ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE WITH THE BIKER
by Teri Ann Stanley
Publication Date: February 8, 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
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Synopsis:
Aspiring writer Kelli Dalton needs a man, and fast. When she’s rear-ended by a sexy-as-sin biker on the way to a Vegas romance readers convention, she sees her chance. If he’ll pose as her fake boyfriend long enough to impress a bestselling author, Kelli has a shot at saving the bookstore for underprivileged kids she runs back home.
Quinn Anderson doesn’t know what to make of the cute little writer who stirs his heart and his libido, but he does know he wants to get better acquainted. And if that means keeping up their sexy ruse all week, he’s game.
Quinn knows girl like Kelli deserves someone with a secure future to help with her store, not a guy struggling to turn a profit on his chopper shop. But if his motorcycle designs win the big Vegas competition, he’ll have enough prize money to fund his dreams…and hers.
PLAYLIST
DubThat2Step by Hubba Dub (Entangled Music): This is the song that Kellie got at the party when she requested Hank William’s Sr. meets Earth, Wind, and Fire:
Dating Game Bloopers: Kellie and Quinn played the dating game:
Kellie’s drunken friend dances with the go-go girls to All About That Bass:
Quinn suggests Buddy Holly tunes–-or strip poker– to pass the time:
When Quinn and Kellie pull into his parents driveway, she’s reminded of Dallas:
Dancing at the party: Uptown Funk:
And slow dancing at the party: I’ll Make Love To You, by Boyz to Men:
EXCERPT – PG
Lying on the hot asphalt of Las Vegas Boulevard waiting for death to take him, Quinn reflected that he’d never envisioned his life ending under the chassis of a mass-produced hulk of acid green hybrid auto. He’d hoped to go quietly in his sleep when he was ninety-seven, but if it had to be a bike wreck, it should have been spectacular—fiery and with lots of twisted metal. Not with a thunk.
He also hadn’t expected to be aware that he was dying. His lungs had stopped working, even though he tried to pull in air. This sucked.
Well, at least it was a Ford Fusion and not a Prius. Although a Prius probably wouldn’t have been that green—
“Oh no, oh no, ohnoonononono.”
The voice was coming from somewhere to his right, he thought, as his vision got fuzzy. But the sound distracted him enough to pull in a breath. He forced himself to lie perfectly still, fighting the need to thrash and gasp like a refugee from Hillbilly Handfishin’.
Something poked his upper arm.
“Please don’t be dead,” came from somewhere near the poking thing, in a drawl that was half honey and half
husky—and all morning wood.
He turned his head toward the voice and took another breath. Okay. Not dead if he could hear and respond to the sound of a female. Even though he was on a self-imposed break. No more females. Especially not the kind who drove preppy cars. Nope. It was him and Mr. Handy from here on out.
Breathe in, out. Good. Ribs intact. And nothing else felt terribly beat up, either.
Something knocked on his helmet. “Is it okay to help you take this off? Your neck’s not broken, is it?”
The sun glared down on the visor of his helmet, blinding him—so he put a hand up and found another, smaller, softer hand already there.
She was still talking and apparently not expecting a response—which was good, because once she flipped up his visor, he would have directly answered the breasts spilling out of the top covering the body attached to that voice.
The aches in his bruised bones coalesced in his groin. He wasn’t one of those assholes who talked to women’s chests. At least, not usually. But damn. And these particular breasts led to a nice curvy little body, as far as he could tell from this angle.
She was quiet for a second, then said, “You look a little dazed. I should probably call 911.”
That was when he finally found her face. Heart-shaped, all rosy-cheeked and wholesome, with strands of light brown hair coming loose from where it was fastened in the back. The face of an angel to go with that fifties pinup body. Throb.
EXCERPT – R
Kellie was trying to figure out how to politely excuse Quinn for the night without sinking to the floor, wrapping herself around his knees, and begging him to stay and hang out with her when the first sex sounds came through the hotel walls.
They were not soft, gentle gasps of pleasure. No, these were groans and moans worthy of the Haunted Mansion at Disney World.
She was mortified. Here was this nice guy—a complete stranger who had sacrificed his entire evening to do her a favor—and he was trapped in a hotel room listening to people have sex. The fact that it was people she knew made it so much more horrifying.
