Read Online Books/Novels:
Ready to Run (I Do, I Don’t #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
The Bachelor meets The Runaway Bride in this addictive romance novel about a reality TV producer falling for her would-be star: a Montana heartthrob who wants nothing to do with the show.
Jordan Carpenter thinks she’s finally found the perfect candidate for Jilted, a new dating show about runaway grooms: Luke Elliott, a playboy firefighter who’s left not one but three brides at the altar. The only problem? Luke refuses to answer Jordan’s emails or return her calls. Which is how she ends up on a flight to Montana to recruit him in person. It’s not Manhattan but at least the locals in Lucky Hollow seem friendly . . . except for Luke, who’s more intense—and way hotter—than the slick womanizer Jordan expected.
Eager to put the past behind him, Luke has zero intention of following this gorgeous, fast-talking city girl back to New York. But before he can send her packing, Jordan’s everywhere: at his favorite bar, the county fair, even his exes’ book club. Annoyingly, everyone in Lucky Hollow seems to like her—and deep down, she’s starting to grow on him too. But the more he fights her constant pestering, the more Luke finds himself wishing that Jordan would kick off her high heels and make herself comfortable in his arms.
|Books in Series:|
|Books by Author:|
“Simon, unless you want to die on the side of a Montana highway, I strongly suggest you find another song to sing along with.”
Simon broke off mid-chorus of “Eye of the Tiger” and gave her a disappointed look. “You’re never going to get your guy with that sort of attitude.”
“Oh, I’ll get my guy,” Jordan muttered. “I didn’t cross two time zones to not get him.”
Even as she spoke the confident words, she lifted a hand and rubbed her forehead, which had started aching at 32,000 feet, over one of the Dakotas, and had turned into a throbbing migraine by the time she and her colleague had loaded into their Ford Focus rental car at Missoula International Airport.
That had been nearly an hour ago, and Simon had been singing Survivor’s power anthem for at least half that.
Her friend lifted a water bottle from the middle console, unscrewed the cap, and held it out to her. “Told you you should have let me drive.”
Jordan snatched the water bottle and gave him a wry look before fixing her attention back on the two-lane road. “Do you even have your driver’s license?”
“Are you telling me I look young, baby doll?”
“No, baby doll, I’m telling you that you look like someone who hasn’t left the island of Manhattan in two decades and thus hasn’t been behind a wheel in at least that long.”
“It’s only been one decade,” he corrected.
She choked on her water and looked at him again. “Seriously?”
Simon laughed and grabbed the bottle, took a drink. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carpenter. You know I take a trip to Bali every year.”
“Yeah, well…Bali this is not,” she said, glancing out at the wide-open spaces around them.
“No,” he agreed, looking out the passenger window. “Pretty, though.”
“Don’t get attached,” she muttered, picking up her phone and glancing at the in-progress route to see how much farther they had. “I’m not planning to spend more than a night here.”
He lifted his eyebrows, which were better shaped than hers, thanks to his weekly—yes, weekly—grooming sessions. But, then, that was Simon for you. Perfectly coiffed wavy blond hair down to probably pedicured toes. “You think you’re that good, huh?”
Jordan grabbed the water bottle back. “If I were that good, I’d have been able to wrangle Luke Elliott over the phone rather than having to drive to the literal middle of nowhere to recruit the bastard.”
“I still can’t believe he never replied to a single email or voicemail,” Simon mused.
“Believe it. Either he didn’t get the messages or there’s actually a single man on this planet who doesn’t think getting paid to have twenty-something bikini-clad babes draped all over him sounds like a good gig.”
“Maybe he’s gay.”
She gave her colleague a look. “Don’t sound so hopeful. Jilted needs this guy a hell of a lot more than you do.”
Simon lifted a finger in objection. “I resent that. I’ll have you know it’s been two and a half months since I last had relations.”
“Oh gosh, really? Here, hold the wheel while I cry on your behalf.”
Simon reached over and chucked her under the chin. “Poor Jordie. How long has it been for you?”
Eleven months and counting.
She pulled her phone out of the console and tossed it to him. “The GPS doesn’t know where the hell we are. Can you guide us there the old-fashioned way?”
“Oh, sure. Let me just get my compass, lick my finger, and stick it in the air….”
“Hey, you’re the one who insisted on buying cowboy boots for this little adventure. At least try to earn some country cred.”
Simon sighed dramatically, but he took the phone, zooming in and out on the map and cursing until finally declaring, “Straight, for another thirty minutes, give or take a cow or twelve.”
“So, for real, what are the chances that this guy’s gay?” Simon asked, turning down the radio. “It’d make sense, right? I mean, why else would he leave three women at the altar and then refuse to answer any questions about it?”
Jordan pursed her lips and pondered the very dilemma that had Simon and her driving through Nowhere, Montana, in the first place.
Luke Freaking Elliott, runaway groom extraordinaire, and hopefully the savior to Jordan’s career.
If she could get the guy to even talk to her.
As to Simon’s assessment that he was gay…maybe?
It was a good explanation for Luke Elliott’s complicated romantic history.
As Simon said, there had to be a reason he’d been the groom in three weddings that hadn’t happened.
But her instincts said that wasn’t the case, not here.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Jordan’s career needed Luke Elliott to be very much into women. Specifically, she needed him to be into twenty-five women, who would compete on national television to coax him down the aisle in a fairy-tale wedding, also on national television.
Forget The Bachelor.
Jordan’s network had taken the hit reality show and raised it a notch, focusing not just on sexy bachelors but runaway grooms—men who’d gotten darn close to saying vows, only to escape at the last minute.