COMING TO RETAILERS SEPTEMBER 30th!
Get ready for the Next in My Favorite collection!
Are you ready to meet your next swoony hero? In My Favorite Hero, sparks fly the moment grumpy firefighter Jesse Thorne finds himself with a tenant he never expected—sunshine wrapped in chaos, Casey Lawson. Rules were set, but neither of them seems capable of following them for long. Get ready for banter, heat, and tension that will have you turning pages long into the night.
To kick things off, here’s a sneak peek of Chapter One…
Jesse
My phone rang a couple of blocks from my house, and I answered, curious as to why the station was calling me. I had left the building only ten minutes prior and waved to Martha as I did.
Covington had one fire station and one police station, and we shared the space with the paramedics as well. My shift as a firefighter had ended at two, and I was headed home for a few days off. I was tired, sore, and ready for the break. I planned on a shower, a cold beer, and twelve hours of sleep.
And aside from a few groceries, my days off would be a replica of that plan.
“Martha,” I greeted her. “What’s up?”
“Jesse,” she replied. “Lila just called to say she saw some unknown vehicle parked at your place. And a strange woman poking around. Want me to send a car over?”
I withheld my groan. Lila was always seeing something in the neighborhood to report.
“A strange woman?” I repeated. “What sort of strange woman? Like a clown?”
“I didn’t ask her, you little shit,” she snorted. “Lila is a little strange herself, so God only knows.”
I chuckled. “Probably someone selling something. I’m almost home. If I need a car, I’ll call.”
“I could get Henry to swing by. I’d hate to have your grumpy face messed up by a criminal.”
“If they’re parked at the house and wandering around, I doubt they’re much of a criminal. Maybe the woman has the wrong address. I’ll check it out.”
I hung up, cursing. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. I hoped whoever it was realized they had the wrong place and had left when I got home.
No such luck.
As I approached the house, I frowned. There was an old white SUV parked in the driveway, some boxes in the back. I parked on my side of the driveway, glancing at the porch. The door was locked, and everything seemed fine.
I walked around the side of the house, stopping in surprise at the sight greeting me. The weather-worn ladder I kept by the shed lay on its side, obviously having fallen over by the kitchen window. And it was—occupied.
A pair of short but shapely legs that were definitely female hung out of the lower half of the window. She had a pair of Doc Martens on her feet. The top half of the window rested just above the perky, round ass of the woman currently filling the space.
Not at all what I expected.
I could hear her curses. The mutterings were loud enough for me to know it was a feminine voice but not make out the words, aside from the louder-sounding curses.
Who the hell was she?
And why was she attempting to break in to my house?
Suddenly, her legs began to kick, and I could see she was trying to use her body to lift the weight of the window pinning her into place.
And failing.
The windows were old and heavy. If the top casement had fallen on her, not only did it have to hurt, she was going to have a difficult time getting free with that curved ass.
Not that I’d noticed it.
I walked to the back door, using my key to open it. Inside, I was met with another amusing sight. The stranger dangled from the window, caught figuratively between a rock and a hard place. Or in this case, literally between the window and the floor. Long, dark hair swept the tile. Her arms didn’t. They were flailing, trying to find purchase somewhere. Anywhere. But with the kitchen half gutted, there was nowhere to grab. The window had her pinned. She didn’t have the strength to pull herself up and get free, and she was wedged too tightly to slide down. Another interesting fact was the black T-shirt lying crumpled on the floor. The deep blue of her camisole set off her skin, which was covered in a sheen of sweat, indicating how hard she was struggling. She kept trying to tug it over her exposed skin, but it was impossible to do so and try to use her arms to get free. It was a losing battle on both fronts.
I cleared my throat, and her head snapped up. She tried to grip the wall, but the old wallpaper made it slippery. For an instant, our eyes met—her blue gaze panicked and red, mine curious and amused.
“Help,” she croaked.
I cocked my head. “Help you break in to my house? That’s taking common courtesy a little far.”
“It’s my place!” she informed me.
I laughed. “Lady, you got the wrong house.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe I should call the cops to sort this out.”
She wiggled some more, frantic and angry.
“I’m supposed to live here!” she yelped, trying to keep her camisole down but failing as the silky material bunched under her breasts. She gasped. “Please, help me.”
I shook my head, exasperated and upset. I strode over, slipping my arm around her torso. “Stop struggling.”
“I’m getting dizzy.”
“Hardly a surprise.”
She went quiet, her body limp. Suddenly, I didn’t find this as amusing as I had a moment ago. I lifted one leg, bracing her body with my knee, keeping my arm around her. It took some effort, but I got the window open wide enough so she slipped downward. I held her weight gently, lowering her to the floor, then let go of the window.
