He only calls her cheshire when he’s unhappy with her!

The perfect fun and easy read by the fire on a cold winter’s day. Treat yourself to a delicious romantic sizzle. Available on Amazon and other fine retailershttps://books2read.com/u/bw7ppe

P Moser: “Author, Brandy Golden really knows how to spin a tale, and the storyline is just wonderful. I really enjoyed every page of this book, and was sorry when I saw the words “The End”. 

Enjoy this excerpt :

Chessy Morgan grinned down at the man walking beneath her scaffold. He in turn glared up at her. She waved cheekily when he did an about face and continued on his way, his back ramrod stiff, the water droplets glistening on his black Brooks and Dunn suit jacket.

So much fun to aggravate the man.

There was just something about the set of his blond head and the natural dominant arrogance that he seemed to stride through life with that set her teeth on edge. At least through her life on the scaffold above the sidewalk where she spent three hours a day earning the insurance payment on her Volkswagen.

The Gods must have smiled on her three days ago. That was when he’d first walked under her scaffold, and she’d accidentally dripped her squeegee over the side of the scaffold from the next floor up. His arrogance had popped out immediately, directed right at her and her mistake.

“Hey! You up there! Pay attention to what you are doing! There are people down here you know!”

The irritable tones had slashed up at her through the crisp Boston air, causing her hackles to rise and goose bumps to break out on her skin. She peeped over the edge, her bright green eyes alight with mischief and curiosity, to see an irritated male face. The dark blond slashes of eyebrows were drawn together in an impatient scowl.

 “You just dripped water on my new suit,” he told her in no uncertain terms, as if there wasn’t another store in the entire city of Boston that would carry another one.

“What a pity,” she mocked, her gamin grin registering exaggerated sorrow.  “Sure and t’would be hard up you are if that’s the only suit you have to wear now, wouldn’t it?” She couldn’t resist her exaggerated Irish brogue.

 It was obvious the man was anything but hard up and Chessy had disliked him on sight. People with money liked to throw their weight around. She liked nothing more than to prick their hot air balloons of pride and censure of their fellowman whenever she got the chance.

Today, the Gods had been merciful yet again. The same man was just walking away from her for the third day in a row—with a well-spattered suit. Life couldn’t get any better than this, she thought happily. Funny, even though he hadn’t said anything the last two days, she knew he was fuming. She shrugged her slender shoulders. She was at a loss as to why he kept coming back, and frankly, didn’t care. She had succeeded in aggravating the life out of him and she felt vindicated, although she would rather have gotten even with her skinflint grandfather. Since she couldn’t aggravate him, another man of wealth was the next best thing.

Chessy glanced down at her watch.  It was almost noon. Time to close up for the day and meet Marsha, her best friend, at the Olive Garden for lunch. Whistling cheerfully, she lowered the scaffold and nimbly hopped off. It would be the end of the week before she finally got to the tenth floor, which was as high as the building went.

Working for Dunn’s window cleaners was interesting to say the least. She didn’t mind being up in the air at all and most certainly did not suffer from fear of heights. No, Chessy, short for Cheshire, was a Huntington, and Huntington’s knew no fear.

At least that’s what her spunky Irish grandfather had always told her.

She was even planning on making a parachute dive this summer, as soon as she could talk Marsha into going with her.

Quickly she jumped into her lime green Volkswagen beetle parked in the alley, and sped off, intent on making her lunch date. She totally missed the fact that she’d pulled out in front of a Lincoln town car.

Ty Anderson shook his blond head and watched the colorful vehicle disappear into traffic. The little Volkswagen began to weave in and out of the cars like a colorful butterfly flitting among the flowers.

It was that cheeky little window washer that kept dripping water on him each time he walked under the scaffold.

 He supposed he could walk down the other side of the street, but he didn’t feel the need to go out of his way for a saucy little redheaded sprite with an attitude. He didn’t know why she seemed to have singled him out for her prankish gestures—he hadn’t noticed anyone else with water drops on their shoulders.

Not enough trips over a knee for a good paddling of her backside he supposed. Well, she’d better watch it if she knew what was good for her. If the right opportunity came up, he wouldn’t hesitate to flip her over his knee for a sound spanking!

Pick up your copy of Taming His Irish Spitfire today!

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