Right Man, Wrong timing!
Young mum Bronwyn Reynolds is devoted to her little boy Theo, but she’s married to a not so devoted husband! Juggling two jobs to make ends meet, Bronwyn’s self-esteem is at an all-time low.
Enter Harrison Baxter.
Harrison is confident, flirty and breathtakingly handsome – and everything Bronwyn’s husband is not! What’s worse is that she knows every sexy thought about him is forbidden, which makes him all the more tempting.
The only woman that ladies’ man Harrison has ever wanted is one he can never have. Bronwyn has left her mark on him, and he can’t get her out of his mind no matter how hard he tries!
Bronwyn and Harrison have every reason not to fall in love, but are they brave enough to break all the rules?
For fans of The Boy Who Sneaks in my Bedroom Window, this short story is unputdownable!
Reasons Not to Fall in Love
Kirsty Moseley
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014
Copyright © Kirsty Moseley 2014
Kirsty Moseley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2014 ISBN: 9781472096388
Version date: 2018-06-20
Contents
Kirsty Moseley lives in Norfolk, England with her husband and son. Kirsty has been a passionate reader since she was a little girl, devouring books overnight, barely sleeping and paying for it at school the next day. She first started writing after stumbling across an amateur writing site where writers could share their work and get instant feedback from readers. Finally plucking up the courage, she shared her first story. Seven million reads later, she decided to try her hand at self-publishing and has never looked back. Much to her delight, what once started out as a hobby now provides for her family.
If she had to sum herself up in one word, it would probably be 'daydreamer' – but unlike most of her school teachers – she doesn't necessarily view that as a bad thing. After all, she read somewhere once that books are like waking dreams…
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kirsty-Moseley/165726786914674?fref=ts
Twitter: @KirstyEMoseley
First off, a huge thank you to Anna Baggaley, my editor at HQ Digital for believing in me right from the very start of my career. You’ll never know how much that belief means to me. Secondly, for the HQ Digital team for making this whole process so easy. And thirdly, to everyone that has followed me and continues to read my work. You all rock my world, so thank you.
For three people whom I’ve never met but consider dear friends: Irvana, Hilda and Rebecca. For Irvana, because of her never-ending support and encouragement; for Hilda, because of her beautiful soul; and for Rebecca, who still smiles through adversity and is one of the strongest women I know. Love you all.
Wriggling my toes, I let my cheap white plimsoll drop off, trying to relieve the ache that was getting worse in the ball of my foot. My eyes fluttered closed and the sounds of the busy café washed over me. The smell of burnt bacon lingered in the air as I leant against the counter waiting for Dave, the fry cook, to finish plating up the order for table seven. I could have done with not working today, if I was honest. I’d been bartending at my local pub until just before midnight last night, so the five o’clock wake-up to come and serve food to hungry patrons wasn’t something that I needed. Right now it was the mid-morning brunch rush at the greasy spoon café that I worked at, so I still had another three hours to work before I could go home and wash the fried lard smell out of my hair. My tiredness was only going to get worse as the