A sexy celebrity stand alone romance
by USA Today bestselling author, Jillian Dodd.
Hollywood actress, Ashlyn Roberts,
just had the worst week of her life. Her ex released a sex tape of them and
just when she was convinced her current boyfriend was a keeper for standing by
her side, he breaks up with her at a friend’s wedding. She’s planning to drown
her sorrows in booze when she meets a sexy stranger as she’s leaving the
wedding and they end up in Vegas, married.
Cash Crawford is offered a dream job
working with his brother as a junior talent agent. He’ll put his shiny new law
degree to good use and make a bunch of money in the process. His first task is
simple: Keep Ashlyn Roberts out of trouble and don’t sleep with her.
Which might be kind of tough, since
they definitely consummated their Vegas wedding.
Will this one night stand end in the
quickie divorce they promised each other? Or will they realize they got lucky
in love?
Meet Ashlyn & Cash in this
contemporary romance releasing November 24th!
Pre-order NOW AVAILABLE!
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1ltRokg
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1j6IK9w
Google: http://smarturl.it/VLGP
~ Excerpt ~
Tears threaten to fall, but I’ll be
damned if I’m going to stand here and feel sorry for myself. And even though
Cade’s lecture about getting my life together is screaming in my brain, I can’t
help it. I can’t deal with all this.
I stomp off the dance floor,
stopping to grab a bottle of champagne and one of the cashmere throw wedding
favors.
I’m just rounding the corner, making
my escape, when I hear a voice say, “Hey, Hotass, where you sneaking off to?”
I stop and spin around, the sudden
movement almost causing me to fall. I grip the bottle tighter. Can’t spill the
champagne. I’m going to need every ounce to drown my sorrows.
The guy grabs my elbow, keeping me upright.
I stare at his big hand, then follow
his arm up to a broad shoulder and a face so handsome it makes my heart ache.
“You saved the champagne,” I tell
him. He grins, the smile changing his face from handsome to devastatingly hot.
“You look sorta familiar. Have we met before?”
“Probably in your dreams.”
I touch his light brown hair, which
is flipped up in the front. “You have cute hair.”
“I have a lot of other cute parts,”
he flirts. “Wanna feel them all?”
I chuckle. “You’re funny. Did you
really just call me Hotass?”
“I call ’em as I see ’em.”
I lean back to check out my ass,
which makes me sort of dizzy.
He grabs me again, this time
planting his hands firmly on my hips.
“I bet you’re good in bed,” I blurt
out, imagining those strong hands guiding me on top of him.
“Only one way to find out,” he says
with a smirk.
What is with that smirk? Is he as
fucking hot as I think he is?
“I’m gonna need to be drunker for
that,” I say.
“Way to kill my ego—and my hard on,”
he says seriously.
I lock eyes with him. “You’re
teasing me.”
“Maybe a little.” He grins again.
“So, back to my first question. Where are you sneaking off to?”
“Not sure. Over here somewhere—away
from everyone.”
“Not in the mood to party?” He grabs
the champagne bottle and takes a slug.
“Let’s suffice it to say I’ve had a
rough week. Do you know why I’ve had a bad week?” I ask. I mean, I’m pretty
sure everyone in the world has seen the Ashlyn Roberts sex tape, despite Cade’s
efforts to get it taken down.
“Honestly, no,” he says.
“Really? Do you not get on the
Internet?”
“Usually I do, just not this week.”
“Why not this week?” I hold my hand
up in front of his cute face. “Wait, don’t answer that. Just come with me.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. That’s the
problem—with my whole life, really.” I give him a pout and look into his warm,
brown eyes. He has the kind of eyes that make me want to curl up in his lap and
let him pet me.
He touches my nose. “If you’re leading,
Hotass, then I’m following. If only for the view.”
“You can walk next to me.” I grab
his hand, leading him down the path and away from the party.
Suddenly, I realize I’m holding his
hand.
And it feels—good, natural, warm.
He’s a walking contradiction. I can’t decide if that smirk just makes me
one-night stand horny or if I want to keep him.
When we get to a grassy clearing
under a large tree, I say, “This looks like a good spot. Here, you spread out
the blanket. I’ll hold the champagne.”
Once our spot is ready, he helps me
sit down.
“Wow, the view up here is gorgeous,”
I say, looking out over the grounds of the country club that sits on a cliff in
northern California.
“It is,” he says. “You can see the
ocean, the stars, and can still hear the music from the wedding.”
