Dirty Charmer by Emma Chase
Abigail Haddock is stunning, sensible, and some would say…stuffy. But it’s not really her fault. She was raised in one of Wessco’s oldest, most affluent, aristocratic families—“stuffy” is their middle name. So is successful. Abby’s working overtime to distinguish herself as a top-notch physician, 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 their red-hot relationship last—can they love…for forever?
Excerpt Dirty Charmer by Emma Chase
“Most concussed patients can’t recall details from the moments they first regain consciousness. That’s fascinating.”
He takes it as a compliment, and taps his temple.
“Big brain. You know what they say about men with big brains, don’t you? We’re big everywhere.”
“Are you implying there’s a correlation between the size of your brain and the size of your genitals?”
His brow furrows. “Well, I wouldn’t have used those words. Ever. But yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Absurd. There’s no scientific evidence to support that claim.”
“I could be an anomaly. I think you should investigate it firsthand—just to be certain.” He winks. “For science.”
With the grace of an old screen movie star, he reaches into his suit pocket, takes out a pack of cigarettes and slips one into his mouth.
It’s infuriating on so many levels.
Before he can light it, I pluck it from his lips and toss it away. “For God’s sake, man, it’s the twenty-first century. Do you know what smoking does to a human body?”
I tick off the ailments on my fingers.
“Lung cancer, stroke, heart disease . . . Have you ever seen someone with emphysema, struggling for just one tiny gasp of breath?”
“Aren’t you delightful?” He snaps the silver lighter closed and slides it back into his pocket. “I bet you’re a real hit at parties.”
Any calm and tranquility I found during my swim is gone. I’m frazzled now—like a live wire that’s been cut and spliced and is sparking at its ends.
“I have to go. I’m not going to spend time chatting with someone who’s hell-bent and determined to end up speaking through an electrolarynx. I have a surgery this afternoon.”
“Are you free afterwards?” he asks. “Would you fancy grabbing some dinner with me?”
I pride myself on being a decisive person. An anticipator and a planner, clear and confident in my words and thoughts. I’m not a stammerer or stutterer. But Tommy Sullivan has a knack for turning me into both.
“I . . . I . . . don’t have time for dinner.”
He nods and moves in closer, so near I smell the warm, pleasant spice of his aftershave.
“I’m quite busy these days too. We can skip dinner and just go straight to fucking.”
My mouth drops, but before I can craft a reply, his rough fingertips tenderly touch my cheek.
“It would be good between us. Don’t you feel it, Abby?”