Join New York Times Bestselling Author Kim Karr on another emotional journey
in her next release, Come A Little Closer, on March 28th!
What happens when bad meets good? Get ready to find out.
Only this time the bad isn’t who you think it is.
It was a one-night stand, until she forced him to change the rules.
Keep reading for an excerpt!
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ADD to your TBR
I haven’t always been this bad…
Up until recently, I was the kind of girl who wore white cotton panties and bent at the knees rather than the waist.
Pomp and circumstance changed all that.
Jaxson Cassidy was my first taste of bad, and I liked it more than I should have. Just not in the way I was meant to. I couldn’t help myself though. I found him irresistible. That sexy grin, those skilled fingers, and that dirty, dirty mouth were a lethal combination.
I wasn’t supposed to want him. I wasn’t supposed to let him put his hands on me. I wasn’t supposed to do a lot of things…but I did.
He wants to keep me close.
I should push him away.
He says he can help me.
I’m not so sure.
For some reason, he thinks there’s good left in me.
What if he’s wrong?
Everyone knows a good boy can’t turn a bad girl around.
Everyone knows it’s always the other way.
There was a dominance in his body language I couldn’t deny.
Heeding his invitation, I stopped before him. He stood and his towering height overwhelmed me, but when he pulled the empty barstool out and grinned at me, I felt electrically charged. “Hi.”
Slowly, I climbed onto it. For some reason, I couldn’t stop my knees from wobbling. “Hi,” I tried to respond, but it sounded more like a squeak.
The way he was looking at me made me feel like I was the only person in the room. I opened my mouth to say something more but found no words. Instead, my breath hissed out as a slow leak.
What was I doing?
I should have been running in the other direction. I didn’t have time for careless flirting. I had a job to do. One I knew I would never really be able to do.
Settling myself on the luxurious white leather stool, I crossed one leg over the other. As soon as I did, his heavy stare rolled over my face and then down my body. It felt like he was surveying every inch of me.
Suddenly, I wasn’t cold anymore. Heat roared through me like a fire being doused with gasoline.
The way he was looking at me was anything but subtle.
He was anything but subtle.
I didn’t care. I didn’t want subtle. I wanted bold.
A flash of thunder cut through the window, illuminating his face. His stunning features. Hard jaw. High cheekbones. Strong forehead. Full and curved mouth. Edible lips. And those eyes, they grabbed me and wouldn’t let go—like he saw the blackness inside me and wanted to add some light.
Ridiculous, I knew.
That smug grin he was wearing spread across his lips as he sat back down. The movement caused his dark hair to flip forward over his eyes. He pushed it away, and the gesture broke the trance I was in. Thick-lashed eyes shined as brilliant as the brightest lights I’d ever seen and amusement seemed to sparkle in their dark color.
All of a sudden I felt dizzy. Lost. Reborn. Taken back in time.
He was Eros.
I was Aphrodite.
He was Cupid.
I was Venus.
I let my bag drop to my feet beside my suitcase.
He twisted in my direction. “Crazy weather,” he said in a voice that was deep, cultured, sexy.
It made me shiver.
Half a nervous laugh snuck out of me. “You’re not kidding.”
Out of nowhere, the bartender set two heavy crystal glasses of amber-colored liquid in front of stock-photo guy and myself, and it shocked me. I hadn’t ordered anything, most especially not whiskey.
“Should I add this to your tab?” the bartender directed, and not toward me.
“Please,” stock-photo guy answered.
Embarrassment washed over me. He was with someone and I had misread him completely.
Hopping to my feet, I felt unsteady in my heels. “I’m so sorry. I should have asked if this seat was taken. I’ll get out of your way.”
Moving fast, he rose to his full height. He was close. So close. Floored by over six feet of hotness, his scent hit me immediately. Something manly, with a hint of the ocean. I took a moment to breathe it in and tried not to wince when the pain in my ribs struck.
His strong hands steadied my hips. “No, don’t leave. The drink is for you.”
And I felt. Felt his touch race down my hips, knot in my stomach, and make my toes curl.
If he was Cupid, I’d been struck by his arrow.
My gaze darted up, up, up, and when our eyes locked, my pulse started to race. “I can’t. I’m waiting for a flight,” I stupidly said.
He was a bad idea.
Staying was a bad idea.
This whole thing was a bad idea—and yet it already felt so good.
He dipped his head, those dark eyes going liquid with a heat I felt between my thighs. “In case you haven’t looked at the monitors, no one is going anywhere right now. All the planes are grounded until morning.”
I laughed, and it wasn’t an act. “I know that,” I replied. “What I meant was that drinking is a bad idea when I have such a long night ahead of me.”
His eyes flickered to my lips before returning to mine. “Exactly. It’s going to be a very long night, which is why drinking seems like a really good idea.”
No alarm bells rang. Instead, I smiled. I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Sit,” he said, moving back to his stool.
For a moment I forgot everything and allowed myself to get lost in the darkest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Without thinking anything through, I sat back down. “Maybe just one.”
The look he gave me screamed sinful bad boy.
“Reading Hotlanta?” I asked, pointing to his bag.