“Here’s to gorgeous views,” I say,
raising the bottle in the air and looking more at him than the view. With his
gorgeous smile, hot body, and pretty face, he’s quite the sexy package.
I take a gulp of champagne then pass
it to him. He takes a drink and hands it back.
“Sure you haven’t had enough
already?” he asks.
“Oh, no. I’m just getting started.
Tell me why you weren’t on the Internet. You may have been the only one in the
world who didn’t see me at my worst.”
He hands me his phone. “If you want
me to see so bad, why don’t you show me?”
I shake my head. “No! I don’t want
anyone to see! I was naked. Doing things. It’s really embarrassing.”
He glances at my chest, which is on
full display in my sequined bridesmaid gown. “Somehow, I doubt that. Maybe you
could reenact it for me.”
I roll my eyes and pass him the
champagne. “Where are you from anyway?”
“Seattle,” he says.
“And how do you know the bride and
groom?”
“Family friends.”
“You’re cute. Are you an actor?”
He laughs. “Me? No.”
“Model?”
“Uh, nope.”
“Hmm,” I say, trying to figure out
how a guy this hot could be anything else.
“You’ll never guess,” he tells me.
“Fireman?”
“I’m an attorney.”
“No way! You’re way too sexy to be a
lawyer!” I blurt out.
“You think I’m sexy?”
“Yes, in fact, tonight we’re going
to have fun. You and me. No names. No baggage. Just fun. I will call you Sexy
and you can call me—”
“Hotass,” he says, handing me the
bottle and giving me a lopsided grin. “Drink, Hotass.”
We goof around, taking selfies and
videos of ourselves drinking and dancing crazily.
“Are you a good guy?” I ask.
“Never had any complaints,” he
teases. At least, I think he’s teasing. But with the way he looks, he’s
probably not. And I kinda want to test that theory.
I smack him. “I’m not talking about
sex. I mean, at the core, are you the kind of asshole who would sell our silly
pictures and videos to the tabloids?”
“If I were an asshole, I’d tell you
no but do it anyway.”
“True. Lie down and look at the
stars with me.” I push on his chest, which is broad, hard, and doesn’t budge.
“You add some sugar to all that
bossiness, and I might be more likely to do what you say,” he says.
When he says sugar, I take another
swig, drop flat on my back, and let out a huge sigh. “I fucking hate sugar.”
“You hate sugar?” he asks, lying
next to me. “Tell me you’re not one of those girls who doesn’t eat anything
sweet.”
“I love sweets but this guy I used
to date wrote a song about me. Said I was like sugar and a hurricane.”
“Those things don’t really go
together.”
“He thought I was sweet like sugar
but crazy like a hurricane, or something. I don’t know. I thought it was cute
when he sang it for me, but then he told me that our relationship and the song
would help him go more mainstream. It did.”
“Then what happened?”
“He hit it big and decided he didn’t
need me anymore. We’d been together for a year. One night he kissed me on the
forehead and went to get sushi.” I look at Sexy. “Have you ever kissed the
forehead of a girl you didn’t love?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Wait. Are you dating anyone?”
“Me?” He points to himself and
laughs. “Definitely not.”
“Why not? You’re a cute guy.”
“My long-time girlfriend and I
parted ways about a year ago.”
“Parted ways?”
“When another anniversary came and
went without a proposal, she left.”
“Why?”
“Um, it may have been because when
she asked if I was ever going to propose, I said probably not.”
“Why did you stay with her for so
long if you didn’t want to marry her? You not the marrying type?” I ask gently.
“No. I definitely want to get
married. Just not to her. We had fun in college, but once she started working,
it was all that mattered to her. I’m all for working hard, but I also believe
in enjoying life.”
“Me too,” I say, handing him the bottle.
“I’m sure the breakup was for the best. There must be something brighter in
your future.” I say it with confidence, as much for him as for myself. As
thrilled as I am for Harper and Maddox, their wedding sort of depressed me
because I’m jealous. That’s what I want. A sexy guy who will love me no matter
what.
And maybe one who will do me up
against the wall.
I sneak a peek at the sexiness
sitting next to me. He’s still looking up at the sky. And, damn, even his
profile is handsome.
And he smells so freaking good, I
want to lick him.
“So, did your guy not come back with
sushi?” he asks, facing me.
“No, he sent me a breakup text.”
“That must have been a shock.” He
places his hand on top of mine. And there’s something in his gesture—something
in the warmth of his hand—that makes me feel safe. “It was.”
