Girl Breaker

By: Harper Kincaid

Sometimes the best thing a good girl can do is make a bad decision.

Jessica has always been the girl with her head in the clouds and her nose in a book, only dating the “nice guys”. But when rough-around-the-edges Viking-biker-god, Mad Max, and his precocious little girl move onto her street, Jessica falls hard and fast for both of them.

Max is no stranger to women wanting to share his bed—and he’s always been more than happy to oblige them all. He’s lived wild all his life—that is, until a daughter shows up on his doorstep and he meets a redheaded angel down the block.

There’s nothing more he wants than to claim Jessica as his, to bring the gorgeous spitfire to his bed. But a man like him doesn’t get a happy ending with a woman like her. He’s got a whole other life, one he’s kept secret for good reason.

If Jessica found out what he really is, there’s no way she could love him. He should keep his hands to himself. But he’s Mad Max—he’s never done the right thing, and he’s not going to start now.

Warning: Contains a dominating alpha male who’s a lot more than he seems, and a good girl with a swirl of flavors under her vanilla.


To my best friend, Lisa Waldorf Lee,

You’re my angel—and proof God adored me

long before I learned to love myself.


I still don’t have an answer, even after all these years: who was lost and who was found. Sometimes I would find him in the labyrinth of a city, but other times—like now—the chase began in a wooded countryside in Ireland. “He” happened to be my man, my future husband, and the father of my unborn children.

The fact I didn’t know his name or even what he looked like was far from a deterrent. Because I knew someday I’d catch up to him—or he’d find me when I least expected it—and once I did, that would be it. No more waiting. No more wondering.

I promise you, I’m not crazy. I’m just one of the last true believers. I live for those serendipitous events, where time and space sweeps love and faith off their feet and makes the magic happen. To me, magic is when your heart and soul’s deepest desires align with the will of God, whose love for us is beyond anything we comprehend. That doesn’t make me religious; it just means I trust and surrender to something outside the lesser gods of logic and the illusion of control.

So the whole idea of catching glimpses of the man meant for me through reoccurring dreams was not a stretch in the slightest. In this particular dream, I was in a simple dress and sandals, with my red hair half up, clipped in place with a plain barrette. The sun was overhead, brilliant but not blinding, and warm on my skin.

And then it happened. I was walking with the crowd, and I felt calloused fingertips brush against my hand. His roughness electrified every nerve in my body. I caught a visual slice of broad shoulders, a confident swagger, a devilish smirk.

That’s all it ever took, really. Just a tease of him and I would feel a heavy tug pull me, right from the center of my chest. Strong. Insistent. Magnetic, even. My feet and body would move in whatever direction he was going. The effect he had on me was Pavlovian, automatic. Out of my control.

I started following him through the crowd, my short, thin legs barely keeping up with his long strides. Somehow, though, I knew he wasn’t going at his full speed; he was allowing me time to catch up. He was so tall, at least 6’3”, so one of his strides equaled three of mine. He wove through the people with ease while I was already feeling the sweat running down the curve of my neck and spine.

Then the scene switched and I was jogging through an overgrown garden. The scent of wild roses perfumed the air, permeating my lungs.

“Ouch!” A thorny branch snagged the sleeve of my dress, scraping my skin. I brought the wound to my mouth, tasting blood, licking it clean. When I looked up, I saw he had stopped. He was watching me.

I sucked in a harsh breath because he had never stopped before. I was lucid enough within the dream to say to myself, “Get a look at him, Jessica. This is your chance to finally see him.” So I tried to concentrate on the face of the man who had been out of my reach ever since I was a little girl. The man I knew, with every cell of my body, was the one meant for me. My beloved, my soul mate.

But the fog was rising and the sun became hidden behind a cluster of darkening clouds. The rains were coming, and all I could make out were his eyes, such an unusual shade of green. They were razor-focused right into the heart of me.

“What’s your name?” I called out to him, mesmerized by his eyes because they were almost luminescent. I wanted to take in the rest of his face, to finally see him. But, for some reason, I just couldn’t.