Just the Tip of the Iceberg
Mile High Matched Books 1-3
Christina Hovland
Contents
Praise for Christina Hovland
A Note from Christina
Going Down on One Knee
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Blow Me Away
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Take It Off the Menu
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Rock Hard Cowboy Sample Chapter
Rock Hard Cowboy
Stay in Touch
Also by Christina Hovland
About the Author
Praise for Christina Hovland
Going Down on One Knee
“Humor, witty dialogue, delightfully crafted characters, and a unique premise combine to make Going Down on One Knee a treasure!” — InD’tale Magazine
* * *
“An utterly charming opposites-attract-story. Hovland perfectly balances simmering sexual tension with a surprising amount of emotion, and the stomach-flip-causing ending is the perfect example of why I read and love romance.”
- New York Times Bestselling Author, Lauren Layne
* * *
"I wasn't expecting to laugh as much as I did. ... Anyone looking for a light, funny story will find it here in Christina Hovland's Going Down on One Knee." - Romantically Inclined Reviews
* * *
"If you are a fan of opposites attract stories that make you laugh one minute, and swoon the next, you'll not go wrong with one of her books. Well done, Christina Hovland! Very, very well done." - The Reading Cafe Reviews
* * *
"A delightful blend of witty humor and romance!" - Jenn (YeahOrNeighReviews)
* * *
"Brek and Velma. He exudes tranquility. She exudes tension. The chemistry between them is palpable without being forced." - Avidez Literary
* * *
"This is so much more than a romance novel. It literally describes how life is. You have to let go to find yourself. " - Reckless Readers
Blow Me Away
“Blow Me Away is the perfect beach read: low on angst, high on humor and good-hearted.” — Reedsy Discovery
* * *
"I don't know the best way to describe this book or these characters in a way that will do them justice. Just read the book and enjoy the madness!!" - Nerdy Dirty & Flirty Book Blog
* * *
"Oh. My. Word. Blow Me Away was an absolute blast! I seriously loved every second of it." - Anna's Herding Cats Book Reviews
* * *
"A hilarious romantic comedy with colorful characters, a witty banter and sparkling wit!"- Aaly & The Books
* * *
"I have not had that much fun reading in a long time." - Read.Review.Repeat Blog
The Honeymoon Trap
"The Honeymoon Trap is adorable, clever, funny—in short, completely charming." - Serena Bell, USA Today bestselling author of Do Over
A Note from Christina
Dear Reader,
In early 2016, when the kernel of an idea for a biker-wedding planner book was just taking root in my brain, I never knew how enthusiastically readers would embrace the series. I adore spending time with the Mile High Matched crew and it’s always such a treat to get to visit them again.
In so many ways, they have become close friends. Babushka is the fairy godmother no one ever wanted to believe a spunky Russian grandmother could be. Brek is the biker with a heart as big as the Mile High City. The guys he hangs with? They’re the book boyfriends I’ve always wanted to have—so I wrote them.
And the women of the Mile High Matched series? They’re each bits and pieces of my best friends. So when I hear readers mention how much fun it would be to hang out with them, I assure you it is.
I hope you enjoy the first books of what I hope will be a very long series!
Christina
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
* * *
Copyright 2018 by Christina Hovland. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
* * *
For rights information, please contact:
Prospect Agency
551 Valley Road, PMB 377
Upper Montclair, NJ 07043
(718) 788-3217
* * *
Holly Ingraham, Development Editor
Michelle Hope, Copy Editor
First Edition October 2018
This one’s for Steve.
(Then again, they all are.)
Chapter One
The Countdown Begins
Three words. Three. Little. Words. Nothing important.
Okay, so the three words were important. Massive, really.
“Congratulations, you two,” Velma Johnson re
hearsed aloud to the vase of a dozen yellow roses gripped in her arms. With a reaffirming gulp of Denver’s crisp spring air, she hustled through the open-air parking garage to the security door of her apartment building.
Her sister, Claire, had big news. To be exact, Claire and her boyfriend, Dean, had big news. Velma had a feeling she knew exactly what their news would be—they were moving in together. The next step in their relationship. Tension in Velma’s neck strung tight at the thought.
A successful career and a posh apartment she could eventually rent out as an investment were steps one and two of Velma’s elaborate five-year plan. She had ticked both those boxes. Dean, three kids, and moving to a two-story house just outside of Denver had been steps three through seven.
Not anymore. Now, her sister was moving in with the man Velma had crushed on for years. The one Velma measured all others against. The one she sang Prince and Madonna songs with at the office.
Yes, they were moving in together. That’s why Claire had called yesterday and asked to take her to dinner. Velma had insisted they meet at her place instead. Her invitation had nothing to do with the fact she liked having Dean visit her apartment—even if he was with her sister. She’d offered because it made sense they’d want a private location for their big reveal. And when the announcement came that they’d be embracing that next relationship milestone…well, being on her home turf sounded pretty darn appealing.
Just as she reached the security door, the sound of a motorcycle that clearly had no muffler cut through her thoughts. She turned. The bike pulled up next to her car—into the parking spot meant for her guests. A super-muscled, badass-mother-trucker of a biker swung his leg over the side of the motorcycle and stood.
Her heart stopped with a thunk.
Vin-Diesel-biker-dude pulled off his helmet and—sweet mother of Mary, had the temperature jumped by ten degrees? She got the picture: he rode a motorcycle, hit the gym twice a day. The type she avoided because she did not do badass. She preferred the suspenders-and-slacks kind of man. Except, at that moment, she debated how important that preference really was to her.
