I just wanted a freaking cup of coffee. After all, hard-charging lawyers like me require caffeine to survive court battles. I didn’t expect my life to change. I didn’t expect the unbelievably hot guy behind the counter—all green eyes and golden surfer curls—to tilt my world. And I REALLY didn’t expect his particular brand of laid-back alpha male style. I’d been so secure in my own little world. One with Rules about what I do—and what I definitely do NOT do. Especially in bed. Rule Number 9? No dirty talking? There’s no earthly reason why I’d want anyone to do that. I may be stuck-up, but my Rules kept me safe and happy. Okay, I wasn’t happy. Depressed and repressed is more like it. But am I ready for Mister Barista to obliterate every Rule in my book?