Ravenous on the Riviera by JC Jaye releases on Sept 14th!
He’s big, bearded, and badass, hiding out in paradise.
Taciturn Alaskan pipeline hotshot Jake Sloan traveled halfway around the globe to escape tragedy and betrayal. Plans of kicking around cobblestone streets for a few weeks morph into an on-the-spot hire as head groundskeeper at a swanky chateau resort. The snobby guests are as tough to swallow as the slimy snails, but the scenery just got a helluva lot better, in the form of a gorgeous, golden-eyed goddess. Might be time to get sociable…
She’s resigned to the bridesmaid blues, but that changes rapidement.
Cee Cee Butler has signed up for bridezilla servitude to her cousin in exchange for seven days on the famed Cote d’Azur. It’s no cakewalk, but the waitress/wannabe author vows to be the perfect maid—until she locks eyes with the brawny ex-pat slinging the suitcases. One shared glance with the dead ringer from her filthy French fantasies is all that it takes to send her virtuous intentions packing, and flames ignite before the sun sets over the Med.
Instalust swiftly turns to instalove. But clouds loom on the idyllic horizon…
Sweatin’ like a sonofabitch, I took stock of the crowd of fancy folks spilling out of the expanded Escalade, masking my distaste.
Another Downton Abbey matron…
A harassed-looking walrus with his cell glued to his ear…
A bunch of preps decked out in seersucker and stripes, obnoxiously loud, the whole pack of ʼem falling all over some small, dark-haired wom—
The clump of prepsters shifted and separated, and suddenly, I was gazing at the most gorgeous girl I have ever seen in my life, glowing like a mirage on the cobblestones some ten-odd feet away.
My mouth dried as I looked the brunette over, rapidly eye guzzling before she glanced to the left and caught me.
I had a chintzy two seconds, when what I wanted was an hour.
Hell, a damn eternity. That’s how fucking fine the beauty was.
Goddamn my soul, finer than fuckin’ fine…
Standing a petite five-foot pretty-much-nothing, she was sweetly stacked, rocking a jawdropping set of curves that didn’t freaking quit
Aw, man, check out those high, tight tits. And Christ Jesus, that ass!
She stretched, flicking back long pieces of just-outta-bed curls, black and glossy as sin.
Damn. What I wouldn’t give to sink my fingers into that silk and push that pretty head down, down, dow—
“YOU! Move it with that cart, man!”
The walrus shoved his phone away and gestured me over with a bellow; his skin blotched and sweaty, his neck bulging out of a too-small dress shirt.
I grunted and wheeled toward him, tripping over my clodhoppers as I struggled to ignore the pocket-sized wet dream painted in her pale pink jeans.
Don’t look. Do your job, slob. Don’t look.
Obeying stern mental commands was the work of the devil, and I made it maybe three steps before the woman drew my gaze to her again like a magnet. This time, she wasn’t staring sideways at the chateau, but straight ahead, directly at me.
Our eyes locked and held, and I swear to my dearly departed folks that I almost passed out on the pavers.
Fucking hell, her face! Those incredible, golden-colored eyes…
She blinked thick lashes and flushed, her cheeks turning the same color as her sexy jeans. I clocked her checking me out, her big eyes lingering on my chest and shoulders. Seared as if I’d been torched, my heart pounded and hot blood pooled in my dick as I swallowed, throwing her a crooked smile.
Are you for fucking real, girl?
“Today, man! Let’s go, look sharp!”
Walrus snapped fat fingers under my nose, and I pulled my attention away with an effort, dazed.
“Yeah, on it…” I mumbled, slicking salt off my forehead with the back of a wrist and grabbing for the closest case. The cocksucker weighed a ton, and as I hefted a rectangle of designer leather, the dizziness swelled—little red spots swimming before me in the steamy afternoon air.
Mayday, mayday, feelin’ mighty funky.
I could use a cold glass of water and a cool cloth for my head, if any of you mofos want to help a poor sweat hog out.
Nobody standing around heard my silent SOS, or if they did, they chose to ignore it. Pulled by invisible strings, my neck swiveled sideways, and I fell into the wide eyes still watching me closely.
Jesus, she’s still staring. Does she like what she sees, or is little missy appalled that a classy castle employs such a hulking, unkept beast?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
It’s all Rhett and Scarlett’s fault.
(Talkin’ the grand staircase scene, people.)
Stung by the literary lovebug at a tender young age, JC has been devouring spicy romantic fiction ever since. Seriously… What could be more delectable at the end of a rough day than a big, bad, moody male brought to his knees by a kick-ass, rock star of a heroine?
Well, besides Tom Hardy showing up on your doorstep with car trouble.
Dreaming up “I wish” fantasies while slogging through her woefully alpha-scarce world, JC invites readers to indulge in decadent escape through her foulmouthed and passion-saturated tales.
You did hear foulmouthed, right?
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