I’d say I’m down on my luck, but that’s an understatement. I’m flat on my ass. Homeless, hungry and in hiding with my little sister at the age of twenty-one, I’ve never been so desperate. I’ve hit rock bottom when I get an offer I can’t refuse. Sell my body to save my sister? There’s nothing I won’t do to keep her safe. I make the rules and I’m not afraid to defend myself if this rich guy crosses the line. But once I see beneath his cold, calculating façade, the lines aren’t so clear anymore.
She’s an intoxicating mix of tough and vulnerable I’ve never known before. This homeless woman who fits right into my upper-class world is running from someone powerful, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. But Quinn isn’t meant to be controlled, so I’m forced to choose between owning her and loving her. I’ve finally met my match, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make her truly mine.
I reach out tentatively, my eyes locked on Andrew as my palm meets his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt covers a taut, muscled chest. My fingers trail up and down, sliding over ridges of muscle.
He’s strong. Fit. Masculine. All the things most twenty-one-year-old women find sexy in a man. And while I notice all this, am I turned on right now? Do I want him to whisk me off to the bedroom and rock my world?
I’m out of my element, wearing these designer clothes and smelling like expensive perfume. How did I fall so low I’m selling my body to a stranger? What would my mom say if she could see me right now?
And Bethy. I’m worried sick about my sister. It’s some comfort that she’s warm and safe in a hotel room right now, but she’s still sick, and I’m not with her. We rarely leave each other’s side. And in the four-and-a-half years we’ve been on the streets, I’ve never spent a night apart from her.
Bean will take care of her. I know this. But still, I find it as impossible as ever to think about sex right now. Like so many other things, it’s a luxury that’s not part of my world.
“You look tense,” Andrew says. His voice, like the rest of him, is all man. It’s deep and commanding.
I shrug, sliding my hand from his abs around to his waist. “I’m fine.”
“When you said you’re inexperienced, how inexperienced did you mean?”
I pull my hand away and sigh deeply. “That’s kind of personal. I’m not asking for your full sexual history or anything.”
His brows arch slightly. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I’m not trying to pry, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable later. You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“So what if I am?”
He exhales his frustration through his nose. “Okay…well, I need to know what you’re comfortable with.”
I consider, still looking into his dark blue eyes. “Kissing. Touching… and blow jobs.”
The corners of his lips curl slightly. He’s trying not to laugh, I can tell.
“Look,” I say defensively. “Can we just do this? I’m ready.”
“I’m not laughing at you, Quinn,” he says, his expression turning serious. “It’s just that I can see how uncomfortable you are. Maybe this isn’t meant to be.” His eyes light up with an epiphany. “Hey, are you…definitely straight? If you’re not attracted to men, that would explain this.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m attracted to men. I’m just not attracted to pretentious, arrogant ones.”
His amusement is back. “Me, arrogant?”
“Yes, you. Like the only way a woman wouldn’t want to screw you is because she’s gay. Look up arrogance in the dictionary, and you’ll see a picture of yourself with that shit-eating grin on your face.”
“Is arrogance before or after uptight in the dictionary?”
My hand instinctively wraps around the smooth handle of my knife. “Did you seriously just say that to me? Your game needs some serious work.”
“My game’s never been a problem with other women.”
About the Author
Brenda Rothert is an Illinois native who was a print journalist for nine years. She made the jump from fact to fiction in 2013 and never looked back. From new adult to steamy contemporary romance, Brenda creates fresh characters in every story she tells. She’s a lover of Diet Coke, chocolate, lazy weekends and happily ever afters.