His thumb caresses the top of my
hand—comforting me—for a few seconds before he hands me back the bottle. “Here,
drink. Then keep talking.”
I take a big gulp. “I’m going to be
drunk. Actually, Sexy, I might already be drunk. Anyway, that breakup was like
a year ago. The last few months, I’ve been dating Zach Ellison.”
“The boy band guy?”
“Yep. He’s the oldest brother in the
Summer Boys. I went on tour with him. We traveled all over the world together.
He had a carnival set up on an estate in England for my birthday, just because
I said I wanted a funnel cake. We escaped from his crazy fans in Paris on a
motorcycle, and he took me to this little macaroon shop, where we drank wine
and learned how to make them. I’ve never had a guy do such crazy, over-the-top
romantic gestures. Then, exactly nine days ago, the ex-boyfriend, Luke, decided
he wanted me back. I said no thanks. Last weekend, Zach and I were in Vegas
when a sex tape of Luke and I found its way to the Internet. Tonight, Zach
broke up with me because”—I start to cry—“I’m ruining his image.” I sigh
dramatically and then spill my guts about my life. “And if that isn’t bad
enough, I’m currently filming a project and I absolutely hate my costar.
Actually, that’s not right. He hates me. He says stuff that sounds polite, but
is really a backhanded slam. When I can’t take it, I tell everyone that I’m
going to my dressing room, but I really sneak out back and get high just to
calm the fuck down. And I’ll eat healthy at craft services and then sneak in my
dressing room and eat crap snacks. And, sometimes, I say I’m going to workout,
but I really drive around and look at houses. I’m a house whore. I want a
house—no, I want a home. I keep leasing places, but none of them are right. I’m
on the beach now, and I hate it. It’s where Luke and I lived, and I just need
to be somewhere else. But I have a lease, and my manager says it’s expensive,
and I can’t just leave. My publicist is a bitch and probably had a hand in the whole
sex tape thing and was probably fucking my ex while we were still dating. My
mom hates me unless she needs money. And, sometimes, I wish I could leave the
house looking like crap. Sometimes I just want to drive through, get a burger,
and not be photographed. And, sometimes, when I tell someone I work with that I
respect their opinion, I’m yelling fuck off to them in my head. And, sometimes,
I just need a hug.”
The next thing I know, he’s wrapping
his arms around me and pulling me into his chest.
Then our lips meet—slowly, softly,
like he’s exploring them.
He kisses my neck. Gently unbuttons
my halter—causing it to fall down and expose my breasts, which he quickly
covers with his mouth.
“I have a question,” I say, after
we’ve had sex twice. “I don’t want this night to end. And since you’re from
Seattle and I’m from L.A., this, us—tonight—it could just be fun, right? A
one-time thing?”
“Absolutely,” he says.
“And since you’re friends with the
bride and groom, I assume they trust you. I’m hoping that means I can trust you
too.”
“You can,” he says sincerely.
“Good.” I pull him up off the
ground. “It’s still early. Let’s get the hell out of here and go have some
fun.”
~ Author Bio ~
Jillian Dodd grew up on a farm in Nebraska, where she
developed a love for Midwestern boys and Nebraska football. She has drank from
a keg in a cornfield, attended the University of Nebraska, got to pass her
candle, and did have a boy ask her to marry him in a bar. She met her own
prince in college, and they have two amazing children, a Maltese named Sugar
Bear, and two Labrador puppies named Camber Lacy and Cali Lucy. She is the
author of the That Boy Trilogy and The Keatyn Chronicles Series.
One day, on her way home from work as a sales manager A. M. Hargrove realized her life was on fast forward and if she didn't do something soon, it would be too late to write that work of fiction she had been dreaming of her whole life. So she rolled down the passenger window of her fabulous (not) company car and tossed out her leather briefcase. Luckily, the pedestrian in the direct line of fire was a dodge ball pro and had über quick reflexes enabling him to avoid getting bashed in the head. Feeling a tad guilty about the near miss, A. M. made a speedy turn down a deserted side street before tossing her crummy, outdated piece-of-you-know-what laptop out the window. She breathed a liberating sigh of relief, picked up her cell phone, called her boss, and quit her job. Grinning, she made another call to her hubs and told him of her new adventure (after making sure his heart was beating properly again).
Wife and mother of three, I've always been an avid reader. In my early years, my best friend and I would tell each other stories over the phone when we were bored. We called them our "soap operas" and generally revolved around whatever boy we liked at the time.
