Belinda “Bee” Carter isn’t quite sure what she’s gotten
herself into. She’s been receiving mysterious messages from a secret admirer
who is sending her more and more erotic dares. Each time she fulfills his
desires, she gets rewarded. She’s convinced that her mystery texter is one of
two super-hot men—Nicolas, the handsome billionaire, or Hawke, the sexy
biker—but she can’t tell which one it is. And she’s coming to realize that
beneath her peaches-and-cream exterior beats a heart that longs to play out all
of her most secret fantasies.
As the stakes are raised again, will Bee succumb to the
sensual allure of this latest dare?
Excerpt:
The bus arrives
six minutes late. It’s crammed full of people. Painted faces are pressed
against the steamed-up windows. I spot dorsal fin hats and giant foam fish,
which can mean only one thing—it’s Shark Week at the Shedd.
The driver opens
the door, looks at me, glances behind him at the masses of bodies wedged into
the space. “You’re small. You might fit.” He flicks his fingers, ushering me
onto the vehicle.
“Thank you.” I’m
average size but I don’t argue. I pay my fare and slide between a broad woman
proudly wearing an I Heart Hammerheads T-shirt and a bearded man in a suit. My
hand sticks out of the suffocating human sandwich, my purse hanging over the
fare box.
The bus jerks
forward. I slam against the corporate lumberjack, my breasts smacking against
his chest. “Sorry.” I widen my stance, better bracing myself, embarrassed by
the contact.
He grunts, his
response swallowed by his beard. Moisture beads on his forehead. His suit
jacket smells like wet wool.
I stare at his
lapels, trying to act as though I’m not pressed against him, as though I’m not
sharing an intimate embrace with a stranger, our thighs, hips, chests touching.
The floor vibrates under my shoes. I don’t know how fast we are moving, as I
can’t see outside, my view blocked by bodies, my fellow passengers much taller
than I am.
A lady grumbles
loudly about great whites giving other sharks a bad name. “Everyone knows the
great white is the only shark worth talking about,” a man snaps.
Passengers gasp,
their reactions encouraging the combatants. The verbally dueling duo exchange
increasingly shrill insults, drawing oohs and aahs from the shark-savvy crowd.
I wince, my eardrums ringing. Shark fans make Black Friday shoppers appear
civilized, and these adversaries are locked in a to-the-death standoff, their
hostility spiraling my anxiety skyward.
The man finally
calls her a seal lover, the ultimate insult. The woman shrieks. Foam slaps
against foam. Bodies sway. The bus stops, and everyone groans.
“Is this an
incident?” the driver asks. “Do I have to notify dispatch?”
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