Stranded With My Best Friend's Brother: Windy City Heartbreakers

By Mimi Kinley

Samantha

I am not going to fall for my best friend's brother. I've fought it since I was seventeen and it doesn't matter that he's a former NFL star quarterback or two-time Sexiest Man Alive winner, he can fuck right off when he shows up at my best friend's door on Valentine's Day.

 

I've managed to avoid him and his giant hands (did I mention he can palm a football?) for thirteen years but now we're snowed in, just the two of us, and I can't stop thinking about how those hands might feel on me, inside of me.

 

He's off limits.

 

OFF LIMITS.

 

But it's hard to think when the power goes out too.

 

Jackson

I don't know what I did to make Samantha hate me so much, and I didn't plan to get snowed in with her on Valentine's Day, but goddamn it, I'm going to defrost this ice queen if it's the last thing I do.

 

I've got all night, and I know just how to start. With my hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mimi Kinley
• Release date: Apr 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223425465

Mimi Kinley

USA Today Bestselling author Mimi Kinley writes short, hot contemporary romance with guaranteed HEAs. She lives in the midwest with her husband and two cats. Her stories are available in eBook format as individual stories or as part of larger anthologies. She also writes full-length contemporary romance under the pen name Mindy McKinley.

Book preview

1

SAMANTHA

"O h, fuck me."

This can’t be happening. I’d opened the front door to my best friend’s apartment to greet my food delivery guy, not her brother, Jackson Bly.

But here he is, cocky smile grating on my nerves, and taking up every inch of the doorway. I’ve known him since grade school and I still can’t get over the sheer size of this man. He towers over me at six-five, with broad shoulders, and muscles that have their own muscles. And as if that isn’t enough sin in one human, it’s all topped off with curly dark hair that’s always a little too long and so fucking tempting to touch.

I cringe after the words are out of my mouth. I’ve known him for ages, and I know, like I know my name, how he’ll answer the words, Oh, fuck me.

His dark blue eyes sweep down my body and I ignore the way it lights up in response as his grin turns devious. He cocks his head to the side. I mean, I’m down for it if you are.

I roll my eyes so hard I’m worried I strained something and block the doorway. If he wants in, he’s going to have to fight me. I kind of want him to fight me. Fuck off, Jackson. Why are you here?

Plane is grounded. Too much snow. The heavy snowflakes on his navy wool coat and leather carry-on confirm this, but I don’t want to believe him. Mel said I could stay here for the night.

Nope. I shut the door in his face and flip the deadbolt. I don’t care if he is the winningest NFL quarterback in recent history, and two-time Sexiest Man Alive winner, he’s not staying here with me alone. Not even if it’s his sister’s place. Not even when hell freezes over. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.

To my horror, the lock turns in the door and he walks in dangling the key from his giant fingers with a shit-eating grin.

Fuck.

You can’t leave me out in the cold, Sammy, I know you’re not that heartless. He sets down his carry-on, pulls off his heavy coat and drapes it over a stool at the kitchen island as if he owns the place. Melissa’s apartment is gorgeous but small with a single open plan living space and one bedroom. Jackson easily takes up half the square footage and I briefly fantasize about what kind of bed this man must require.

Try me and find out, I bite, hoping he takes the hint. He doesn’t, he never does. And I want to slap his chiseled football god face so hard his head spins around.

He takes one step toward me with dark eyes and a sinful grin and I feel every ounce of blood rush right to my clit. Oh Sammy, his voice is low, and the vibrations do things to me from six feet away that normally require batteries. "I would love to try you."

Double fuck. Every Jackson inspired fantasy slides through my mind like a flip book and I wonder what it would feel like to have his giant hands on my skin. I mean, the man can palm a football.

I’ve imagined it a hundred times. No, that’s a lie, thousands. And I would die right here on the spot if he knew how often I orgasm with him in mind. I lift my chin and speak clearly. Not a chance.

He gives me that irritating grin of his as if he knows better and I wonder if he does. Oh God. Can he read my mind? Because if so, I need to go and die right now because I’d rather expire than have Jackson Bly know that I want him. That I’ve always wanted him.

Caught your broadcast last week, he says, letting the subject drop as he kicks off his snow-covered shoes in the entryway. His muscles pull and flex beneath his perfectly fitted Henley and I can’t keep my eyes away from his fantastic ass. It’s so big and powerful that he has to have jeans made specially for him