Wednesday, November 20, 2019

Hot Nights in Morocco


Hot Nights in Morocco is a sexy standalone story with heat and heart.

I just started my dream job. Too bad it comes with movie mogul Jake Dalton who’s equal parts sexy and arrogant ass. He's also a man who comes with a thousand warning signs. Good thing I have zero interest in complicating my life.

But while stuck on set in one of the most exotic places in the world, the desert heat isn’t the only thing making me sweat. The more time we spend together, the harder it is to deny the chemistry sizzling between us.

When we finally give in…the sex is off the charts. But Jake has too many secrets, and combined with my past, trust is impossible. This craziness is temporary, right?

·      Enemies to lovers
·      Office romance
·      Billionaire alpha
·      Hollywood drama
·      Exotic locations
Extract:

The skin on my face starts prickling. I glance over to find Jake watching me. He’s leaning against the doorway to his office, his face expressionless, hands in pockets. A statue more beautiful than David, with a complexity to rival The Thinker.
Our gazes hold. Straightaway that sizzling intensity is back. There’s a muscle working in his cheek, as if some monumental battle is taking place inside him. He takes a step toward me, then stops. “What the hell are you doing here, Books?”
My nickname has returned but his voice is low and hostile, like I’m trespassing on his territory. I’m overstepping some invisible line by being here alone with him.
“Max left his filming schedule behind,” I say, snatching one up from my desk and holding it aloft like it’s conclusive evidence in a murder trial. “He wants to go through it once more before shooting starts tomorrow.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jake doesn’t believe a word of it. “Max couldn’t give a damn about the schedule. He dances to his own fucking tune.”
“Family trait, is it?”
“What did you overhear?”
“Nothing, I swear.” I take a step back but the weight of the lie unbalances me. My foot twists and I crash sideways into the desk, smashing my left hip against the paper tray and sending Rachel’s scripts flying. The noise in the silent room is deafening.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Jake strides up to me and hauls me to my feet by my arm. His grip is firm and I’m assaulted by his delicious scent again. We stand like statues, breathing each other in.
Machismo. The word swirls around my head like a silver-gray mist. The scope, the bluntness, the power. He makes every man I’ve ever stood next to pale into insignificance. He still hasn’t let go of my arm. I daren’t look at him, so I stare at his chest instead, fighting an overwhelming urge to rest my forehead against it.
“You shouldn’t be here, Books.”
A strong finger curls under my chin and tips my head back to meet his gaze. His eyes are firing cold, dark bullets into mine.
“Story of my life,” I mutter. Somehow, I know that if I glance downward I’ll see the outline of his erection pushing against the fabric of his jeans. The same way my nipples are pushing against the thin cotton of my top.
Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod.
He inclines his head and for one breathtaking moment I swear he’s going to kiss me, and then he’s jerking his hand away like my skin is contaminated, as though I’m the Chernobyl of temptation.
Taking a step back, he curses under his breath. “Good night, Charlie Winters,” he says firmly. And then he’s walking away, leaving me empty and confused all over again.

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