My beach getaway was only supposed to include three things: relaxation, wine, and fun in the sun.

Mack Houston, on the other hand, should have never-ever-been involved.

In no uncertain terms, he's the bane of my existence.

The thorn in my side.

The sexy Mr. Good-Time Guy who drives me up the wall and my work archnemesis for the past five years.

He's the last person I want to get stuck anywhere with-it's bad enough that I have to see him every day at work-and yet, because of a booking error (or curse of the universe, as I like to call it), I'm stuck in the same vacation rental with him for an entire week.

I'm going to end up in jail.

Or worse, I might just give in to the insane urge to find out if his lips are really as kissable as they look.

One way or the other, disaster feels imminent.