Focus, Velma. Head held high, she approached him. “Excuse me? Sir? You can’t park there.”
He frowned at the number marking the spot.
Normally she wouldn’t mind sharing the space, but with Claire, Dean, and his friend Brek coming to dinner, she needed both of her parking spaces.
This man was obviously not Dean’s friend. Dean’s friends were all buttoned-up, suit-wearing, Wednesday-afternoon golfers. She was nearly certain.
The black leather jacket and jeans ripped at this guy’s knees looked horribly out of place next to her Prius. His longish, rock-’n’-roll blond hair was nicer than hers (although his could use a trim). She didn’t even mind the dragon tattoo creeping around the side of his neck or the layer of mud coating his motorcycle boots. Everything about the man screamed masculine.
Velma shifted the heavy vase in her grip. Fudge. Which of her neighbors was letting their guests use her spot this time?
“No, see, that’s the spot for my apartment.” Oh, how she wanted to rub at the headache pulsing at her forehead. She didn’t have time for this. Not today. “I’m sorry, it’s just that my sister and her boyfriend and his friend are coming for dinner because my sister has big news. And while I have no idea what that news is, it’s important to her. So that makes it important to me. Which is why I put on a pork roast, bought roses, and got out my crystal wine goblets. That’s what you do when your sister has big news, you know? Never mind she’s practically living my five-year plan without even trying, and I’m over here without even a boyfriend. That was not part of my plan. At this point, I should be at least six months into dating my future husband.”
Oh God. She was rambling. And he was staring at her with a half grin that made her skin flush. Seriously, the way the man smiled should be outlawed.
She ducked her head. “Anyway, I have company coming and I kind of need my spot.”
“Five-year plan?” he asked. As though that was the important part of what she’d just spit out.
This is how one makes an absolute idiot of oneself. “You know what? It’s fine. You can stay right there. Don’t worry about it.” She shifted the flowers again and turned on her heel.
See? People said she was inflexible, but here she was, absolutely rolling with it. She smiled at her flexibility.
“One sec,” Motorcycle Dude called. “This is the number they gave me.”
She paused midstride and turned around.
He ticked his head to the side. “Velvet?”
Oh dear. She could easily be swayed by the gravelly way he said her name. Well, the nickname her family called her—despite her repeated cease-and-desist requests.
“Um, yes?” She gripped the glass vase harder with her clammy hands.
“Brek.” He looked at her like she should know him and pointed to his chest. “Dean’s friend.”
Velma stared.
Oh.
This was Brek? She’d expected him to wear khaki pants and drive a Camry. He reached into one of his saddlebags and held up a six-pack of Coors and a four-pack of Bartles & Jaymes fuzzy-navel-flavored wine coolers. “Claire asked me to bring the beer and wine, since I’m crashing your party.”
Wine coolers? She stared some more. Be flexible, she reminded herself. Flexible. Flexible. Flexible.
“Great. Fuzzy navel pairs perfectly with pork roast.” Cheeks burning and arms full, she managed to open the security door.
“So, you’re Claire’s sister?” His lazy gaze trailed over her.
“The one and only.”
His deep-blue eyes rivaled the color of the razzleberry lollipops she loved. The kind that made her mouth water just thinking about them and… Focus, Velma.
“Can I come up, Velvet?” His deep voice held a subtle hint of roughness.
“Velma,” she corrected. “You’re a little early. I’m so behind. Normally, I’m much more together.”
“I can come back later.” Brek’s eyes softened, totally contrary to his outer badassery.
“No. I am officially the queen of flexibility. It’s not a problem.”
He did the darn grin thing again. She silently instructed her body to ignore it.
“Queen of flexibility. That ought to be interesting,” he mumbled mostly to himself but loud enough for her to hear. He stepped next to her, balanced the beer and “wine” against the impressive muscles of one arm, and slid the vase she carried into the crook of his other arm.
“Thanks.” This time it was her turn to mumble.
Without looking back, she led him up the stairs to her apartment. Another glance his way, and she’d probably trip face-first into the wall or something equally embarrassing. To prevent herself from taking another peek, she focused on sticking the key in the keyhole of her apartment door as though it took every ounce of her concentration.
There. The door swung open. He stepped through the doorframe, close enough for her to catch the scent of leather and Irish Spring soap. Close enough for her to reach out and touch the stubble running over his jawline. Close enough for her to—she shook her head to dislodge the abrupt light-headedness.
“This place is huge.” With a long whistle, he set everything down on her dining room table.
Vaulted ceilings, open concept, white walls and sofa, with pops of jewel tones in her carefully selected décor; it must all appear so unnecessary to a guy like him. But these were her things, proof of everything she had worked so hard to achieve.
Brek walked into the kitchen and glanced to the slow cooker on the counter. “This smells amazing, Velvet. You a chef?”
“Velma,” she corrected him again, slipping on an apron with the words Domestic Diva embroidered on the front. “And no, I just like to cook.”
Velma took in the dinner she’d spent the afternoon planning and preparing. Vegetables had been roasted in the oven, and a chocolate cream pie was setting in the fridge. Not th
e pudding kind, either. A real, honest-to-goodness, made-from-whipping-cream-and-two-kinds-of-chocolate pie. She hoped she could eat those leftovers while she binge-watched Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals later.
“Then what do you do, Velma?” His emphasis on the last syllable made her wish her name wasn’t so frumpy.