Repairing her Heart: Hot & Heavy in Paradise, #7

By Dezi Dixon

Georgia Richardson hates men and all that comes along with them, but when she's asked to help out a friend by throwing the biggest and best bachelorette party on the planet she can't say no. With only four days to get the job done she'll need big reinforcements from her favorite Hunky Helper. He's not there to strip, but that doesn't mean Georgia won't see him naked.

Tucker Long was there for one reason only. He only did this kind of work to make money for his new business. He was getting out someday. Sure that's what they all said, but it was true for him. If helping Georgia got him one step closer to his dreams, he'd do the job and do it well.

Tensions are high in Georgia's neighborhood and they're spilling over into her backyard. Tucker isn't about to stand by and watch it all go down. His past military training wouldn't allow it. When the battle lines are drawn, will he pick his friend Utah, or will he decide to take a chance on love?

Warning: This book contains an a-hole neighbor who gets what's coming to him, a man and woman who don't know how to communicate, and a brother who sees a whole lot more of his sister than he ever wanted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dezi Dixon
• Release date: Jan 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393946564

Book preview

1

Georgia

"Listen, Georgia. I’m seriously in a bind and need your help," Billie Jo said, pacing back and forth in my living room and wearing a hole in the brand-new fake Persian rug I bought at last month’s antique sale. They tried to tell me it was real, but I’m not dumb. Nobody is walking out with an eight-by-ten Persian rug for $125. Still, it looked nice on my scratched hardwood floors.

It’s not that I didn’t want to help one of my best friends. It’s just that I had a lot of things on my plate at that particular moment. I had a dishwasher I needed to unload, four piles of laundry I hadn’t done, and I really needed to scrub the grout on my kitchen tile. Coupled with the fact I absolutely hated men and marriage and everything to go with it, I didn’t think I’d be a good candidate for her request.

I loved to throw a party, but not the kind of party she wanted me to host. I’m really busy, Billie Jo.

She cupped her hands together fake praying for me to change my mind. I knew she wanted to get back in Candi’s good graces now that they were friends and all, but it seemed a little over the top. You’ve done parties before, right?

Of course. Who didn’t love throwing a party? The cute little invitations, the food, and the excuse to buy a new outfit? I just didn’t want to throw this party. Plus, while I’d never really met Candi firsthand, the stories made her sound a bit crazy. And when I say a bit, I mean totally off-the-wall bonkers. Who in their right mind would think Billie Jo, one of my best friends in the world, put a curse on her in elementary school? Clearly, a few of Candi’s screws weren’t tightened all the way.

Billie Jo paced another lap before stopping to give me her best puppy dog eyes. And you’ve thrown this type of party before. Right?

I guessed where our conversation headed. Yes, technically two of them and they are fun, but…

Help me, please. I will forever be grateful.

Her left eye moistened and I swear I saw a tear forming in the corner. If she planned to cry about it, I guessed the least I could do was help her throw together a small, very small bachelorette party for her new friend Crazy Candi.

I agreed with a deep foreboding sigh. Fine. When is it? I could hope she’d say it wasn’t happening until this fall and I’d suffer a life-ending tragedy to get me out of the commitment.

This weekend, she said. Her tears instantly dried and a huge smile overtook her face as if she’d known I would agree sooner or later.

What? It’s Tuesday! How could I throw together a Georgia famous style party in a matter of a few days? Even the best had limits.

You think we can get strippers? It’s not a bachelorette party if you don’t have strippers.

Now the whole thing was getting completely out of control. But in for a penny, in for a pound my grandma always said. Or was it a pinch?

Where am I going to find strippers on this short notice? As soon as I asked the question out loud, I answered it myself. My own brother had taken a job at Hunky Helpers, a new high-class establishment in Vegas that touted themselves as being above the rest. He said the job entailed a lot more than stripping. He had everyday household duties he helped out with, but I’d accidentally seen one of his G-strings. I knew the truth.

They were strippers.

Please, Georgia, it’s not the same. Billie Jo had picked up her pacing again, tucking her dark brown hair behind her ear and chewing on her thumbnail.

I’ll see what I can do. And at the same time I’d write sucker across my forehead and let the whole world know that if you begged enough, I’d agree to anything—even throwing a bachelorette party after I’d sworn off the idea of love six months ago. It happens when your boyfriend is picked up by Vice with