Chelsea lives in Phoenix, Arizona, where she spends most of her time writing stories, painting murals, and avoiding housework at all costs. She's ridiculously bad at doing dishes and claims to be allergic to laundry. Her obsessions include: superheroes, coffee, sleeping-in, and crazy socks. She lives with her husband and two children, who graciously tolerate her inability to resist teenage drama on TV and her complete lack of skill in the kitchen.
Top 5 Favorite Quotes From Perfect Kind Of Trouble
Ooh, this is tricky. It’s weird to pull favorite quotes out of something I, myself, wrote. Haha. But it’s totally fun, too! Okay, here goes…
1) It’s hard to see love when you have it, but when it’s gone you’re blind to anything else.
2) When I fantasize about being handcuffed to a hot blonde, there’s usually not a balding lawyer and a last will and testament involved.
3) He’s cocky but wounded, charming but lonely, with the sureness of a wealthy man and the desperation of a pauper.
4) Is this what love is? This painful, unhinged thing? This polarizing madness that swings from joyous to suffering in the blink of an eye? If so, then I’m not interested. Because it hurts. It hurts so much.
5) Daren has been nonstop interesting—and absolute trouble, just like I thought. But it was the kind of trouble I needed to feel alive. It shook me up. It woke me up. It was the perfect kind of trouble. And I want to be in it all over again.
And, just because, here’s an extra one (it’s more of an excerpt than a quote, though):
6) "So let me get this straight." I say to the lawyer, trying to control the anger bubbling up inside me. "The only thing my father left me, his only child, in his will was a stupid letter? And the only way I can get this stupid letter is by handcuffing—handcuffing—myself to a total stranger?"
"Wha—" Daren turns to me and makes a face. "I'm not a stranger. And I'll have you know, lots of girls would be happy to be handcuffed to me." He pulls a crooked smile. "Some actually have been."
I glare at him. “Yeah, well, lots of girls are morons.”
Sometimes when perfect falls apart, a little trouble fixes everything . . .
Twenty-one-year-old Kayla Turner has lost everything. After spending most of her life taking care of her ailing mother, she just wants to spot a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. So when her late father-a man she barely knew-leaves her an inheritance, she finally breathes a sigh of relief . . . until she learns the inheritance comes with strings. Strings in the form of handsome playboy Daren Ackwood, her father's protégé. To see any of her inheritance, she's forced to team up with him. From his expensive car to those sexy dimples, Kayla's seen his type before. But Daren isn't who he seems to be . . .
Struggling to make amends for his family's mistakes, Daren has a life more Oliver Twist than Richie Rich these days. He's beyond grateful that James Turner included him in his will, but working with Turner's princess of a daughter to fulfill his cryptic last wish is making Daren wonder if being broke is really so bad. Still, she's just as beautiful as she is stubborn, and the more time he spends with Kayla, the less it feels right being without her. Soon Daren and Kayla begin to wonder if maybe the best gift Kayla's dad could have left them . . . was each other.
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“So this is where you work?” She gestures at the closed kitchen door behind me as she approaches.
I step back so she can enter the courtyard then glance over my shoulder. “It’s more like the place where I help out in the kitchen, occasionally,” I say. “I like to cook so sometimes the owner, Jake, let’s me jump on the line.”
She tilts her head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the cooking type.”
“No?” I arch a brow. “What type am I?”
“Well the professional lover type, obviously.”
I grin. “That too.”
The teasing in her eyes along with the lightness of her smile does something soft to my insides. This is a different Kayla than the one I was sitting next to at the bar. That girl was stressed and burdened, but this girl… this girl is hopeful and happy.
The only reason I can think of for the change in her tone is the inheritance. Does the idea of getting money please her so much that she’s suddenly this cheerful person? Does it please me that much?
I remember Jake’s comment earlier, about my being happy, and realize with a sinking feeling that yes, the idea of an inheritance has made me happy. Money would alleviate some of my problems and, therefore, it gives me a security in my future that pleases me.
I’m not sure how I feel about money having so much control over my contentment. It makes me sound an awful lot like my dad.
“So what is this place?” she asks, nodding to the courtyard around us.
I look up at the small twinkle lights strung above the area. “Right now it’s just storage space. But Jake wants to make it into a dining patio. You know, so people can rent it out for private parties or whatever.”
“It’s cute.” She walks around, checking out the rose bushes that line the fence and the Tuscany-inspired mural painted against the back wall.
“So where you off to?” I step closer so we’re both beside the painted wall. “Back to your humble abode at the Quickie Stop?”
She scoffs. “Humble indeed. But yeah.”
I glance at the dark parking lot beyond the fence and the even darker streets that lead to the edge of town, and frown. “By yourself?”
She faces me with a cocked eyebrow. “Yeah. I’ve got my own driver’s license and everything.”
I smile at the ground. “Okay, that’s fair.” I glance at the dark streets again. “I’m just a concerned citizen that wanted to make sure you got home safely. That’s all.”
She nods. “How very kind of you, citizen. Would you rather I be going back to the Quickie Stop with someone?”
The idea of Kayla going home with someone—anyone, other than me—rakes down my spine like nails on a chalkboard. I don’t know when I got so possessive of this girl but holy hell. My veins are on fire.
How very unexpected. And somewhat annoying.
I don’t get possessive of women. Ever. Sure, I care about Amber and Pixie but that’s different. I care about them like sisters. I’m protective of them. I couldn’t really give a damn who they, or any other female in this town, go to bed with.
Hot jealousy darts through my veins.
How very annoyingly unexpected.
I set my shoulders back in a casual manner. “Not particularly,” I say coolly. “I just wasn’t sure if you had a ride or not.”
“Oh.” She runs a finger over her lips. “And what, you were going to offer me a ride?”
I watch the tip of her finger skim over the pink fullness of her bottom lip and my breath hitches. She can’t say things like “give me a ride” and touch her mouth at the same time. That’s just not fair.
“Well I might have offered you a ride,” I say, inwardly cursing as I remember sweet, precious Monique, “except I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take rides from strangers. And since that’s what you and I are…” I sigh dramatically. “It would have just been a waste of time to ask you.”
She smiles behind her moving fingers and I start to wonder if she’d let me kiss her. My guess is, yes. Maybe.
I want to kiss Kayla. Badly. But the idea of kissing her, of touching her at all, also makes me a little nervous. And I’m never nervous when it comes to women.
Goddammit. Everything about this girl is unexpected.
“You’re so obsessed with us not being strangers,” she says, and her eyes shine. “That can’t be healthy.”
I probably shouldn’t kiss her. We have an inheritance to claim tomorrow. We have shit to follow through with. Kissing her is a bad idea. A very bad idea.
“No. Probably not.” I step closer so we’re only inches apart. “But I can’t seem to let it go.”
She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t break eye contact.
Yes. She’d definitely let me kiss her. I’m sure of it.
My heart pounds and it’s all I can do to keep my nonchalant demeanor in place.
“Is that what we are, Kayla?” I lower my voice with a crooked grin. “Strangers?”
She meets my crooked grin and raises me a tipped chin. Her eyes are steel and sure, not giving anything away, and I suddenly feel unsure.
I lean in.
She doesn’t react. But she also doesn’t back away.
Kissing her is a bad idea.
Her lips part, ever so slightly, a thin seam of wet flesh forming between the soft skin of her pretty lips, and all my reservations vanish.
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