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I'm happy to announce the second book in my Bad Boy Fever series with Decadent Publishing will be coming soon. Yep, the contract has been signed for Claimed by the Bad Boy. Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance, BDSM, Multiple Partners, Suspense
Something always brings him back to her….
Ryker Cage is a rough guy, with very particular tastes when it comes to sex. He doesn’t have a clue about connecting with his softer side in the bedroom, or that find-your-inner-femininity bullshit, and he fears nothing, except for one thing—his feelings for Molly Monroe.
The bad boy who lived next door claimed Molly’s heart long ago. Crazy, or not, she loves him. Always has. No matter what he does to push her away, nor how far he runs, Ryker is the one man she’ll never stop loving.
When Ryker finally finds his way back home, will he claim what’s always been his? Or, will he forever be destined for heartache when someone threatens to take everything he never thought he wanted, away from him?
Here's an unedited excerpt from Claimed by the Bad Boy. I hope you enjoy.
What am I doing? Molly thought as she leaned a hip against the counter in the restroom at the office, holding her phone in her hand, and staring at the text she’d sent which indicated it had been read. She’d actually excused herself in the middle of great conversation while eating some freaking awesome dumplings with Jack to sneak in here and hide out like a criminal. Why? Because she felt compelled to answer a text from someone she shouldn’t be giving the time of day. Or, night, as the case may be.
Tapping her foot on the cool tiles, she closed her eyes. She was going to give Ryker to the count of ten to respond. If he didn’t. Well, even better. She’d forget about her poor judgment. Forget he’d texted. Continue to stop thinking about him, and go back to finish her dinner with a man who really was interested in being with her.
By the count of nine, she was one second from turning her phone off when the dweedle-deet had her eyelids fluttering open.
Molly glanced down, and tapped the screen.
I’m home. Sitting outside, texting you.
Molly’s heart sped up as though she’d just crossed the finish line at the Boston marathon. Ryker was home. In Denver. Oh my God. She took in a deep breath and typed.
When did you get back from Singapore?
She pressed send and waited. And waited. And waited….
Biting her lip, she read.
I’ve made a few short trips here since Singapore. Went to a software convention in Las Vegas, took a trip to Detroit. Dallas. Seattle. But then I decided to come home. I got here a few days ago.
He decided to come home? What did that mean? Molly typed.
How long you home for?
The time seemed to tick by in agonizing slowness, allowing her mind to conjure up a picture-show of the last time she saw him. He’d been glowering at her—the fury rolling in akin to a storm about to break within the depths of those ocean-colored eyes. She even recalled the deep, gravelly tone of finality in his voice.
Leave Molly. Or, I will.
She blinked, letting the memory slip away like little granules of sand from her hand, too difficult to hold onto, and stared at the phone in her palm.
Not sure. I may stay.
An unwanted tear trickled down the contour of her cheek, slid over her mouth, and dripped off her chin before she swiped the moisture away and typed.
I really have to get back to what I was doing. It was good hearing from you, Ryker. Goodnight.
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