Synopsis:
On the heels of Dirty Secret, here is a sizzling hot romance featuring another Burke brother and the girl he can’t resist, from the New York Times bestselling author of the Game series.
Walking out on my wedding wasn’t my best idea.
Neither was throwing my cell in the lake and taking a job as PA for Dirty B, America’s favorite rock band, complete with every teen girl’s dream man, the eldest of the Burke brothers.
Tate Burke is pure sex. Women actually throw their panties at him during shows. And Ella Dawson is the lucky little thing that gets to escort their fangirling butts out when he’s done with them.
Yay.
He’s a cocky son of a bitch, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Every now and then Ella gets a rare glimpse of the Tate behind the “bad boy” act, and it attracts her in the most annoying way. The most annoying, heart-thumping, panty-wetting way.
When her abusive ex turns up at the hotel room Ella and Tate are sharing, raging mad, she knows she’ll need more than just a little protection. Tate sees red, and Ella can’t help but lean on him, despite his bad-boy ways.
And now? Now, he’s in a whole lot of trouble.
“Do you know anything about personal
space?” Breathlessly, the words fall from my lips.
“Yes,” he murmurs, stepping into me. “I
know that I fuckin’ love it when you’re in mine.”
“I mean other people’s.”
He slides his hand from my chin to the back
of my head, twining his fingers into the hair at the base of my skull, and
rests his other hand on my waist. “I respect personal space,” he whispers,
every breath fluttering over my lips, making them red hot. “But yours looks
empty, darlin’. It needs filling.”
“And you’re the perfect guy for the job,
right?”
His lips crushing against mine answer my
question. Tate pushes us back and I gasp as my back hits the wall. I grasp his
shirt as if it’ll ground me, but I’m consumed by his tongue flicking against
mine. He asks no permission. He’s not gentle. He’s rough and demanding.
His lips are harsh and desperate, his
fingertips digging into me in a way that stings so bad it’s almost sweet, and
his hard body against mine almost suffocates me, but that’s because I can feel
all of him, from his tensed pecs to his hardened cock.
He’s against me, fully, entirely, every dip
and bump of his body evident despite the clothing between us. And as his teeth
graze across my bottom lip in a tantalizingly teasing way that makes me moan
quietly into his mouth, I want that clothing gone.
I dip my hands beneath his shirt and trail
them up his back. His grip gets tighter, his kiss gets firmer. His movements
are almost possessive, but not in a bad way. They’re not selfish or careless.
Every twitch of his fingers brings me pleasure. Every swipe of his tongue turns
me on, too.
And I am. Turned on. I am turned. The.
Hell. On. My breasts are aching, my nipples pebbling, and my clit is aching in
a way I thought it forgot long ago. But it hasn’t, it remembers, and my muscles
remember, and my pussy is clenching, my fingers are gripping, my lips are
moving. His hands are caressing, his tongue is battling, his erection is
growing.
There’s us—no doubts, no what ifs, no
maybes. There’s the kiss and the need and the want. There’s the actions and the
gasps and the tiny moans and the desperation. There’s Tate and Ella, the two
that don’t make sense, the two that shouldn’t do this, but do anyway, on both
accounts.
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to a terrible two year old and growing bump, due September 2013. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of juice and writes books.
She likes to write about magic, kisses and whatever else she can fit into the story. Sarcastic, witty characters are a must. As are hot guys. Emma is currently working too many books to even count - including Playing for Keeps, the companion book to the New York Times and USA Today bestselling novel, The Love Game. She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to when all the ideas come to life.
