Series: Chances Are
The line between friends and lovers can get a little blurry…especially when you add tequila.
A Chances Are story.
Gabby is serious about her search for Mr. Right, but no one can say she hasn’t had a good time looking. She enjoys her numerous dates and the sex that comes with them. Until she finds herself falling for the one man she vows to never love. Her best friend and roommate, Justin. A player in every sense of the word—and a reminder of her awful past.
One night, with the help of a bottle of tequila, things get a little too hot for comfort. She moves out, intent on removing him from the line of temptation.
Justin has different plans. The tequila did more than just change how he sees his good friend. It made him realize he doesn’t want to be just friends any more. He’s ready for something more intimate, and he’ll do whatever it takes to find out why she’s running. And convince her to stay.
“Anybody but Justin is an extraordinary story. The underlying “never judge a book by its cover” applies to Justin and is a lesson learned the hard way for Gabby. Sometimes when you think you know everything about someone there may be something more to learn. I completely fell in love with Justin and Gabby and their story and I wholeheartedly recommend Anyone but Justin as a must read.” Joyfully Recommended, Raine, Joyfully Reviewed
“ANYBODY BUT JUSTIN was such a fun read. Shelli Stevens does a great job in bringing out emotions and developing the relationship between the hero and heroine. Although both characters have had numerous dates, it is just their way of really trying to find the one, much like real life. This is one of those books that will leave you with warm fuzzy feelings at the end.” Pamela, 4 blue ribbons, Romance Junkies
“Anybody but Justin offers a good storyline, detailed characters, and just enough sex to meet your daily fix.” 4 stars, JERR
“Look at me, Gab.”
Her shoulders rose with the deep breath she dragged in, and then she tilted her head to give him a sideways glance. Her eyes were carefully schooled. He knew that look. She’d come to poker night too many times with the guys for him to not recognize that you won’t get shit out of me look.
“I want you to be completely honest with me,” he said quietly and tightened his grip on her hand—her dainty, soft hand. His brows drew together. Had her hands always been this feminine?
“Okay.” She arched an eyebrow. “Are you going to ask it?”
He shook his head, wondering how the hell she was managing to get him so damn flustered.
“Yeah. I’m gonna ask it,” he said gruffly and then focused his attention on her face again. “Did you move out because of that night?”
The only sign that he’d shocked her was the slight widening of her eyes. But then she narrowed them just as quickly and a sardonic grin slipped across her mouth.
“That night? Ah, Justin, you’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that. We lived together for a couple of years.”
“Damn it, Gab. Don’t pull that crap on me. Anyone else might buy it, but I don’t.” He scowled. “You know exactly which night I’m talking about.”
Her fingers arched against his hand, but he didn’t loosen his grip. The slight smell of sweat from their run lingered in the room, with the overlying scent of her lotion. Some melon thing she’d worn the entire time he’d known her. It had never seemed seductive before, but now…
She lowered her gaze from his and her tongue swept across her bottom lip before retreating safely back into her mouth.
Desire stirred low in his groin and his next breath in wasn’t quite as steady. Jesus. He still wanted her.
The idea rocked him to his core.
Bad idea, Justin.
“Are you telling me—” He leaned forward and caught her chin, his face just inches from hers. Very bad idea, Justin. “—that you don’t remember this?”
The need to remind her of that night consumed him. Her eyes widened in trepidation, just before he lowered his mouth down onto hers.
So soft. So sweet.
When she would have pushed him away, he moved his palm to her back and held her still, moving his mouth against hers.
Half a year. How had he gone a half a year without her? And why had it taken two years for them to reach this level of intimacy?
His tongue teased the crease of her mouth open, and then slid inside to taste her.
The angry sound she made morphed into a frustrated moan and finally one of surrender. Her tongue moved out to meet his—almost angry in the bold strokes she made to tease him.
Justin’s blood pounded through his veins. His entire being focused on the smell of her, the press of her breasts against his chest, and the soft sounds she made as she kissed him back. Sounds that alternated between pleasure and frustration.
Her hands slid up to his shoulders to wrap around his neck, pressing her body snugger against his. The scrape of her hardened nipples against his chest sent another rush of blood to his cock, bringing it fully erect. He groaned, grateful for his loose running pants.
He explored her mouth thoroughly, teasing the hidden spots before returning to spar with her tongue.
His hands, which had been resting on her waist, slid up her ribcage to just under her breasts.
He barely hesitated before sweeping his thumbs up to stroke over the tight peaks of her breasts. He lifted his lips from hers just a fraction to allow her strangled gasp, before he captured her mouth again.
All rational thoughts on why he’d come here tonight—because it couldn’t have been for this, could it?—abandoned his mind. The need to touch her naked skin, to taste the salty sweet softness of her flesh, swept through him.
He deepened the kiss, caught her nipple between two fingers and pinched, all while easing her onto her back on the couch. It was a move he’d mastered in years of seducing women.
Tonight it failed.
Gabby wrenched her mouth from his, shoving him so hard he fell off her and onto the floor.
“Stop.” She scurried off the couch and across the room from him. “What was that, Justin? What the hell was that?”
He winced, picking himself up from the floor. His balls ached and his dick still throbbed with the need to be buried inside her. Inside…Gabby. Shit.