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Is the cure for a breakup a hookup?
Marissa Duplei has one mission. Pick herself up, dust the ex off, and get dirty with someone else. However, sexy, inked-up, metal-musician Jack Storm is not the average girl’s revenge fling.
A tour bus bang.
A one night stand gone awry.
A secret to keep at all costs.
Could it all lead to love?
Taking my glass, he thrust both drinks aside, and his palms came to rest on my hips to pull me close. The hand snaking so familiarly under my shirt was cold from holding his drink, but it quickly warmed against the heat of my skin. Greedily, I couldn’t get enough of his kiss, and I found myself practically hanging on him in an effort to get even closer.
His hand splayed on my back, smashing our bodies together. Phase Two was all downhill from here, or rather down the hall. As I thought of my bedroom, some sanity returned. Five years ago, we had hooked up for the sake of hooking up. And tonight? Tonight I had phased sex into some devious plan. A plan that, not for the first time, felt weird and wrong.
“Jack?” I wedged a hand between us, and when he pulled back enough to warm my face with his inquiring gaze, I pulled in a fortifying breath. “You’re not seeing anyone?”
A myriad of emotions crossed his face, and one seemed to be annoyance. “I thought we just cleared this?”
An awkward silence stretched, and he still seemed exasperated with this line of questioning or maybe with the interruption.
And so I joked, “I’ve heard about rock stars. A woman in every city! I just don’t want to be your gulf coast girl.”
“What are you asking, Marissa?”
Oh hell… What was I asking? Was I trying to define our relationship, right here, right now? Because what faster way to scare away someone like him? I was an idiot!
“I’m not asking anything,” I tried to salvage a shred of humility. “I just don’t want to go where this is going if you have a girlfriend. It’s wrong.”
Picking up his glass, he drained it. I had definitely killed the mood, and I was regretting it now. I was about to drink to my own stupidity when he dropped to my level again, speaking against my lips.
“I’m not seeing anyone. No woman in any city. No one.” His lips brushed mine as he spoke, and his gaze sank into my eyes. “Is there anything else you need to clear up in this kitchen before we move to the bedroom and fuck like it’s been five years since?”
Hypnotized by his words, and heated with his look, I could only shake my head in one small chin movement.
“Anything you want me to sign?” He pressed, as he pressed a kiss to my mouth, and when I smiled at the humor, he did too.
A touch of our tongues had us heating up fast, and within seconds, the past minutes fell away as if I had never cock-blocked myself.
Marissa is a craps dealer, and in one quick second that she never wants to remember, her life turns to crap. Her best friend convinces her that the cure for a breakup is a hookup, and reluctantly, she heeds this advice.
However, Jack (what was his name again?) is not the average girl's revenge fling.
Women throw themselves at Jack, toss their lingerie on the stage, and scream his name. Marissa has no idea of his public identity, and while she does not initially throw herself at him, she does go on to toss aside her lingerie and ultimately scream his name.
Five months later, Jack astounds her with an invitation to Los Angeles. Although Jack is now a star in her very non rock star fantasies, Marissa is concealing a huge secret that prevents her from accepting.
Five years later, the secret comes out, and despite the conflicting emotions each feels toward the other, they must bridge their two worlds together.
Jack Who? by Lisa Gillis is a sweet and spicy romance that will bring smiles and wring tears—it is a one night stand gone awry, and a couple who work together years later for a fix.
The terrier sprinted ahead stretching its leash to the max, and reflexively, her grip tightened. Three rows down, the tip of the mentioned lightning bolt came into view, and her steps slowed. Her thoughts were uncertain as she pictured knocking on the door to a rock star’s mobile crib.
The door burst open stopping her heart for more reasons than startled surprise. The doorjamb framed the finest specimen of the male species she had ever beheld.
Her eyes were drawn first to the massive expanse of bare chest, and the six pack, just on the verge of an optical eight pack. A convulsive swallow tightened her throat. Fully inked sleeves tapered off between his shoulders and collarbone barely meeting at the throat. Denim jeans snugly encased his legs, and the button of the fly was open revealing the barest tip of hair on a flat abdomen. Reluctantly dragging her gridlocked gaze upward, past these heavenly sights, her look landed on his striking features and finally stopped on deep chocolate-brown irises.
A smile had worked well for her thus far, and somehow she summoned one yet received a scowl in return. Shaggy, dark hair brushed his shoulder when his chin directionally jerked toward the asphalt beside where she stood.
“What the hell are you doing with my dog?”
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