Love Hacked: A reluctant romance (Knitting in the City Book 3)

by Penny Reid

There are three things you need to know about Sandra Fielding: 1) She makes all her first dates cry, 2) She hasn’t been kissed in over two years, and 3) She knows how to knit.

Sandra has difficulty removing her psychotherapist hat. Of her last 30 dates, 29 have ended the same way: the man sobbing uncontrollably. After one such disaster, Sandra–near desperation and maybe a little tipsy–gives in to a seemingly harmless encounter with her hot waiter, Alex. Argumentative, secretive, and hostile Alex may be the opposite of everything Sandra knows is right for her. But now, the girl who has spent all her life helping others change for the better, must find a way to cope with falling for someone who refuses to change at all.

This is a full-length, 110k word novel and is the third book in the Knitting in the City series. All books in the series can be read as a standalone.

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

[His hands gripped my waist—not my arms, which my pickled brain thought was noteworthy—and duly steadied and unsettled me with his nearness. His proximity and touch caused a zing—yes, a zing—from the back of my neck to my fingertips and heretofore neglected womanly pelvic region. The heat of his hands bled through the thin material of my dress, settled just above my hips, and this sensation paired with the zing sobered me slightly.

I hadn’t experienced a zing with a man—or a boy—or a man-boy—in a very, very long time.

“Well, h-hello.” I stuttered, lifted my eyes and found his, once again, singularly focused on my mouth. A new zing sailed southward, past my female equipment to my tiptoes.

Ah, how I missed the zing!

We stood silent, inches from each other, sharing the same breath.

“Three years is a long time.” He said, his voice achingly seductive.

I frowned because I was confused, but whispered, “Yes. And fettuccini noodles are too thick.”

He frowned, but his attention didn’t waver from my lips. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. You said three years is a long time. I thought we were sharing random opinions.”

Alex laughed—it sounded a bit nervous, but I couldn’t be sure, and shook his head. “Sandra, what do you say? I think it’s well past time you had a kiss.” His eyes flickered to mine. I noted they were still guarded, wizened; but they were also heated and every shade of licentious lapis imaginable.

In a word, delightful.

I licked my lips, gathered a deep breath through my nose, considered the offer.

He was maybe twenty-three; more likely he was twenty-two. That was six years younger than my twenty-eight. The six years between twenty-two and twenty-eight was a vast minefield of life experience and a thick forest of emotional maturity.

We were on different emotion planets.

I was looking for the guy. I was looking for my life partner. I wasn’t looking for a dangerous yet delicious looking youngster waiter with a chip on his shoulder.

Then again…

Alex was manlicious in a way that I rarely encountered. And he wanted to kiss me. And he wasn’t crying. Triple bonus.

Okay, I thought, psyching myself up, yes, let’s do this. Let’s go wild, just this once. Kiss the boy. Kiss the boy and round the bases. Look for your life partner tomorrow.

Before I lost my nerve, I kissed him.

Zing.

It was brief, sudden; a drive by kiss and I savored his stunned soft mouth. Then I leaned just my head away and glanced at him. He had such a great mouth and he’d parted it slightly in surprise.

I nodded. “Okay, just one more.” I kissed him again, fast but with more pressure this time, planted my lips to his and breathed in through my nose

Zing!

Then, reluctantly, I leaned away again and immediately said, “Just one more kiss after this-”

He interrupted my assertion by mouthlesting me; meaning, he affixed his lips to mine and kissed me good and thorough.

ZING!

Thick, urgent tongue invasion; biting; sucking and stroking. As he assaulted me in the best way possible, I was vaguely aware that he’d backed me into and against the corner of the small alcove, just under the stairs. His feet braced apart and his body towered over mine, filled every inch of available space; his fingers dug into my side and back in a way that felt aggressive.

I approved.

Then, abruptly, he pulled just a centimeter away. Breathing hard he said, “One more meaning that kiss?”

I hazily blinked my eyes and opened my abused lips to respond; however, before I could, he pressed me against the wall with his imposing frame, rocked against me—center to center—and growled, “Or, this kiss?”

ZING ZING ZING!

His every day voice was a thing of beauty; but his growly voice made me want to lick his face.

The mouthlesting moved from misdemeanor to a felony crime against all women other than me. He employed tongue, teeth, lips in a way that drove all thought beyond this kiss from my mind. We existed, just the two of us, in our kiss cocoon. In that moment, strangers though we were, I allowed him to take in a way I hadn’t known I was capable of giving.

I’d lit the fuse and, God bless him, he’d provided the fireworks. Life was good.]