My name is Zoe Delacourte. I thought I was going to build my future on the backs of Jax Traeger and Hunter Ericksen -- bad boys from the wrong side of the tracks, running the notorious motorcycle club, the Kings of Asphalt -- in my mind, the story had practically written itself. I was so naive. Little did I know they were going to change everything I ever knew about myself.
Jax and Hunter. I can't even say their names without trembling.
They don't see a fat girl or a girl who might be pretty if only she'd lose some weight. No, from the moment I walked into their club, they saw a hot, sexy woman with curves for days -- and they couldn't wait to get their hands on me.
Some people call them bad men. They see the rides and the rap sheets and they slap a label on them. I don't care what they've done -- all I care about is what they're going to do to me next.
But loving them is dangerous. In fact, loving them might just get me killed.
*The following MC romance is approximately 41,000 words featuring a strong central love story, danger, and the rough, seedy world dominated by two bad boys and their curvy woman.
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“I-I’m sorry…I think your guy got the wrong idea…”
One black slash of a brow went up in question and he leaned forward, saying,
“And what idea would that be?”
“The idea that I’m…oh, I don’t know…um, available for…” Shut up, you idiot! This was what deep cover was all about! Riding the knife’s edge to the ultimate story, finding your discomfort level and pushing past it to get to the good stuff that everyone else was too chicken to look for. Right. Inhaling a discreet, stabilizing breath, she straightened and braved a smile as she sauntered over to Jax, ignoring the flutters in her belly as his gaze darkened with interest. “
Available for just anyone.”
“Oh? Isn’t that the whole idea behind being a whore?”
“A ww-hore? Excuse me? I’m not—“ “You’re not what? Not a whore?” His smile slowly faded.
“Then you’re not from Dimas and if that’s the case…just who are you?” Oh crap. Her damn mouth.
“I-I just mean…well, of course, I’m from Dimas. I was just taken aback for a minute. I mean, well, I wasn’t sure I was in the right place.”
Faster than she could react, he had her pressed up against the wood paneling, crowding her personal space and sending her heartrate through the roof. He smelled of leathers, a cool midnight ride, and the faint wisp of alcohol clinging to the edge as if as a reminder that his angelic face and body was simply a ruse to lure unsuspecting women to their doom. It should’ve repulsed her — truly, bad boys weren’t to her tastes — but she was oddly, and dangerously thrilled by the threat of caged violence she saw in his eyes and could see rippling through his biceps as he pressed forward. Was he going to ravage her right there like a modern day pirate or simply punt her outside the doors with a growled warning? Was she crazy for hoping — for a wild, irresponsible moment — that he would choose to grind those sensual lips across hers as punishment for daring to breach their inner sanctum? Yeah, don’t answer that. She already knew — it was fucking lunancy.
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