(Chase Brothers, #2)
Publication date: May 18th 2015
Genres: Contemporary, Romance
Women came easy…
But then, for photographer, Xander Chase, most things came easy…except love. His portraits are renowned for revealing the heart and soul of his subjects, yet, he keeps his own heart hidden behind a playboy facade. All he cares about is revenge, and for that, he needs a stand-in girlfriend for a weekend fling.
Struggling actress, Imani Brooks, has been offered the coveted role of a lifetime…playing the part of an escort in a renowned play. When Xander proposes a weekend of research in Paris, she jumps at the chance. Their pretend relationship is the perfect way to dig into her role. She just has to remember that what they have is only for show. Xander is not the kind of man to fall in love.
Love is harder that it looks…
Everything goes as planned until passion erupts and blurs the line between fiction and reality. Can Imani get past the walls Xander’s built around his heart and find the real man hidden behind the camera lens? Or will Xander’s hunt for revenge leave her heart in shreds?
Due to adult situations, recommended for readers 18+
The author is doing an exclusive iTunes pre-order with this book – the link is: itunes
Pussy came easy. But then, for Xander Chase, most things came easy.
As he slid a glance over the lithe, naked back of the blonde in front of him and he locked his teeth, he wished some things came easier than others. It didn’t matter how much his balls ached or how much sweat dripped off his brow, there’d be no relief for him, no matter how many times he had her.
As she moaned, writhed, and shouted things that were dirty enough to make any porn star blush, he fought to stay focused. She was a means to an end. Unfortunately for him, that end wasn’t pleasure. More like revenge. She had information he needed. And she, like half the women in London, was susceptible to the Chase charm.
She screamed through her orgasm and Xander just wanted it to be over. A means to an end. And also, Alistair’s wife. Screwing her was one more domino on his way to taking down the man he hated.
His brain did him the favor of replaying the night over and over and over again. Every decision he’d made. Every step that had led him here. How well she’d sucked his cock on the way to Notting Hill. The slide of her tongue over the length of him as he spun his Huyra over the rain slick streets of London. The feel of her pussy milking his cock. Her brazen offer for him to have her any way he wanted.
But he had zero desire to come. And no amount of fucking this nearly nameless, faceless blonde would solve that. After today, he’d barely remember her because he had what he needed. Hell, he could barely remember her name as it was. Gemma? Jemima? Julia? Something J-sounding. Bugger, he really did have to get better with names. But he would remember whose wife she was.
What mattered was she had unfettered access to information he needed, and he’d found the way to access it. Not like there’d be a repeat performance anyway. She was just another nameless J-sounding blonde. Who can give you the keys to the kingdom.
He pulled away from her and she made a half-hearted, feeble attempt to reach for him. Who was she kidding? That was orgasm number four for her. She’d be out cold in seconds.
He slid the satin sheet over her naked form and sat on the edge of his bed. His dick twitched as if to remind him of how he got into this mess in the first place. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Two hours of J-girl blowing him and him shagging her till there was a sheen of sweat over both their bodies and he still couldn’t come. Not that he’d ever expected to. And after all, that wasn’t the point of all this. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice.
He sat there for several minutes until her deep, even breathing alerted him to her slumber. Right. Time to go to work. He tugged on his boxer briefs and slipped into the living room where she’d dropped her bag.
He made sure he kept an eye on the bedroom door as he booted up her laptop. Thanks to one tequila too many, and his very skilled hands working their magic under her panties, she’d told him everything he needed to know to take a decent stab at her password. He got it on the third try. Cat’s name. He didn’t bother to roll his eyes.
When he was done copying all the files to his external hard drive, he shut down her computer and slid it back into her bag before silently stalking back into the bedroom. She was still knocked out, but the sheet had shifted slightly, exposing her bare arse. Fuck, maybe he should have taken her up on her offer to fuck her however he wanted.
He scowled at his straining erection. His cock begged him to go back to bed. To give it another go in the hopes that this time would be different. That she would be different. But he knew better. What was the definition of insanity again? No point in going back to it, mate, it won’t do any good. He could fuck the blonde for another five hours and there would be no relief for him. No respite, no bliss. He’d stay hard as a rock. As it was, he’d fucked her into a dead stupor and he could have kept going.
There was only one way to relieve the gnawing, clawing hunger. But knowing the solution didn’t mean he wanted to go through with it. Get in the shower. Release the tension. Then call the cleaning crew to deal with the unwanted guest. Most importantly ignore that niggling thought at the back of his skull. That tiny voice telling him the kind of man he was. Telling him that inside, he was beyond buggered. Truly fucked up and there’d be no respite for him. This was his personal hell.
What London Meant to Me
We’ve all experienced this. The overwhelming urge to run away from your life, from the thing that scares you most or hems you in.
I had that moment myself. And yes, I ran to London. I was in a dead end job doing something I didn’t love and the city that was normally so vibrant and alive felt hollow to me. After a year long stint in Ghana for a contract, I opted to attend graduate school in London. After all, I’d always enjoyed the city.
