Sugar Daddy Blurb:
She needs a job. He wants a mistress. Hearts and contracts are bound to get broken.
Shay Greer is pure GRITS—a Girl Raised In The South–but nowhere near a demure southern belle. She’s looking for a way out of her broken down marriage when she lands an unexpected job offer she really should refuse. Position? Mistress. Fringe Benefits? Of course. Fraternization with sexy CEO Reardon Boone? Required. Lured by the promise of intimacy missing from her failed marriage, Shay signs on. She’s barely survived a hellish year of heartbreak and needs a fresh start, but she gets more than she bargained for with lowcountry-boy-made-good Reardon Boone.
Bankrolling Shay into his bedroom, Reardon sticks by his tried and true rules: no-strings-attached seduction, no messy emotions, absolutely nothing resembling a relationship. This sassy, sultry woman fits the bill precisely…until she arouses more than his erotic appetite.
So desirable he sets hearts on fire in everyone from downtown debutantes to downhome mommas, Reardon is as irresistible as he is unattainable. Shay falls hard despite their unorthodox arrangement. Determined to discover what’s concealed beneath his Forbes 400 facade, she has no idea how close to home the truth will hit.
CONTENT WARNING: Hotter than a South Carolina summer.
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Sugar Daddy Excerpt:
He withdrew, sitting on a sun lounger, trying to appear relaxed by crossing his arms behind his head. “I made plans for tonight. There’s something I want to give you, in the bedroom.”
I ignored the hot thrill his words suggested. “We could talk, instead.”
Sitting forward, he winked. “Oh, there’ll be talkin’. Dirty talk.”
Aaand he was back.
“You look sexy. I like your sandals.”
More House of Jessica Simpson than styled by that Louboutin fellow, my sandals did the walking.
“Maybe we should start by taking them off.” He motioned to his lap. “Put ’em here.” His fingertips tucked inside the straps, jerking me closer. “Pretty.” My ankle in his hand, he slowly unclasped the tiny buckles, working thin leather lashes from my ankles, heels, toes. Soon, his hands massaged the soles of my bare feet, sending shockwaves to my swelling center.
He stood. “Come.”
After the half-million-mile trek to his room, he took his damn sweet time. Door closed. Lights low. Wine decanted and sipped. He turned me toward the mirror, lips against my shoulder.
He fingered the material snugging the base of my spine, then gave a tug to the bow tied at my neck. “Let’s get rid of these too.” His fingers moved to my skirt, loosening it until everything puddled on the floor.
Reardon nudged me forward, his knuckles brushing my breasts. “Look at yourself. Watch my hands on you.”
In the mirror, I gasped. Watching his fingers sliding up my body, the sensations doubled.
“Beautiful.” Large hands–tan against my pale skin–molded me with firm motions.
“Reardon.” I tilted my head for a kiss.
“So much I want to give you.”
Oh God, yesss.
