Abigail Haddock is stunning, sensible, and some would say . . . stuffy. But it’s not her fault. She was raised in one of Wessco’s most affluent, aristocratic families—“stuffy” is their middle name. So is successful. Abby’s working overtime to distinguish herself as a top-notch surgeon, just as her family legacy demands.
She doesn’t have time for nonsense.
Tommy Sullivan’s all about nonsense.
Sure, he’s an elite bodyguard with lethal skills and co-owner of the renowned, S&S Securities Firm—protector of the wealthy and titled. But he’s also rowdy, fun and thoroughly irresistible.
Tommy knows how to have a good time, and he’s never seen someone more in need of a good time than Abby. The lass needs long, wet, filthy kisses—STAT—and he’s just the man for the job.
It doesn’t take long for a wildly sexy, sinfully satisfying, no-strings attached arrangement to turn into something more. Something sweet and addictive and real. But Tommy and Abby are too royally stubborn to admit it.
Opposites attract, everyone knows that. But can they last—can they love…for forever?
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Abby
Me: Are you texting while you’re driving??
Apparently, Tommy
and his bodyguard brethren are trained to text without actually having to look
at their phones, so they can communicate covertly with the device in their
pocket.
But
I’ve explained to him—at length—that
that doesn’t matter worth a damn.
I’ve
informed him of the overwhelming statistics on the dangers of texting while
operating a vehicle and I’ve
disclosed my firsthand experiences of seeing the deadly carnage of such
behavior during my emergency room rotations.
And
still, after a weighted pause, he replies:
Godly Orgasm Giver :
Maybe.
Me: Well, STOP IT!!
For a moment, the
screen remains quiet . . . and then those sneaky little dots appear again.
Godly Orgasm Giver: I like it when you get all shouty caps at
me—have I ever told you that?
I’m going to
revisit the idea of Tommy teaching me how to throw a punch. It would come in
handy at moments just like this.
“Is
everything all right, Abby?” my mother asks. “You’re all flushed.”
She
examines me above her glasses like I’m a bug under a microscope.
“I
. . .”
Grogg,
the butler, bends down and dips his large, square head towards my grandmother.
“A
gentleman is out front, Lady Agatha . . .”
Oh no.
“On
a motorbike.”
OH NOOOO.
“Well,
send him away.” The Dowager Countess shoos her hand in the air, as countesses
do. “We don’t accept solicitations.”
I
scramble to my feet. “Actually, he’s here for me.”
I
throw my tablet and phone and books into my satchel, to hasten my not-so-great
escape.
“Pardon?”
my father inquires.
“He?”
my grandmother prods.
I
swallow hard, rushing out the words. “Yes. He’s a friend. I messaged him for a
lift.”
My
brother Sterling’s eggs-Benedict-laden fork pauses midair on its way to his
mouth.
“I
didn’t know you had the sort of friends who road motorbikes.”
“I
didn’t know you had friends,” my sister Athena comments, not in a cruel way,
but with sincere surprise.
I
shrug, looping the strap of my satchel over my shoulder.
“Yes,
well . . . you know . . .”
With
that brilliant retort, I turn and walk out of the room.
I
head towards the foyer, the heels of my knee-high boots clicking rapidly on the
marble floor like a ticking time bomb. I yank open the giant front door and . .
. come to an immediate stop on the veranda outside of it.
Because
Tommy’s there, down the long gray steps on the front drive, sitting easily
astride a shiny contraption of chrome and steel, wearing work boots, snug blue
jeans and a black leather jacket—looking so sinfully good it might actually be
illegal.
I
have to remind myself that I’m angry with him, and when I do, I march straight
down the steps. His eyes alight on my boots, skirt and light gray sweater—the
ensemble gives off an unintended “naughty schoolteacher” feel—and the corner of
Tommy’s wicked mouth hooks up accordingly.
“Hello,
sweetheart.”
“Are
you mad?!”
He
takes a moment to think it over.
“Not
the last time I checked.”
“What
are you doing here?” I hold out my hands. “And what is this?”
“It’s
a motorbike.”
“It’s
death on wheels.”
He
chuckles. “James loaned it to me for the day. The hills are beautiful this time
of year—I thought we’d take a ride together. You wanted stress relief, didn’t
you?” Tommy taps the shiny handlebar. “A ride on this is as stress-relieving as
it gets—better than normal-bloke sex.”
I
peer at him. Do I want to know?
Apparently
I do, because I hear myself asking, “Normal-bloke sex?”
“Yeah.”
He winks. “I mean it’s not better than how I do it—obviously. But the way an
average bloke has sex—this is definitely better.”
I
shake my head, folding my arms. “Do you have any idea how dangerous these
things are? The statistics on motorbike fatalities are—”
Tommy
covers my mouth with his hand.
His
palm is warm, and so is his voice—a thick, sweet, honeyed tone.
“Do
you trust me, Abby?”
After
a moment, he takes his hand away and I gaze into those deep, dark eyes . . .
falling into them so easily it should be frightening.
My
answer is simple. True ones always are.
“I
do.”
Tommy
smiles fully, and my stomach flutters with that lovely swirling sensation.
“Then
climb on.”
He
places a helmet on my head, buckling the strap under my chin.
“And
you might want to do it fast—your granny’s coming.”
I
glance over my shoulder to see the whole family gathered outside the front of
the door, a spectrum of curious and gob-smacked expressions plastered on their
typically reserved faces. And my grandmother is indeed headed this way, her
jeweled necklace jingling as she quickly descends the long slope of stone
steps.
“Abigail!”
Her
voice is high-pitched and harried—a tone I’ve never heard her use before, and
one I’m not keen on exploring now.
“Have to be going!” I lift my hand
and give them a thumbs-up. “Talk soon!”
Like
a teenager running off with the town bad boy, I hike up my skirt and climb onto
the motorbike behind Tommy. He clasps my hands together securely over his
stomach.
“Hold
on tight, lass.”
I
do just that—squeezing my arms around his solid frame and resting my cheek
against the warm leather on his back as he revs the engine to life and we pull
away with a roar that vibrates in my bones.
And
as strange as it is—or maybe it’s not strange at all—I’ve never felt safer.
4 Stars
Ms. Chase is the master of humorous and sexy reads that keep you reading to the very end, and Dirty Charmer is no different. This books has the elements of charm and hot chemistry between the characters of Abigail and Tommy!
Abigail is an overachiever, who is determined to be the best surgeon. She's brilliant at what she does, but...she lacks fun. She lacks spontaneity. She lacks a personal life.
And that's when Tommy Sullivan comes in, a confident and sexy bodyguard, who is not afraid and is more then willing to open up the beautiful Abigail's mind and life! These two couldn't be more opposite and come different worlds, but their chemistry is way too tight to not explore.
Tommy and Abby wind up in a mutually agreed upon ”no strings attached” arrangement. They both get swept up in a hot and steamy affair in which deep feelings develop between them. But will she be able to go back to her lackluster life once the affair is over, or will she realize before it’s too late that she needs the excitement that being with Tommy has brought into her world? Another fantastic read!
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Emma Chase writes contemporary
romance novels known for their clever banter, emotional, and sexy, swoonworthy
moments. Her books have been translated into over twenty languages around the
world.
Emma lives in New
Jersey with her amazing husband, two spirited children, and two adorable, but
badly behaved, dogs. She has a long standing love/hate relationship with
caffeine.
Connect with Emma:
