Release Date: 03.06.2018
An imperfect firefighter defined by his past.
A determined author on a mission for the truth.
When Ana Mathews searches for book-boyfriend inspiration, she gets more than she expected from Gavin McLeod. Her quest to find imperfection could be the spark that brings to life their chance at happiness, or the burn that could destroy it all.
Her Real Man was a sweet romantic story a little bit on the short side but perfect for a lazy Sunday read.
I enjoyed so much to read Ana' s quest to find a real man to write and to portray the Heroes of her books less stereotypically.When she meets Gavin she thinks she's found what she was looking for and she is ready to put him into her next novel but he will also surprise her.
I recommend to read Natalina Reis stories because they are all good and her writing is flawless.
I coughed to clear my throat. It didn’t help. The words that always came so easy to me on paper didn’t want to leave my lips. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you guys out.” My shoulders hunched down as I deflated again. “I’m just a writer.”
I may have whispered those last few words, but his head still snapped up with curiosity. “A writer? Are you writing about the firehouse?”
“Firemen.” I had become monosyllabic, apparently. “Research.”
The cute fireman wiped his hands on his pants and offered me one for a shake. “Hi, I’m Gavin McLeod.” He took my hand in his and shook it enthusiastically. His hand was big and warm. I felt the calluses on his fingers against my soft palm. “You are?”
“Ana. Ana Mathews.” Our hands were still together, moving up and down like a jump rope. He is really cute.
“It looks like a slow day today. Why don’t you come inside and meet the guys?” Oh, my God. Did he just invite me into the firehouse? “We were just getting ready to have lunch. Care to join us?”
“Can I?” Okay, so that’s two words. I seemed to have broken the monosyllabic spell. My hand was still cocooned inside his, and I wasn’t going to lie; it felt good.
Gavin pulled gently on my hand, coaxing me from the wall. “Yes, of course. Come on. You can come and ask us whatever you want.”
My butt felt weird, all numb from the cold cement wall, and I had the urge to wiggle it a bit. But I didn’t. Instead I followed the tall, green-eyed man into the firehouse, my legs shaking like leaves in a summer breeze, and my palms, now freed from the warm shelter of his, sweaty and clammy.
I can do this. I can do this. Except I probably couldn’t. My tongue had swelled to double its size—or so it felt—and my brain had been replaced by a wad of cotton balls as I crossed the threshold. Immediately I felt like a lamb who had just walked into a wolf-riddled meadow. Several pairs of suspicious eyes scanned me from head to toe, and this time even my overactive imagination couldn’t turn those looks into what they were not.
“Hey, guys. Ana here is a writer and she is writing about a fireman.” I had to give it to him; he was as enthusiastic about my nonexistent story as a little boy about a lollipop.
The other guys looked at me as if I had two heads at first, but then their faces opened in big welcoming smiles. Several almost stepped all over each other offering me a chair at the big rectangular table they were all sitting at. I picked the one closest to my green-eyed fireman and smiled nervously at the large group of men in the room. Why were there no women? I knew for a fact that there were several female firefighters in the neighborhood, but none of them were present that day.