What happens when three irresistibly sexy brothers lose a poker bet to their enterprising sister? They get hired out for her housecleaning venture. Now, the Manley Maids are at your service. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Book 3, What a Woman Gets, is out now, and, ya know, there’s just something so incredibly sexy about a guy in an apron (especially if he looks like one of the Manley brothers and that’s all he’s in…)
Business owner Liam Manley has no patience for women like Cassidy Davenport—women happy to spend a man’s money without giving a thought to any actual work. But to make good on his bet, Liam must not only tolerate the couture-clad socialite, he’ll have to clean up after her. Until Cassidy’s father suddenly cuts off her finances. With no money and no home for Liam to clean, Cassidy has no choice but to accept a job offer—as Liam’s new maid…
Liam is eager to teach her a lesson about the real world, but he winds up learning a few things himself. Free from her father’s influence, Cassidy can finally pursue her own life, and winds up showing Liam how resourceful and determined she can be. Not to mention how sexy she is with (or without) that designer wardrobe. But when sparks fly between them, will it be true love…or just another messy affair?
Here’s a snippet:
Cassidy Davenport stood before him in the flesh.
Flesh colored pants, flesh colored top, and enough buttons unbuttoned to reveal a lot more flesh.
Liam worked hard to keep from groaning. Mac had assured him she wouldn’t be here. Not on Mondays. Yet here she was.
Cassidy Davenport. Pampered socialite whose daily clothing bill was probably more than a blue collar worker earned in a week—and he doubted she’d know a blue collar worker if he came up and bit off her ridiculously priced manicure. The woman was frivolous with a capital F.
He was done with frivolous. Been there, done that, spent a fortune on designer clothes and rhinestone-studded T-shirts for his ex, Rachel, that had matched the diamond studs she’d insisted on having.
“You’re the maid?”
Liam winced. Surely there had to be a better term, but domestic goddess didn’t exactly fit, while housekeeper brought up an image of the Brady Bunch.
He gripped the vacuum cleaner and straightened his shoulders. His pecs flexed—purely involuntarily of course. “Um, yeah. I am.”
He didn’t have to be a college graduate—though he was—to read what she was thinking when her gaze ran over him from head to toe. Mac didn’t run that kind of a business.