I bent and lifted her, carrying her to the living room and sitting her on the old sofa. I took a moment to look at her. She was small, her hair long, and her skin creamy. Her camisole was pulled up again, and I saw the red mark across her torso, just above the denim waistband. Feeling badly, I pulled the material down, but not before noticing just how full and lush her breasts were in the lacy lingerie.
I shook my head.
I shouldn’t be noticing the underwear of home invaders. Or the assets they covered.
I tapped her cheek. “Hey. Wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked around, first confused, then panicked.
“Who the hell are you?” she snapped.
I crossed my arms and stood. “Since you’re in my house, I’ll ask the questions.”
She glared, struggling to get up.
Instinct took over, and I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa. You passed out. No sudden movements.” I looked around. “You need water. Hold up.”
I hurried to the small bathroom off the kitchen, grateful for the stack of disposable cups. I filled one and went back to the living room. The woman was still sitting on the sofa, looking around as if transfixed. I handed her the cup. “Look at that—you can follow instructions.”
She glowered but took the cup, draining it. I was pleased to see the bright red fading from her cheeks and chest. Realizing I was, in fact, staring at that chest, I returned to the kitchen and grabbed her shirt off the floor. I handed it to her wordlessly.
A different color flooded her face as she took it and pulled it over her head. “I was really hot.”
“Again, hardly a surprise. Breaking and entering is a lot of work.”
“I was not breaking and entering.”
“This is my house.”
“But I’m going to live here.”
“No, you’re not,” I snapped, exasperated. “I already have an unwanted tenant coming, and he isn’t arriving for another two weeks. You have the wrong house.”
She blinked. “Wait, are you Thorne?”
“Jesse Thorne, yes. And you are?”
“Your new tenant.”
I shook my head. “KC Lawson isn’t set to arrive for another two weeks,” I stated again. “And you’re a woman. Not KC.”
She smirked at me. “Wow, you’re observant. I am a woman. But it’s Casey, not KC.” She then spelled it out. “And I’m not a man.”
“But—”
She shook her head. “I’m early, but I wrote and told you I would be.”
“I expected a man,” I insisted, as if by saying it often enough, it would be true.
She snorted. “Sorry to disappoint.”
I was so confused. “And I didn’t get a letter.”
“I emailed one.”
“I never got that either. But wait—the paperwork says you’re supposed to be a guy.”
She shrugged. “Not my problem. I’m your new tenant.” She glanced behind me. “What the hell happened to Aunt Lou’s kitchen?”
* * *
I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. I had left the very feminine and early Casey in Lou’s place and came over to mine. I dug out the paperwork, reading through my emails, and dammit, she was right.
In no document or email did it mention that she was a he. Lou had said what sounded like KC, and I assumed the wrong gender. Given the field they were in and how male-dominated it was, I had drawn the incorrect conclusion. And that had been further cemented in my thick skull by Sims, who simply referred to KC as…KC.
I remembered the day I’d met with him regarding the sale of the house. He had pointed out the stipulation, smiling. “It’s not legally binding. Simply a request. One that Lou insists you will honor.”
Lou Doyle had been my landlady for over five years. We had developed a relationship that went beyond tenant and owner. I found her funny and droll. She was old-fashioned and, at seventy-eight, refused to change her ways. Her white hair was always up in a bun, but once I had seen it down and it was well past her waist. Her dark-brown eyes were still discerning, and she didn’t suffer fools well. Although she lived alone, she cooked for herself daily. Baked for the local food bank that she volunteered at as well. Drove a cool old Mustang she repaired herself. She wore overalls and boots most of the time. A big hat. She loved to garden and putter in the yard. She could build an engine and often helped the neighbors if they required auto assistance. She had worked in a garage with her father for years and knew more about cars than I could ever hope to. She was a hero to the teenage boys she worked with at the local school, teaching them about engines and automobiles in her spare time. She was independent and strong. Intelligent. I liked her a lot. The past couple of years, her memory had started failing, but she still insisted on looking after herself. I kept an eye on her, as did her other friends. She was well loved.
The house was an old Victorian that she had lived in for decades. The original owners had split it in two, and she lived in the larger part, renting out the smaller side on occasion.
“Only to people I knew,” she had informed me once.
When she decided it was too much space for her, she rented the bigger part to me and lived in the smaller section of the house. I had a kitchen and living room on the main floor, along with an unused room I’d turned into an office. Upstairs were two good-sized bedrooms and a bathroom. Her unit of the house had a living room, eat-in kitchen, and back stairs that led up to one bedroom and a bathroom that took up the entire floor. Each dwelling had a half bath on the main floor and a stackable laundry unit. The front porch was divided by a small partial wall, the doors to each unit side by side. Lou had used the front door as her main entrance, and I used the back door most of the time. She liked to sit on her porch and sip tea usually laced with brandy. I used the deck I built out back, although some days I joined her for tea. Some nights she joined me at the fire pit out back, and we sat in comfortable silence, neither of us needing to talk.
