Chandler by Laurelin Paige
A Fixed Trilogy Spinoff
Release Date: September 20th, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Blurb
I'm good in a boardroom, but I’m better in the bedroom. Much
better. I can charm the skirt off any woman in one encounter. I'll even give
her an orgasm before I put her in a cab. Or three. No more or she’ll start
making plans for the future and I'm not into that.
Or I wasn’t until Genevive Fasbender. She's the first woman in five years that
I want to spend the whole night with. And she's the first woman who’s told me
I'm not what she wants in a lover, even after multiple O’s. She’s brash and
bold and stubborn as hell, and she doesn’t believe it’s possible to satisfy
her.
But I’m up for the challenge.
And after an incident in my brother’s office closet―a downright dirty
incident―I think I’m just the guy to deliver.
Genevive Fasbender will never know what’s coming.
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Excerpt
Five minutes later, the valet pulls up with my car.
Genevieve raises an eyebrow. “A Bugatti?”
I’m so impressed she can name the model that I practically
jizz in my pants. “It’s the best.”
She shakes her head, and I swear I hear her mutter something
about rich men and their toys, but I don’t respond, too occupied with
inspecting my car and then passing the attendant the cash I promised him
earlier for returning my vehicle in perfect condition.
I slide into the driver’s seat, and when I look over at
Genevieve as she buckles her seatbelt, a wave of pure, unadulterated lust rolls
through me. I’m very aware that I’ve trapped her, that she’s now defenseless to
my whims. Not that I’d take advantage, but goddamn, to think that I could…
I nearly shiver at my own vile thoughts.
Glad she can’t know what I’m thinking, I flash her a smile.
“So. Where am I taking you?”
“I’m staying at the Park Hyatt on 57th Street.”
“Fancy.” The Park Hyatt is one of the nicest luxury hotels
in New York. That means this girl has money, which isn’t a bad thing. Just, the
swell of my wallet in my back pocket is usually one of my better attributes. If
wealth doesn’t attract her, I hope I’m not shit out of luck when it comes to
getting an invitation up to her room.
Apparently, I’m transparent because she asks, “Not impressed?”
“Quite the opposite. I’m worried you won’t have a reason to
be impressed with me.” Now I’m the
one who can’t believe how honest I’m being.
“It’s a valid worry,” she says after a beat, and I can’t
tell if she’s teasing or being blunt. Can’t tell if I should prepare for
gut-wrenching disappointment or dive into another round of sexy banter.
I concentrate on my driving instead, speeding up before
slipping expertly into a tight opening in the adjacent lane.
I’ll admit I’m showing off.
“Smashing,” she says with a tone that vibrates through my
body like I’m a tuning fork.
Then, abruptly, she laughs, and I turn my head toward her,
alarmed at the source of her amusement.
“I still can’t believe you drive a Bugatti in the city. I
can’t decide if that makes you brilliant or as mad as a bag of ferrets.”
“Brilliant, of course.” Though, with her so close, I feel
more like I’m going crazy. “What can I say? I like things that are fast.”
“Of course you do.”
“You don’t?” I raise a questioning brow. “Maybe you don’t understand
how awesome fast can be.” I put my foot on the gas and race down the next block
to prove my point.
The traffic light turns red as I approach the intersection,
and I ease the brakes. “See? Fast is fun.”
“The problem with fast is it’s over too quickly.”
Is that innuendo? Her gaze pierces into me, and the air
around us feels tight and charged, and I’m suddenly certain that I will die if
I don’t get to taste her tonight.
Even if she didn’t mean anything more when she made her
statement, I certainly do when I say, “Don’t worry. I know when to take my
time.”
She exhales, slowly, and I swear I can feel it. As though she’s already in my arms and her breath is
grazing every inch of my bare skin. No matter what happens after this, I know
she at least feels this…this attraction.
Or whatever it is.
Her voice is low and sultry when she replies. “You’re not
talking about cars anymore. But do you really take your time? I’d guess you
bolt the minute you’re finished.” She’s so blunt, so direct, and I don’t know
if it’s a her thing or an English
thing, but I like it.
I also like this conversation we’re having. Because we’re
drawing the lines, and that means the potential for tonight is high. So I
answer with a nod, making sure she understands that she’s correct in thinking
I’ll bolt. Because I will.
About Laurelin Paige
Laurelin Paige is the NY Times and USA Today Bestselling
Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She's a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy
anytime there's kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters.
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