Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door by Nadia Lee
I write romance because true love doesn’t happen in real life. My parents’ marriage and a string of failed relationships have taught me that.
Then Killian Axelrod moves in next door. He’s a rock star, and hot as hell. Wicked blue eyes. A body made for sin. Cocky attitude. If he was on a romance cover, I’d one-click it without even reading the title.
Too bad he’s such a pain.
He tries to steal my favorite specialty ice cream. He drums so loud I can’t hear myself think. Then comes over in nothing but a towel when his water heater dies so he can finish his shower with my hot water.
But then he cooks me breakfast. Rescues me from an evil snake. Kisses me like I’m the girl of his dreams. Sings like I’m the only one in the audience.
It doesn’t seem to matter to him that I’m not a size two, my yoga pants have holes, and I don’t put makeup on every morning.
I know there are no happy endings in real life, but Killian makes my heart flutter and makes me wonder…
Can we have a romance novel ending for real?
Expected publication: March 12th 2021
Excerpt Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door
I needed to get back to the story—and finally finish the first sex scene between my hero and heroine. I felt awful about stopping in mid-kiss and leaving the characters hanging there for more than twenty-four hours. My couple deserved better treatment. Maybe I should add an extra sex scene. And a baby epilogue. My readers loved babies.
I sat down on the couch with the computer balanced on my lap and found the spot I’d marked for a full sex scene toward the end of the document.
“Oh yeah, baby,” I murmured. “You’re going to get laid today. Woohoo!”
“Who’s getting laid?”
I almost jumped. My laptop tilted and I grabbed it fast. After placing it on the table, I spun around to face Killian. Who was standing behind me in nothing but a pink towel. Holy shit.
He smelled fresh with a hint of soap, and looked as good as he smelled. His skin gleamed as a couple drops of water fell from his still damp hair and slid down his naked shoulder and ropey arm, tracing an irregular path of the crevasses between the lean muscles. I noted his lashes were incredibly thick, and his eyes so, so blue. Regardless of what I thought of his personality, he was scrumptious. I felt an urge to lick all the water off of him that my towel had missed.
And as soon as I realized what I was feeling, I blinked and wanted to smack myself for thinking with my hormones. Since I couldn’t do that without appearing weird, I opted for a you’re not welcome here anymore expression instead.
“Shouldn’t you be going home now?” I said coolly.
“Don’t worry, I will. Soon as I finish air-drying my chest hair.”
It was one of the more ludicrous things I’d heard coming out of a man’s mouth. For one thing, he didn’t have enough chest hair to dry.
I caught myself before I asked whether he had to air-dry his pubic hair as well. Killian wouldn’t be scandalized. Or become self-aware enough to realize how ridiculous his explanation about air drying chest hair was. No, he’d just laugh, say, “Now that you mention it…” and whip the towel from around his waist.
I did not need to see his thing. Ever. No matter how big it might be. And I could tell it’d be big and impressive. God had been unfair when he’d created Killian. Why stop at a pretty face and a hard body?