Over time, I started cutting the grass, helping with repairs, and general upkeep. I enjoyed using my hands, and as I was part of a firefighter squad, we helped each other out with various personal projects. We redid the front porch and the overhang that was sagging for her. Repaired the back door. Added a small deck to her back area, then a pergola for shade. Lou was always grateful, paid for the supplies, and thanked us with a great meal and baked goods.
One day about eight months ago, she fell down the staircase and broke her hip. It didn’t heal well, and she wasn’t able to look after herself or manage the steps anymore. It also affected her memory even more and killed her independence. She never returned to the house, going into a home instead. I visited her often, and one day, she’d looked at me over her cup of tea.
“I’m not able to come back to the house.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“I’m going to sell it.”
“I want to buy it,” I responded.
“I thought as much. I’ll sell it to you on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“I need you to keep the apartment empty for a while. I have someone who might need a place. I’ll take the costs of the upkeep on it out of the house sale price. You can charge them a fair rent.”
I paused. “So, a tenant.”
“You okay with that?”
“I had planned on reverting it back to a one-family place,” I admitted. “I don’t really want to be a landlord.”
“I need this, Jesse.”
I studied her, seeing her determination. She was a great lady and had been good to me. She had a few friends, no family I knew of, aside from a little girl she referred to as Pixie on occasion, who I gathered was the daughter of a friend she no longer kept in touch with. And a young man she spoke of on occasion lately. Some IT specialist who lived out west.
“KC might need a place,” she explained. “It’s only for a year or so. Maybe less.”
KC. The recent addition to her stories.
KC is fabulous with computers. Head of a huge project.
KC wrote me again.
KC called last night.
I assumed KC was a relative, but Lou was intensely private and rarely offered details of her past life. I understood. I didn’t like to talk about the past either.
“What if KC doesn’t show up?” I asked.
“Then rip down the walls.”
“Any other stipulations?”
She sighed and smiled. “Keep an open mind. And be patient.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I agreed.
I bought the house, and the apartment sat empty for a while. Lou passed away suddenly, sending shock waves through the community. She left me her Mustang, which surprised me, but not as much as the money bequest. I tried to protest, but her lawyer, Charles Sims—or Sims, as everyone called him—insisted it was what she wanted. I put the money into an account, unsure what else to do with it. I knew how much she loved this house, so I thought perhaps I could use some of the funds for upgrades to make sure it was well-kept. The rest of her estate went to the mysterious KC.
Sims got in touch not long afterward to tell me that KC would be arriving in six weeks.
That had been a month ago.
Now, there was a woman next door I hadn’t expected. Didn’t want.
And was stuck with.
I couldn’t refuse her because I’d mistakenly thought she was a he. I paced as I tried to figure this out.
I had thought a male tenant would be simple. I could ignore them. I wouldn’t smell fancy scented candles being burned. Or hear love songs being played. I grimaced as another thought hit me. What if she was a headbanger? I liked my quiet time.
I ran a hand through my hair. I would simply set the ground rules, and we would go from there. Hopefully it wouldn’t be for long.
I could do that right?
I could treat her as if she were nothing but a tenant. Because that was all she was.
Flashes of her creamy skin and long, dark hair flitted through my mind, and I pushed them away.
They weren’t factoring into the situation at all.
Nope.
So what do you think?
That’s just the beginning of Jesse and Casey’s rule-breaking, heart-melting story. Their chemistry is undeniable, their clashes unforgettable—and you’ve only scratched the surface. 🔥
My Favorite Hero releases September 30, 2025 in ebook (including Kindle Unlimited), paperback, and audiobook. Preorder today and be among the first to fall for Jesse and Casey’s perfectly imperfect romance!
In a house full of rules, the only one they can’t follow… is staying away.
Jesse Thorne
Local hero, firefighter, loner, and now grumpy landlord.
She wasn’t what he expected.
His new tenant is a walking disaster wrapped in sunshine, breaking every rule he sets and driving him insane.
Controlling her? Impossible.
Ignoring her? Even harder.
And he’s not sure he can stop it.
She’s under his skin, melting his frozen walls, and making him question everything—including his stubborn heart.
Casey Lawson
Roamer, IT specialist, current tenant, and golden ray of trouble.
Her new landlord is a thorn in her side with his never-ending house rules.
He’s always there when things go wrong—rescuing her with his strong arms and that sexy, smug smile. Breaking down her defenses, one gesture, one growl at a time.
They love to argue, but the chemistry between them is undeniable.
And when they give in, it’s explosive.
Can they escape the fire without getting burned?
Author’s Note: If you love explosive chemistry, fiery banter, and a grumpy firefighter who always saves the girl, My Favorite Hero delivers all the heat and heart you crave–grab it now before Jesse Thorne steals someone else’s.
