Release Date: February 26, 2020
Cover Design: LJ Anderson @ Mayhem Cover Creations
It’s basically my mantra. So when I meet a woman who demands nothing more of me than those three things, it sounds like the perfect arrangement.
Or so I thought.
Because for the first time in my life, I find myself wanting more. I find myself wanting the one woman who seems intent on keeping me at arm’s length.
“Hey!” she shouted as I swallowed the shot.
I reached for the second one, but she was faster. She swiped it from the counter and downed it before I could. She took it like a champ, slamming the glass on the counter.
Just as I’d remembered—competitive. Another tick in her box.
“What’s next—body shots?” I teased, though I would gladly take any excuse to lick her skin.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you in college?”
It took me a moment to realize she was serious. I threw back my head and laughed before leaning in to whisper in her ear. “No, but we can pretend I am if that turns you on.”
She pushed against my chest, though I didn’t budge. Instead, I grabbed her hand, clasping it in mine. I stared at her for a split second, the air between us swirling with tension. Everything and everyone else faded away, and all I could see was her.
It was the oddest sensation, and I would’ve blamed it on the alcohol but I’d barely consumed any. Somehow, though, it felt like we were the only two people in the club.
Her rich eyes blinked up at me, framed with long, dark lashes. She was just as stunning as I’d remembered, if not more so. And her peach-colored dress was going to drive me over the edge or land me in jail.
The smooth material clung to her curves like I wanted to. It wrapped around her hips, showing off her narrow waist before encasing those gorgeous tits. And in some lights, it had the effect of an optical illusion—making it easy to imagine that she was naked. It also gave me the irrational urge to gouge out the eyes of every man who dared look at her.
I was done playing games.
I liked winning, and I was used to getting what I wanted, when I wanted it.
And I wanted this woman.
So, without another word, I tugged her behind me across the crowded floor. Once we were in the darkened hallway, I backed her against the wall, my hands bracketing her face. I couldn’t wait to sample those pouty lips—full and luscious, just like her hips and breasts.
Christ, she’s gorgeous.
I skimmed my hands up her sides, resting just below her rib cage. I could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, pushing her full breasts that much closer to my mouth. It didn’t take a stethoscope to know her heart was racing. My own was beating against my ribs, making me feel as if I’d run a marathon.
“Are you just going to stand there, Target Guy? Or are you going to kiss me?”
A deep chuckle rumbled through me.
Fuck me. I’d forgotten how assertive she was. How her eyes sparkled with challenge and mirth. How her words were as delicious as the lips delivering them.
Would she taste as good as I’d hoped?
“You really need to stop calling me ‘Target Guy.’ I do have a name.” A name that typically came loaded with expectations. But right now, I didn’t care because I wanted to hear my name on her lips more than I wanted to conceal my identity.
“And I’m sure it’s a lovely name.” She swayed a little on her heels, and I wondered how much alcohol she’d consumed.
I tightened my grip on her hips, wishing there was only bare skin beneath my fingers. My cock hardened even more if that were possible, and I was positive she felt it digging into her belly. There was no way she could miss it—aimed directly at her like a heat-seeking missile homed in on its target.
“No names.” Her expression was so stern, it almost made me laugh. “It’s so much more fun. Don’t you think?” She trailed a red-stained fingernail over the buttons of my shirt. “I like a little mystery.”
I chuckled, thinking this woman might damn well be perfect. Fucking gorgeous. A firebrand. And completely uninterested in entanglements. It was like staring at the female version of myself.
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About the Author
Contemporary romance author, Jenna Hartley writes about strong, independent women and the men who dare to love them. Her characters aren’t perfect; they’re authentic. Her passion is to make their stories feel as real for readers as they do to her, infusing each one with sexy, sweet, and laughable moments that reflect real love.
When she’s not writing, Jenna spends her days chasing after a hilarious and imaginative toddler, as well as hunting down new allergy-friendly recipes for them to cook together. She lives in Texas with her family and loves nothing more than a good book, good chocolate, and Topo Chico.
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