But I was unprepared for how alive I’d feel once I got there. In a matter of weeks, I had a job, had registered for my classes and knew the tube and bus schedule as if I was a born Londoner. Most people would assume I had the most fun tripping in my heels, running from club to club. Lol. And while that was enjoyable, I honestly had the most fun at my job. I know, weird right?
I worked at a call center full of ex-pat foreign nationals. I met people from South Africa, Zimbabwe and Brazil. Everyone was young and adventurous and wanted to explore. The moments between calls and between shifts were where I made some of the friends I still have to this day.
I also became addicted to running home between work and school to catch an episode of East Enders (A UK soap opera) and would have these hilarious philosophical conversations about why British television stars didn’t have that pretty, polished glow to them that our stars in the US did. With my schedule, I often had my groceries delivered. I took dance classes at Pineapple Dance studios and explored Covent Garden on the weekends. Going to the park meant Hyde Park and shopping meant the High Street or the West End.
But most importantly, in those moments of exploration and fun and dancing, and combing British bookstores looking for every Lesley Pierce and Martina Cole book known to mankind, I found myself. Oh yeah, and I went to a few classes too.
The friends and love that Imani from London Calling find in London will change the course of her life, just like London did for me. I hope you enjoy Imani and Xander’s story as they explore themselves, shed their pasts and find true love.
This Writer’s Journey London Styles
Picture this, London 2002. A young African girl moves to London for graduate school and to finally pursue her dream of writing. Along the way she makes some life long friends, has some wild adventures and one day would write it all down.
I’ve always devoured books. Any books, but romance books were a particular favorite. I could read a book in a three hour sitting. The summer of 2000, I had taken a detour through my favorite Barnes and Noble on 10th street in Manhattan and picked up Bridgette Jones’s Diary.
I read the whole thing in two hours. I laughed and giggled, and cringed for poor Bridget. But the whole time something was borne in me as I read. I was so used to thinking of authors as this special class of person who had to have perfect creative writing grades. I saw them as some magical creatures who didn’t mingle with the regular people. But the whole time I was reading Bridget I was thinking, I could do this. I could write a book.
I immediately grabbed my laptop and started banging out a manuscript knowing nothing about characterization, plot or the writing business. Like so many newbie “have a lot to learn” writers, I said things like, “How difficult could it be?” An adorable heroine, sexy hero, a cute meet, sprinkle some acerbic wit and bam, you have a book. God, I had no idea. Who knew I needed plot, characterization, some magical writing and heaps of luck?
I didn’t finish that book in just a few months as my deluded little brain had imagined. But the magic of London prompted me to dust off the old story. While there, all I could think was how magical it all was and how one day I wanted to capture how amazing the city made me feel.
Did I finish that book in London? No. Because, English boys. But I did eventually finish that book. Though it languishes in the bottom of a drawer somewhere, because it was quite terrible. But those notes of my adventures in London, they did make it into a book. Two actually, London Bound and London Calling.
15 years and 19 published books later I wouldn’t trade the journey for a pair of Prada pumps, (Let’s be honest, I might trade the experience for some Louboutins), I know what work goes into being a writer. The pain, pleasure, joy of it. The sweat and the literal tears. It’s in my blood now. And the city of London helped put it there.
Who doesn’t love a little control?
When I first wrote London Bound the predecessor to London Calling, I had originally intended it as a single title. There was no story for the gorgeous, but cocky brother. He was a stock character…or at least he was intended that way. But true to form, Xander wouldn’t stay in a corner for long.
Even as I wrote London Bound, out came his personality. And he just screamed, “I’m a bad boy who needs someone brave enough to love me.” And boy did he ever. But still, I was hesitant to write a story for him.
London Bound was a story based very loosely on a part of my life. Alas if you troll the streets of London you won’t find an Alexi or a Xander, but you might find the places and friends that influenced the first book. As I wrote, I could see the places I’d been, hear the voices of my friends. Relive our adventures. Writing that book flew by. Xander was a blank template that refused to flow.
We fought, we argued, I threw him in the bin. I tried to forget him. I threatened lobotomy. But he just kept coming back each night in all his sexiness, with a smirk and an attitude demanding his story told his way. It wasn’t until I finally relinquished control and let him do exactly what he wanted that the story flowed. And boy did it ever flow. Xander is the kind of bad boy you love to hate, then you love to love.
Writing London Calling has been like a time machine and a London holiday rolled into one. It’s got old friends, familiar settings, a bad boy who can’t help but cause trouble and a heroine strong enough to handle him.
I’m so thrilled to finally bring you Xander and Imani’s story in his own words.
USA Today Best Seller, Nana Malone’s love of all things romance and adventure started with a tattered romantic suspense she “borrowed” from her cousin.
It was a sultry summer afternoon in Ghana, and Nana was a precocious thirteen. She’s been in love with kick butt heroines ever since. With her overactive imagination, and channeling her inner Buffy, it was only a matter a time before she started creating her own characters.
While she waits for her chance at a job as a ninja assassin, in the meantime Nana works out her drama, passion and sass with fictional characters every bit as sassy and kick butt as she thinks she is.
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