***CHAPTER ONE ALERT*** Rachel van Dyken's "The Consequence of loving Colton"




RELEASE DATE: APRIL 21, 2015



It’s all fun and games…until someone’s heart is broken.


They’re not kids anymore, but Milo Caro is certain that
Colton Mathews will only see her as his best friend’s little sister for the rest of their lives. After all, he made that clear the night before she left for college. But four years later, her brother is getting married and Colt’s the best man—and guess who is the best man’s last-minute date?

Milo vows to use the wedding to either claim the smoldering firefighter’s heart or douse this torch for good. When Max—her best friend from college, who may be carrying a torch of his own—crashes the party, they devise a plan to make Colt see what he’s missing. But after Colt catches on, he decides to cook up his own revenge.

Now it’s personal. Colt and Milo are at war, and between
Max’s questionable acting methods, an unfortunate trip to jail, and a maniacal fiancée, what could possibly go right?







Milo


Four years later

I gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Actually, I would have gripped it with my teeth,

toes, and ankles had my brain actually fired fast enough to send the message: Red alert! Red

alert!

Instead, mouth dry, I just sat there like an idiot.

I couldn’t think of anything to say to make it better—anything. I couldn’t even give the guy a

smile, which really was a shame considering it was my best asset.

“Milo!” Colton tapped the door of my light-blue Mercedes. “You look good.”

I blinked. Well, I thought I blinked, I wasn’t really sure. The car was still running, you’d think I

would at least have enough sense to take my foot off the pedal and put it into park, but all I could

do was stare. Fantastic. Twenty-one years old and still dealing with sweaty palms because Colton

Mathews had said my name.

One thing I was sure of—my mouth was still hanging slightly ajar. Drool would soon follow and

then Colton would have just one more reason to make fun of me—Jason’s little sister.

“You all right?” He leaned his muscled forearms against the open window and stuck his head in.

Merciful God in heaven, he still smelled the same. His spicy cologne blending with his perfect

tan skin would have made any girl pause, or swallow her tongue, or sweat; really, take your pick.

“You do realize at some point you need to turn off the car and go inside the house, right, little

girl?”

And there it was, I wasn’t any girl. To Colt, I was Jason’s little sister. Nothing more.

It didn’t matter that my boobs cheerfully filled out a C cup or that I’d had my braces off for over

seven years. I still wasn’t a woman to him.

God must have taken pity on me, because for some reason, in that instant, when the smell of

Acqua Di Gio floated into my car, I snapped out of my insane moment and smiled.

“Fine. Great. Awesome. Perfect. You?” Too many answers, Milo. Too many answers.

Colton chuckled. It was a deep chuckle. The type that makes girls sigh while simultaneously

trying to figure out how to get out of their clothes and trap the man into marriage. Seriously. His

smile was one that made girls want the condom to break.

Great, now I was thinking about condoms.

Condoms and Colton.

A barking dog interrupted my sexual daydreams. It was Max’s ringtone. “Um, one second.” I put

up my finger and shooed Colton away from the window as I pressed “Answer” and let the

window close. He smiled, seemingly amused, and leaned against the car.

“How goes the first day of childhood hell, my friend?”

“That depends,” I whispered into the phone, not taking my eyes off Colton as he stood facing the

window. He was tall enough that I was basically staring at his lower abs and lower . . . body.

Heat flooded my face, informing me without a doubt that crimson decorated my cheeks.

“Why are we whispering?” asked Max, my best friend from college.

“Because we are in the car.”

“You are in the car. I’m at Starbucks.”

“Whatever,” I conceded with a snort, waving my hand in the air flippantly. “And it’s not going

well. In fact, I’m pretty sure Colton thinks I have a learning disability.”

“Why would he think that?”

I sighed into the phone and tried to concentrate on anything but the fact that Colton was standing

a few inches away from me. So freaking close. “I kind of, sort of . . . blacked out when he was

talking to me.”

“So where are you now?”

“We’ve established this. I’m in the car.”

Max sighed. “Then where’s Colton?”

“Outside the car.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m an idiot.” I groaned and smacked my hand against my forehead. “When the phone rang I

closed the window to answer it but now he’s not moving.”

“Well . . .” Max cleared his throat. “I guess there are worse things in life than a hot guy standing

outside your window, right?”

“Right.” My voice wavered. “But he’s like facing the door. All of him.”

“All of him?”

“His parts,” I clarified. Swear I felt my entire body go up in flames. Great, so now I was going to

hell for looking at his parts. His very nice parts. His yummy, tight, straining—I needed to stop

before I gave myself a stroke. “He’s facing the window and leaning against the car and I swear,

Max, the whole front of his body is pressed up against . . . my car.”

“Naked?”

“What?” I yelled.

“Well, you said his parts.”

“Not his parts-parts,” I clarified. Shoot me now. Could this conversation get any more awkward?

“Never mind, I mean—oh, crap.”

“What? What’s happening?”

I could see Max now, coffee thrust in the air, pacing the Starbucks floor like a crazy person.

“He’s stretching across the car and—” I stopped mid-sentence. “Shit, my brother’s on the other

side.”

“Let me get this straight.” Max chuckled. “You have your lifelong crush, who just so happens to

be your brother’s best friend, on one side, his parts pressed firmly against your hot little

Mercedes, and your brother, who has no idea of this sad infatuation, on the other side, making it

possible for you to ogle his best friend’s goodies?”

“Yup.” My breathing picked up as I heard Colton laugh and then his front pressed against my

door. “Good Lord, I’m sweating. He’s—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. It makes me want to puke, and as much as you make fun of

me for not having a girlfriend, it’s not because I prefer men, so please . . . spare me the

details.”

“Fine.”

“Milo?”

“What?” My eyes were glued to Colton’s hot body as his stomach stretched across an eight-pack

straight out of a glossy magazine cover.

“Seduce him.”

“With what?” I whisper-yelled. “I have nothing to offer him!”

“It’s not like I want you to plant a chocolate trail from the ground to your lips, Milo.”

“I know that!” I snapped. “Besides, he’s allergic to chocolate.”

“Please tell me you don’t have his medical history memorized.”

“I don’t,” I lied, suddenly finding great interest in the black leather steering wheel while my

shame increased. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. His Facebook profile says he likes blondes. I have

dark hair.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you stalk him on Facebook and just help you fix the problem.

So dye your hair.”

“Yeah, let me just get the hair dye from the backseat, Max!”

“Sheesh, touchy. You, my friend, need to get laid.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered. “I’m the one stuck in the damn car with nothing but my

Kindle[SBK4]  and a prayer.”

“Your life makes me sad.”

“Shut up.”

“Seduce him.”

“Again, with what?”

“Your body.”

“I have no body.” I slumped against the seat in a pout. “Besides, I don’t know the first thing

about seduction. And he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“I tried kissing him when I was sixteen and he laughed in my face.”

“To be fair, your skirt was tucked into your underwear.”

“Not the point!” I yelled for real this time. Why the heck had I drunk that entire bottle of wine

and confessed all my embarrassing moments to Max? The terrible two outside my car began

banging loudly on the windows. Great, I’d probably captured their attention when I raised my

voice. And fantastic, the car began to move. I’d officially awakened the beasts.

“I’m in hell.”

“Well . . . ” Max laughed. “Don’t let the flames give you a sunburn. I gotta run, just saw my

Starbucks barista . . . I will gain a date if it kills me! Oh, and good luck. You’ll need it.”

“Right.” I clicked end and shut off the car.

Nothing was going as planned—that was for sure.




Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and 
USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing  you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandykenauthor.com


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