THE BRITISH INVASION IS HERE, AND HE’S GOT SUPERMAN HAIR. At my best friend’s wedding a few months ago, I laid eyes on the most beautiful man I have ever seen. All dressed up in a tux, he was a sexy Clark Kent wannabe—tall, dark, and handsome. Then, when he opened his mouth, Atticus Sherwood revealed himself to be as British as a fucking crumpet. Yeah, I should’ve taken a bite out of him, but he left before I could nibble his fine English muffin. Now, Atticus is back in New Orleans. Before I know it, his tongue has me screaming the Queen’s name, and my heart is crying out for more than a torrid affair with this bed-breaking Brit. There’s just one little problem: love broke me once before, and I swore to myself I wouldn’t let it happen again. Is taking a leap with Atticus worth the risk? Maybe I just need to trust I’ve finally found my own Superman to catch me when I fall. Thank God he doesn’t come faster than a speeding bullet. ;-)