THE BREAKUP by Erin McCarthy is available now!
Fall in love with the princess and the bad boy in this sexy contemporary romance you don't want to miss!
About THE BREAKUP
Can two wrongs feel oh-so-right? This bride is about to find out—with the bad boy who makes an epic breakup worth her while.
Bella: I know I’m a princess. I’m used to getting what I want. But all I ever really wanted was a husband and a family. Unlike my sister, Sophie, I’ll never have a brilliant career to fall back on. So what’s a bride to do when she learns that Prince Charming is a cheating snake just a few days before her fairy-tale wedding? With my fiancé begging for another chance, the only way to save the wedding is to even things out with a little revenge sex—and local bartender Christian Jordan seems like the right man for the job.
Christian: If gorgeous Bella Bigelow thinks sleeping with me will somehow lead to happily ever after, I’m not going to turn her down. The guy she wants to marry is a jerk, and her sister is fooling around with my estranged twin brother, Cain. So what’s the problem—besides falling for a woman who doesn’t know what she wants out of life? All I want to do is whisk her away from that church, take her to a cabin in the woods, and act out all our naughtiest fantasies. And I may just get the chance. . . .
Get your copy of THE BREAKUP now!
Can two wrongs feel oh-so-right? This bride is about to find out—with the bad boy who makes an epic breakup worth her while.
Read an excerpt from THE BREAKUP
I wanted the blonde.
I have a bad habit of always being
attracted to women who are unavailable. Emotionally unavailable. I don’t know
why I do that or what it is. If it’s just as simple as wanting what I can’t
have, or some deep-seated bullshit about needing to win because I’m one of five
kids from a family that was the town joke.
It’s also a protective measure because
I’m not parading a bunch of women through my son’s life. I keep it casual. But
I could do that with unattached women too, though probably not as easily.
So mostly I think it’s just because I’m
an asshole.
Whatever the reasons, it had gotten me
into trouble in the past, and as I watched the rich blonde, Bella Bigelow,
stumble up to the bar totally drunk on Friday night, I knew I was doing it
again. Chasing trouble. I had met her once before and I had thought she was
fucking gorgeous. All long legs and tan skin and juicy tits. A perfect face
with a lean nose and plump lips that I wanted to suck on.
Her sister was fucking my twin
brother.
But her sister wasn’t engaged to be
married.
She was.
“What can I get you, Bella?” I asked,
leaning on my elbows on the bar top so I would be closer to her. She smelled
like a rich girl. All lotions and perfume and expensive clothes. It was amazing
to me that someone could smell like money, but she did. Being a bartender in a
tourist town on the coast of Maine, I had seen my fair share of rich girls up
from Boston. This one shouldn’t be any different.
And yet, for some reason she intrigued
me.
“A vodka cranberry,” she said,
sounding a little defiant and more than a little drunk.
This was her bachelorette party, and
apparently she was taking the last-week-of-freedom crap all very seriously. The
first time I had met her she had been sweet and polite. Now she was loud and
demanding.
“Sure.” I lifted up a glass and poured
vodka in it, reminding myself that while I liked unavailable girls, I didn’t
like drunk girls. Not in bed anyway. Too sloppy, too limp. I liked naughty
girls who dove into misbehaving with their full wits about them. And their
mouths open.
Drunk girls gave the worst blow jobs.
It was a proven fact.
“Here you go.” After squirting in the
cranberry juice, I slid the glass to her. “Seven bucks.”
“Put it on my tab.” She flicked her
long hair over her shoulder and turned to go.
“You closed out your tab,” I reminded
her. “Last round.”
She paused and frowned at me. “Then
why do you still have my credit card?”
“I don’t.” Her platinum express credit
card that read Bradley Alexander, presumably
belonging to the rich fiancé, had been returned to her at least fifteen minutes
earlier. “I gave it back to you.”
“No, you didn’t.” Now she just sounded
belligerent. “What are you trying to pull? Are you trying to steal my credit
card?”
That pissed me off. “No. I am not
trying to steal your credit card. I gave it back to you. Check your purse.”
“I don’t have a purse.”
“Well, it had to appear from
somewhere,” I drawled, using my typical charming voice, not wanting her to see
that inside I was seething. My whole life people had been accusing me of shit
just because I was a Jordan brother and my father was a thief and a career
criminal. I resented the fucking hell out of it. “Maybe you pulled it out of
your tight little ass.”
Her jaw dropped. She looked outraged.
Yet . . . I knew she found me attractive. I had been noticing her
giving me signals all night. She gave me sidelong glances. Her eyelashes
batted. She licked her lips. I don’t think she even knew she was doing it, but
her body language said she was curious about me. About me in her.
She took a huge gulp of her drink then
shook her finger at me. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“And you can’t steal that drink,” I
said mildly. “Someone has to pay for it, and it’s not going to be me.”
“Put it on my tab,” she said. “God,
you’re such a local loser.”
There are a lot of things she could
have said that wouldn’t have bothered me. But that . . . that
got under my skin. It was an old wound and she had just dashed salt on it with
her pretentious stare and cutting words.
She stole the drink, whether she
realized it or not. I had to assume she was too drunk to know where her credit
card was and I could have let that slide. But once she purposely insulted me, I
knew I wasn’t going to do the right thing.
Nope. I wanted to fuck her.
And I was going to make her want to
fuck me.
“How about this drink is on me,” I
said. “By the way, congratulations on your upcoming marriage. I wish you a very
long life of happiness with your groom.”
Bella stopped and turned, a troubled
look darting across her face briefly. She was wearing a romper with silky
straps and a low V-cut in the front. Her hand fluttered over her exposed skin. “Are
you making fun of me?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No. Just thinking
your fiancé is one lucky motherfucker that he gets to make love to you every
night.”
She looked shocked. And aroused. Her
chest was heaving. I could see her nipples through the thin fabric. She saw my
eyes drop.
But she didn’t say a word. She just
clutched her drink and disappeared into the crowd, walking very fast.
I smiled as I adjusted my now hard
cock behind the bar.
I gave it four days before she was
willing to fuck me.
Five, tops.
About Erin McCarthy
No comments:
Post a Comment