Tough Luck (A Forbidden Romance)

tough luck (a stepbrother romance) by christa simpson - release blitz banner

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Dustin Miller is off limits . . .
I know it’s not right to pine for this man, but he’s the one wielding all the power, controlling my body with a single menacing look. He tells me he can be my dark little secret and I’m honestly having a hard time saying no.

I can’t resist him . . .
I’m supposed to be the good-girl librarian, but when I meet a wealthy bad boy with impossibly dark eyes, a beautiful chaos ensues. I tell him it’s a mistake. I demand a do-over. But he has something else in mind. I know I should say no—absolutely not. I should turn around, walk away and never look back. But what do you think happens when he’s a “get what I want, when I want” kind of guy and what he wants is me?

WARNING: This story has vulgar language and explicit adult situations and is for readers 18+ ONLY.image

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Excerpt:

(Unedited and subject to change.)

Dustin’s eyes linger on the curve of my waist and it feels like he’s pouring boiling water down my core. I swallow, to wet my throat, but the heat doesn’t leave my flesh. He growls and looks away, then turns back to me. I push the glasses up on my nose to get a better look at him, just then realizing that he’s never seen me wearing glasses before. Dustin stands to his feet and I don’t know why but that makes me extremely nervous. He stalks toward me, slowly, like a lion ready to pounce. My head slants and my eyes fall to the floor.

“How about that walk?” he reminds me, my body tightening from the idea of doing anything else with him. He gets right up in my face, forcing me to meet his eyes, as he pushes the glasses up onto my nose, mimicking my own nervous reaction. His eyes drop down and settle on my lips.

I’m not breathing.

His hands find my hips and grip me gently, before sliding up the curve of my waist and resting just under my t-shirt. A blush settles over my entire body. This is where I’m supposed to push him off me and tell him how wrong this is, but my body trembles for more of his touch. He smiles wickedly and his eyes fall lower yet, to my chest, before they return to my face.

“That shirt. I like it,” he says, smirking.

Is he teasing me?

I spin away, so I can be free from his scalding hot hands and hide my arousal and embarrassment from him. He chuckles at my overreaction, turning away from my back and taking a direct route to the door. I scowl as I fall into step behind him.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” Stopping right behind him, with hands propped on my hips, I wait for him to comment.

He twists around, his gaze landing on my chest again. My nipples harden from the carnal scrutiny and the room seems to room warm three degrees. I swallow, still waiting, while he takes his leisurely time ogling my chest.

“A dirty book is never dusty,” he reads, then his left eyebrow lifts up.

I fluff him off. “What’s your point?”

“You like to read dirty books?”

His voice is low and gravelly. He doesn’t even have to try to be sexy; he just is. That pisses me off. Although I am slightly angry with him, my nipples appear to be extremely aroused by his steady perusal of my chest. I slap my right hand across my breasts and squeeze onto my arm, covering up what he does to me.

“So what if I do?” Liking romances with a tasteful touch of sex in them is not a crime.

He steps toward me again, a threatening force to be reckoned with. I feel like squealing, but I don’t cower.

“You do realize my nickname is Dusty, right?” He pins me with a molten hot gaze. “You wouldn’t even need your lady porn if you had me.”

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shitty.

He’s going to kiss me, and I. Can’t. Stop him.

Copyright 2015 Christa Simpson

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