With a shake of his head, he blew my comment off. “More like reading crap.”
Okay, I had no response to that, and luckily I didn’t need one.
He lifted his glass. “To passing time,” he toasted.
The way he looked at me when he spoke made my pulse jump and nipples pop. Ignoring my body’s reaction to him, I lifted my own. “To passing time,” I repeated, clinking his glass.
I didn’t really have time.
I had a job to do.
I couldn’t stay with him.
I was stranded at the airport, after all.
I lowered my glass and sighed.
“Tough day?” he asked after taking more like a gulp of his whiskey.
“Yes,” I responded truthfully.
He took another long sip of his drink and let his eyes linger on my thighs. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
In that moment I was no longer Sarah, the lonely rich wife or the wandering mistress or the high-priced call girl I had been sent here to be. I wasn’t acting. I didn’t want to. I was just being me. Albeit, a well dressed-up version of myself, but still me.
Following his lead, I practically guzzled the potent liquor. Once I’d drained it, I figured why not talk. Setting my empty glass down, I told him, “I had to make a decision today and I have no idea if I made the right one.”
In truth, I already knew it was the wrong one.
Being here was wrong.
Being with him was wrong.
And yet, talking to him felt right.
I shouldn’t have come here to steal what wasn’t mine, no matter the reason. It wasn’t me. I didn’t earn what these men had. And I hated myself for even thinking about taking from them.
It was then I looked into his eyes and saw that very familiar feeling of loathing. Those dark eyes I thought had been filled with mirth were actually brooding.
What did he hate himself for?
I wanted to know.
Was I a way for him to forget? If so, did it matter? Either way, I wanted to be the one to ease his pain.
And I had no idea why.
He downed the rest of his glass and signaled the bartender. “You know,” he said, “sometimes I think the only way to get by in this world is to step off for a while.”
I glanced at his bags on the floor. “Is that what you’re doing? Stepping off for a while?”
The bartender placed the entire bottle of Macallan Rare Cask in front of us, and hot photo-guy picked it up right away. “Something like that,” he answered as he poured. “My ex-fiancée got married yesterday, and I was there.”
“Ouch,” I said.
He nodded and finished pouring. “Yeah, hence the heavy drinking. So what’s your story?”
It felt wrong to lie, so I didn’t. I just didn’t tell the whole truth. “I was recently fired.”
“Ouch,” he offered back with a wicked grin and set the bottle down to hold out his hand. That strong, confident, dominant hand. “I’m Sundance.”
I raised a brow. “As in Butch Cassidy?”
“The very same. It’s a nickname, actually.”
I liked it.
I took his offered hand, and the electric current that ran up my arm was stronger than the alcohol flowing through my veins. “Sarah.” The lie slipped out, and I couldn’t take it back. Then again, I didn’t think it really mattered. “And stepping off for a while sounds like a really good idea.”
He leaned closer and lifted his glass. “So, Sarah, what are we going to do to make that happen?”
My brow lifted curiously. “I’m open to suggestions,” I said, the alcohol taking over where reason should have stepped in.
He drained his drink. “Are you?”
The way those two words came out sounded like an invitation. I was in the middle of downing my glass when I lowered it. “Yes, I am. I mean, within reason, of course.”
“Good to know.” He tossed me a panty-melting grin and poured a little more into his glass.
“Why? What do you have in mind?” Ignoring my one-drink rule, I drank a little more, knowing exactly what he had in mind. It was written all over his face—in the way his eyes seemed to have turned the darkest shade of blue, the way his sinful mouth curved ever-so-much, and the way he leaned in even closer to me.
When he was a breath away, he raised the sexiest brow in answer. “We could take this somewhere a little more private.”
I smiled back. A silent, “Yes, I’m interested.”
“One rule,” he cautioned.
Now I raised the brow. “Rules already? I don’t even know you,” I joked.
“And that’s the way I like it,” he deadpanned.
In that moment I knew what he wanted.
To be anonymous.
To be free.
And to get fucked.
I wanted all of those things, too.
He went on. “We don’t talk about our lives,” he murmured, kissing behind my ear.
I allowed my head to lull back, silently agreeing to his rule because even though he couldn’t possibly know it was the only way I could be with him, it was.
His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of my throat, and I knew that somehow I had gone from the one doing the preying to the one being preyed on.
And I was okay with that.
Maybe stepping off for a while was exactly what I needed.
About the Author:
Reader * Chocolate Lover * Writer * Coffee Lover * Romantic * Beach Lover * Yoga Beginner
Kim Karr is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of eighteen novels. Best known for writing sexy contemporary love stories, she enjoys bringing flawed characters to life and creating romances that are page worthy. Her stories are raw, real, and explosive. Her characters will make you laugh, make you cry, make you feel. And her happily-ever-afters are always swoon worthy. From the brooding rock star to the arrogant millionaire to the Football Player. From the witty damsel-in-distress to the sassy high-powered businesswoman to the boutique owner. No two storylines are ever alike. If Kim’s not writing, you can find her wandering through antique stores with her husband, trying out new fitness classes with her sons, venturing out to new coffee shops with her daughter, or with her nose stuck in a book.
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