Chance Vix — what kind of maniac rips down a straightaway at more than two hundred miles an hour on a motorcycle which, oh by the way, costs more than a mansion?

What kind of brute crushes all challengers, decimates rivals and has owned the crown of one of the world’s most deadly sports for years? What kind of stud leaves women everywhere desperate for his attention, willing to do almost anything to try and tame him?

I’ll tell you what kind. The most mouth-watering, heart-stopping, daredevil of a head-to-toe hunk I’d ever laid eyes on in my life – that’s what kind.

And me? Well, let’s just say good girls from Indiana don’t wind up with guys like Chance Vix. Ever. No. Nope, never happens.

Unlike Chance, I’d taken the slowlane through life, playing it safe the entire time. And what had it gotten me? An end to a five-year relationship with my accountant boyfriend slash wanna-be rocker who spent more time playing gigs than sleeping with me.

When an unplanned trip to an exotic locale, far removed from midwest gloom, brought Chance and me together, I had no idea how much my life would change.

Could I hold on? Was I crazy to even try?

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