Foolish Regrets

Copyright © 2016 by Jeana E. Mann (previously titled Pretty Wild Thing) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected] All characters and events in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, alive or deceased, is purely coincidental. Created with Vellum CONTENTS 1. Fallon 2. Tucker 3. Fallon 4. Tucker 5. Fallon 6. Tucker 7. Fallon 8. Tucker 9. Fallon 10. Tucker 11. Fallon 12. Tucker 13. Fallon 14. Tucker 15. Fallon 16. Tucker 17. Fallon 18. Tucker 19. Fallon 20. Fallon 21. Tucker 22. Fallon 23. Tucker 24. Fallon 25. Fallon 26. Tucker 27. Fallon 28. Tucker 29. Fallon 30. Fallon 31. Fallon 32. Tucker 33. Fallon Also by Jeana E. Mann About the Author 1 FALLON At the front desk of the Maynard Building, the security guard handed me a temporary access badge with my name printed on it. I pulled the lanyard over my head, then moved to the elevators. As I boarded the car along with a dozen other people, my gaze strayed to the guy beside me. Tall and athletic, he stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Where had I seen him before? He stared straight ahead while I tried not to eyeball him. A gray hoodie stretched over his broad shoulders and hugged a narrow waist. With the hood pulled low over his eyes, I couldn’t see most of his features, but I saw his chin. It was square, dimpled, and clean shaven. Desire prickled along my skin. I pushed it aside, turning my focus to the impending interview upstairs. Focus, Fallon. I ran through a mental list of common interview questions, rehearsing the answers in my head. I needed this job. My brother’s future depended on it. The elevator stopped at the tenth floor. A handful of people exited. I cast a sideways peek at Hoodie Guy. Sexual energy rolled off him in waves. I resisted the urge to fan my face and blamed the sudden internal heat on the number of bodies in the elevator. With my load of responsibilities, sex wasn’t on the radar, but this guy made my insides do crazy things. At the next floor, six people boarded. The occupants shifted to make room. My shoulder rubbed against the mystery man. Tingles traveled up my arm. Sensing my gaze, he faced me, lips twitching in amusement. Mortification rushed up my neck and took residence in my cheeks. Crap! He’d caught me checking him out. I blushed then looked at the tips of my tennis shoes, the ones I wore for the walk to and from the train, and saw that he was wearing black-and-white Chuck Taylors beneath his faded blue jeans. Odd clothing for a high-profile, professional building. At the twentieth floor, the elevator emptied, leaving me alone with the hoodie guy. “Where are you going?” I asked, suddenly aware that he hadn’t pushed a destination button, and I was curious to learn where he was going. “Thirty-five, please.” His low, smooth voice instigated a pleasant shiver down my back. In my head, I heard his voice whispering hot, dirty words in my ear during sex. No. Oh my God, stop it, Fallon. Lusting after this guy—any guy—was a pointless endeavor. I bit my lower lip and stared at the door. “You’re going there, too?” he asked. “Yes. Twisted Wire Productions.” The air thickened inside the elevator. My chest felt heavy. Had the air conditioning quit? I plucked at the collar of my blouse. “I’ve got an interview.” “Is that so?” He lowered his hood. Amazing eyes lined by thick dark lashes drifted to the name badge hanging around my neck. “Fallon Youngblood?” I liked the way he said my name, slow and easy, with an obvious southern drawl. I liked the way he looked, too. Bohemian. Unique. Dark blond hair curled loosely above his collar, the kind a girl could dig her fingers into. Did I mention he smelled amazing? I wanted to close my eyes and drink in his scent—shower gel, soap, and a hint of peppermint. He took a step closer. A nervous thrill skittered up my arm as our sleeves touched. “Have we met before?” He cocked his head to the side, processing every detail of my face. My gaze drifted to the leather thong knotted around his neck, the sexy definition of his collarbones, the golden brown of his tan. Definitely not a corporate guy. More like a courier or something. “No. I don’t think so,” My voice was breathy, like I’d been running a footrace. The straight slope of his nose and the angle of his square jaw created an unforgettable face. If we’d met, I would have remembered. “Are you sure? Maybe a club?” He tilted his head to one side. The shift of his body, the way his eyes clung to mine, gave me a pleasant tumble of butterflies in my tummy. I bet he’d broken more than one heart with those eyes, that voice. His lips twitched again, but he didn’t smile. I got the feeling smiles were few and far between for this man. “No. You don’t look like a club girl.” He snapped his fingers. “I