nauseous. Turns out I was right: my boss is trouble. The kind that comes with one night I can’t forget and two pink lines that will change our lives forever.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


. . .


Beer Me


“Nice neck tattoo.”

I whip my head around at the sound of the clear, rich voice behind me. Blinking, I’m surprised to see it belongs to a tiny brunette wearing a white T-shirt and a big grin. Seriously, she’s the size of a fucking pixie. The top of her head doesn’t even come up to my shoulders. She must be five feet nothing. If that.

I do what I always do when I’m taken off guard.

I glower, neck tight as I cross my arms over my chest. “Excuse me?”

But the brunette doesn’t run. She doesn’t cower. Instead, her grin broadens into a brilliant, beautiful smile.

My heart skips a beat.

She gathers her dark, shoulder-length hair in her hand and lifts it, turning her head to reveal an elegant line of tattooed script on her nape. Summer Girl. “I’m a fan. I have one too.”

My pulse riots as my eyes rove down the soft slope of her neck. The sounds of the restaurant around us fade. Her skin is flawless. The lines of her jaw are straight and strong.

But it’s her lips that draw my attention. They’re so lush they look almost pouty, the top slightly fuller than the bottom.

I blink again when she drops her hair and holds out that hand to me. “You must be Tuck. My mom told me you’re the tallest, most tatted-up guy she’s ever seen. I’m Maren Lucas.”

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Only the girl—woman—I’m hoping to hire as a nanny for my four-year-old daughter, Katie. We’re meeting for an interview today over lunch at Stede’s, my friend Riley’s restaurant here on Bald Head Island.

Maren is the daughter of a friend of my mom’s. When Mom heard that Maren, who is getting her master’s degree in education, was looking for a nannying gig to help pay for school, she sent Maren’s résumé my way.

I knew I wanted to hire her before I finished reading it. Maren is accomplished, having graduated from Chapel Hill with honors while also doing varsity cheerleading. She also has tons of experience working with kids. Mom raved about her.

Even better? Mom said Maren is interested in a live-in position. Katie’s prior nanny didn’t live with us. While that worked when Katie was a baby, my job at Dixon Properties has become more demanding over the past few years.

Now that I’m CFO at Riley’s property development company and his right-hand man, I work a lot. My hours are erratic. I need to be available when he calls, day or night.

A live-in nanny is definitely what my little family needs. But turns out finding someone to live with us is not easy, especially given our location on a remote island accessible only by ferry.

I’m getting desperate after interviewing and rejecting a dozen or more candidates over the past couple months. They either weren’t qualified or weren’t a good personality fit. My parents and my sister Jen have been pinch-hitting for me in the meantime.

Luckily, I signed Katie up for a ton of camps this summer—she goes most mornings nine-ish to one—and then she’ll head to preschool four days a week starting in September. Mom, Dad, or Jen have been picking her up from camp every day. They’ll hang with her until I get home around five to make dinner. Then I do bath and bedtime. After that, it’s more work at home while I cross my fingers and toes Katie doesn’t wake up.

It’s been stressful to say the least. More than anything, it’s made me realize just how important a consistent routine is for us. I want a nanny who can be a stable, loving presence in Katie’s life, because her mom is . . . not those things.

“Maren. Yes, I’m Tuck Monroe.” I take her hand and ignore the way my blood jumps at her firm handshake, and the way her warm, brown eyes stay locked on mine. Most people look away when I make eye contact.

Not Maren Lucas. That’s something her résumé didn’t mention, how confident she is.

How gorgeous.

She’s just my type: smart, pretty, athletic.

Something her résumé did tell me? She’s young. A couple-years-out-of-college young. I’m thirty-four. There’s a decade between us at least.

As if I need another reason to keep my distance.

Keep my mind out of the gutter.

Besides, I’m a one-girl kinda guy, and that girl is my daughter.

“I’m so glad you picked this place.” She glances around the restaurant. “I heard they have the best oysters in North Carolina.”

I seriously regret making this a lunch meeting. Not like I have any other time in my schedule to interview potential nannies. But still, I need to keep this interaction strictly professional.

Short and sweet. Coffee somewhere would’ve been better.

Gina, Stede’s hostess, plucks a pair of menus from the stack on her stand. “Would y’all prefer to sit inside or outside?”

Maren looks at me. I look at Gina. Gina immediately looks away, glancing back at Maren.