Megan Richards desperately wished those words coming from her best friend’s kissable lips had been said in a different context. Alas, Cameron St. John was only referring to the medium-well steak she had grilled, and not a bedroom romp. One day she would shock them both when she declared her desire, her need for the man she’d known since kindergarten, when he’d pulled her pigtails and she’d retaliated by taking her safety scissors to his mullet. A mutual respect was instantly born, and they’d been friends since—sans pigtails and mullet. “I figured you’d been eating enough take-out junk and needed some real food,” she told him, watching in admiration as he picked up their dinner plates and started loading her dishwasher. Oh, yeah. His mama had raised him right, and Megan didn’t think there was a sexier sight than a domestic man...especially one with muscles that flexed so beautifully with each movement.
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