The first sign of trouble was the rough, masculine voice.
The second was the Scottish accent.
God, Cecelia loved Scottish accents.
The last was the scent—his scent—familiar and uniquely Colin.
Cecelia had been through bad breakups before but none had compared to the two, yes two, that had come at Colin’s hands, because she was apparently glutton for punishment and didn’t know better and was young and stupid and in love.
Had been in love. Twice.
And she’d had her heart broken. Twice.
Well, the third time wasn’t the charm and CeCe wasn’t going to be stupid about Colin. Not again, not now that she knew better. Nope. There would be no brooding, gorgeously sexy, Scottish hero in her future.
But had anyone informed Colin of that fact?
