I WISH YOU WERE MINE
Oxford #2
Lauren Layne
Released on February 2, 2016
Loveswept
Perfect for fans
of Alice Clayton and Emma Chase, Lauren Layne’s Oxford series heats up in this
story of forbidden desire as a brooding jock hoping for a comeback falls for a
woman who’s strictly off-limits.
A year ago, Jackson Burke was married to the love of his
life and playing quarterback for the Texas Redhawks. Now he’s retired, courtesy
of the car accident that ruined his career—and single, after a nasty scandal
torpedoed his marriage. Just as he’s starting to get used to his new life as a
health and fitness columnist for Oxford magazine, his unpredictable ex shows up
on his doorstep in Manhattan. Jackson should be thrilled. But he can’t stop
thinking about the one person who’s always been there for him, the one girl he
could never have: her younger sister.
Mollie Carrington can’t say no to Madison. After all, her
older sister practically raised her. So when Madison begs for help in winning
her ex-husband back, Mollie’s just glad she got over her own crush on Jackson
ages ago—or so she thought. Because as Mollie reconnects with Jackson, she
quickly forgets all her reasons to stay loyal to her sister. Tempted by
Jackson’s mellow drawl and cowboy good looks, Mollie is sick and tired of
coming in second place. But she can’t win if she doesn’t play the game.
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Lauren Layne is the USA Today bestselling author of more than a dozen romantic comedies. She lives in New York City with her husband (who was her high school sweetheart--cute, right?!) and plus-sized Pomeranian.
“You
seriously didn’t have to hire movers,” Mollie said for the hundredth time as she
watched two burly dudes easily maneuver yet another stack of boxes to Jackson’s
guest room.
Jackson
pointed at a barstool. “Sit. Relax. Want a beer?”
“No,
I still need to unpack,” she muttered, reluctantly plopping onto the stool.
“Have
a beer, Molls. Unpacking your nightstand contents isn’t like operating heavy
machinery,” he said, going to the fridge and pulling out two beers.
“Clearly
you don’t know what’s in my nightstand.”
Jackson
lifted his eyebrows. “Exactly how big is your vibrator?”
“I
meant
I have like a zillion books.”
“Which
are not breakable,” he said, handing her a beer. “And is that a no on the
vibrator?”
She
gave him a look as she took the bottle from his hand. “I just want to state for
the record that I have moved several times, on my own, without the help of
movers, and I could have done it again.”
“Moving
yourself is for college kids. You’re an adult. Hire movers.”
“No,
moving yourself is for people without extra income,” she said. “Snob.”
“So
what was the plan?” he asked, tipping the bottle to his lips. “You were just
going to maneuver all those big-ass boxes around with those skinny sticks you
call arms?”
“Don’t
be silly. I was going to hire some big beefy dudes from campus to help me. Perk
of working at a university.”
Jackson
was about to set his bottle on the counter but his hand froze, just for a
second, and Mollie felt a sting of regret as she realized she’d inadvertently
hit a nerve. Not so long ago, Jackson Burke had been absolutely the type of
muscled guy friend who’d’ve been really helpful to have around on moving day.
Her eyes flitted to his shoulder. Now he was the guy who wouldn’t be doing any
heavy lifting for a long time. Maybe ever.
She
looked away, her brain scrambling to come up with a quick subject change.
Only
maybe that wasn’t what he needed—for people to dance around his injury like it
was the elephant in the room. Physically, he was on the road to recovery. He
needed to get there mentally as well.
“You
said the other night that it didn’t hurt,” she said. “Was that a big macho man
moment?”
He
stared at the counter. “I’ve told you. It’s fine.”
She
rolled her eyes. “Please. Be a little more vague and manly.”
“Well,
what do you want me to say, Molls?” he ground out. “That the pain wakes me up
at night? That any motion more vigorous than brushing my teeth hurts like
hell?”
“Are
you going to physical therapy?” she asked, purposely ignoring the wounded-bear
routine. That might scare off other people, but she was made of stronger stuff.
Knew him better.
He
looked away.
“Oh,
Jackson.”
He
shrugged. “What does it even matter? All the PT in the world isn’t going to
help me play football again.”
“Well,
gosh,” she said dramatically, “you may as well be dead.”
Jackson
was in the process of taking a sip of beer and choked. “Jesus. You are such a
smart-ass.”
“I’m
just saying, you have a lot going for you,” she said, gentling her tone. “You
don’t need a football in your hand or to help a girl move to be an amazing
guy.”
“Yeah?”
he said as he leaned on his forearms across the counter. “Want to tell me more
about how I’m an amazing guy?”
If I did, I might never stop.
In 2011, she ditched her corporate career in Seattle to pursue a full-time writing career in Manhattan, and never looked back.
In her ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books.
For a list of all her works, please be sure to check out her official website!
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