So, this was weird. What now? “I guess they’re busy enough—you could probably escape, if you want.”
But then he gave that grin—a grin she bet had gotten Quinn into, and out of, an awful lot of trouble in his youth—and said, “No way. I bet we can have louder, better sex.”
Her whole body flushed at the thought, completely on board with the idea, but her brain was still engaged enough to recognize that she barely knew this man.
Looking right into her eyes, he let out a bellow like a wounded bull. This was followed by a deep, rumbling, “Oh, Kellie, baby. I have been waiting for this forever.”
She nearly choked on the giggles that erupted.
“Yeah? You like that, don’t you?” he said—loudly—motioning her toward the bed. He sat down, hard, onto the mattress, bouncing the box springs enough to creak.
She jumped on next to him and they alternated bounces, making sounds that she prayed she never really made during sex. Although if sex with Quinn was even half as good as it seemed like it might be, she didn’t care what she sounded like or who would hear her.
“Are you ready for me, baby? Are you ready for this? Do you want this?”
“Oh, yes, Quinn. Give it to me. Let me see that big—” She stopped and stared at him. And looked at his crotch—a totally involuntary action. From what she could tell, he wasn’t completely unaffected by their little game.
And he’d seen her look. Well, the hell with it. What happened in Vegas…
“Give me that big porn star cock, you stud,” she yelled.“Oh my God, yes. Oh, I need lube! You’re bigger than my vibrator.”
Quinn cracked up, rolling over on the mattress, covering his face with the pillow to stifle his laughter.
But then he was back in the game. He turned and grabbed the headboard and began slamming it into the wall at a rate of about a million thrusts per second.
Watching the muscles of his arm work, she couldn’t help but imagine the muscles of his ass and thighs straining to pump into her and figured she probably wouldn’t need lube if the real thing was coming at her even a quarter that hard and fast. Just the idea was making her feel a little slippery.
But as impressive as Quinn was, Kellie wasn’t going to let him be the master of her domain just yet. She stood on the bed and began to bounce, letting out vigorous “unh, unh, unhhhhhs.”
Quinn turned to watch her and said, “Faster, baby, faster.” Then he leaned back against the headboard with his arms crossed behind his head, legs stretched out on his side of the bed.
So she jumped faster. And higher. And realized that she had on a skirt, and was jumping up and down right above a hot guy that she barely knew, and he was—yes, he was looking up her skirt. When he wasn’t watching her boobs bounce.
And from the looks of things below his belt, he was enjoying the show.
Recognition caused her to lose her footing. One foot slipped off the bed, and with a cry she flew forward—toward Quinn’s reclining self, landing on him—and coming to rest with her face inches from his.
“Hi,” he said, after he caught his breath.
“Uh, hi.”
There was silence next door.
“Think we impressed your friends with our virility?”
“Oh, yeah.” Kellie was impressed with the hot, hard body beneath hers. Her legs were intertwined with his and his leg pressed against the hem of her skirt. His thigh wasn’t quite all the way between hers, but with a wiggle or two—She froze. The air-conditioning wafted over her slightly sweaty skin, cooling everything that wasn’t touching Quinn.
Her hands rested on his solid shoulders, and he had one palm on her waist and one on the back of her thigh, where her knee was bent outward in that almost-straddle position. She was in a hotel room staring into the mesmerizing eyes of a stranger in a very compromising position. If he wasn’t honorable…or if she wasn’t— And she was beginning to doubt her good-girl status.
He let her go just as she squirmed off him and to her side.
Could you say awkward?
“So. In your romance-land fake boyfriend world, do I roll over and go to sleep now that my caveman requirements have been met or do I pretend to want to cuddle, or what?”
ABOUT TERI ANNE STANLEY
Teri Anne Stanley began her writing career with scientific articles—followed by a three-ingredient recipe column, but wasn’t allowed to write sex scenes for them—so now she writes fun, sexy romance filled love, angst and nekkid parts.
She’s also worked as a fashion designer for female body builders and a sex therapist for rats. In her spare time, she is a neuroscience research assistant. Along with a variety of teenagers and dogs, she and Mr. Stanley live just outside of Sugartit, which is—honest to God—between Beaverlick, and Rabbit Hash, Kentucky.
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