He’ll show this good girl the thrill of being bad…
Good girl Melody Merritt is ready to be bad. Fresh out of an unsatisfying ten-year engagement to the town golden boy, she’s determined to make up for lost time. And who better to burn her sterling reputation to the ground than Bluelick’s sinfully sexy new fire chief whose wicked gaze promises complete and utter domination? Yes, please.
Corrupting the prim and proper Little Miss Bluelick is the most action Josh Bradley’s seen since he transferred from Cincinnati to fast-track his career. He won’t let anything or anyone—not even the delectable Melody Merritt—trap him in this Kentucky-fried Mayberry, but when their searing chemistry yields an unexpected result, he realizes he’s started a blaze that’s completely beyond his control…
Have you read the first book in the Private Pleasures Series?
A sexy category romance from Entangled’s Brazen imprint…
He’ll teach her how to bring a man to his knees…
Dr. Ellie Swan has a plan: open her practice in tiny Bluelick, Kentucky, so she can keep an eye on her diabetic father, and make hometown golden-boy Roger Reynolds fall in love with her. But Ellie has a problem. Roger seeks a skilled, sexually adventurous partner, and bookish Ellie doesn’t qualify.
Tyler Longfoot only cares about three things: shaking his bad boy image, qualifying for the loan his company needs to rehab a piece of Bluelick’s history, and convincing Ellie to keep quiet about the “incident” that lands him on her doorstep at two a.m. with a bullet in his behind.
The adorable Dr. Swan drives a mean bargain, though. If sex-on-a-stick Tyler will teach Ellie how to bring a man to his knees, she’ll forget about the bullet. Armed with The Wild Woman’s Guide to Sex and Tyler’s lessons, Ellie is confident she can become what Roger needs…if she doesn’t fall for Tyler first.
I don’t know about the rest of the men in Bluelick, but you took care of me in half a lap.
She laughed and then looked back at the fire station to see if she could spot him anywhere. Nope. Still grinning, she typed, You dirty pervert. Get your head out of your pants.
He texted back immediately. Wasn’t my head in my pants. It was something a bit more…handy.
The thought of him, watching her and…ahem…handling himself, sent her head straight into her pants. Don’t you have an engine to buff?
The engine is buffed. I buffed it for the better part of 3 minutes, thanks to you prancercizing in that outfit.
Red tank top over a jog bra and red running shorts? This is a perfectly ordinary running outfit.
Her incoming text signal dinged immediately. From the Nike “Cock Tease” collection. I sat here in all kinds of agony watching your tits bounce while you jogged around the square, remembering how it felt to be lodged between them. I’m not even going to tell you what the sight of your ass in those running shorts does to me. It’s begging to be spanked. I counted 5 laps. You do the math.
She tripped over her own foot, caught her balance, and looked around again. Still no sign of him, but she felt the heat of his gaze as profoundly as a touch. Her skin tingled. Her system hummed. She fought off a naughty urge to run five more laps. Not that she could. This time she’d know he was watching—which brought a whole new meaning to the term “runner’s high.”
The firehouse stood to her right, in all its historic redbrick glory. She boldly faced the building, put her hand on her hip, and sent the structure a defiant stare. When that didn’t produce any response, she typed, I feel so objectified. Is that all you see when you look at me? Tits and ass? Fine with her. High time someone did.
He sent a new picture over—of her staring at the firehouse. I notice every goddamn thing. Look at your long, toned legs. I might actually get bruised when they’re wrapped around my waist and you’re losing control. I’m also thinking, just for once, you be the firefighter and I’ll be the citizen in distress.
It took a lot not to laugh out loud, but she didn’t want to stand there laughing to herself in the town square like a crazy lady. Keeping her eyes on the screen, she typed, Is this before or after the spanking?
My shift ends at midnight. I’ll be on your doorstep at 12:05 and then you’ll find out.
Wine lover, sleep fanatic, and USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy contemporary romance novels, Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her long-suffering but extremely adorable husband and their elementary-aged turbo-son. Throw in a furry ninja named Kitty and Bebe the trash talking Chihuahua and you get the whole, chaotic picture.
When not clinging to sanity by her fingernails or dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-afters, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.
