My Addiction (Club Desire #2)(88)
To my agent, Paige Wheeler, who has been with me since the very beginning of my New York writing career and continues to cheer me on through every book. I wouldn’t be where I am now without your support and guidance over the years. Thank you. You’re the best!
To my critique partners, Cheyenne McCray and Kayce Lassiter, for their unfailing support, late-night brainstorming sessions, amazing critiques, and girls’ weekends for writing, motivation, and butterscotch martinis.
To my wonderful longtime critique and promotions group, The Butterscotch Martini Girls. You ladies are terrific, and I’m so grateful for your love and support!
BY CASSIE RYAN
Club Desire
My Obsession
My Addiction
PHOTO: ? LOU WEGMAN PHOTOGRAPHY
CASSIE RYAN (aka Tina Gerow) started her career writing steamy paranormal romance under another pen name. However, when one of her critique partners suggested she try her hand at contemporary romance, she gave it a shot—and Cassie Ryan was officially born. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona, and besides being a write-a-holic, is a frequent speaker on several writing and motivational topics.
Web: https://authorcassieryan.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Tina-GerowCassie-Ryan-163504537087060/
Twitter: @TinaGerow
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Read on for an excerpt from
Surrender to You
An At Your Service Novel
by Shawntelle Madison
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Carlie
Less than six hours after arriving in Boston from London, and I couldn’t keep still: tonight I was gonna be f*cked until I couldn’t walk straight. For the fourth time, I switched from leaning on one leg to the other. A light tickle along my inner thighs from the ribbons on my garters made me ache further. I didn’t have much longer until cocktail hour at the Subarctic Club.
First things first, though: before I could get a drink and be rid of this pent-up sexual tension, I had to make some arrangements.
“How do you plan to pay for the room, Miss Jason?” the front desk clerk at the Bellevue Hotel asked. My cellphone sang the chorus from M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls,” but I ignored it.
“American Express, please.” Before I’d walked into the opulent lobby with its marble floors and red carpets, I’d considered the answer to this question. My American Express black card had enough credit for a month’s stay, as long as that stay didn’t include room service, overseas calls, or extravagant perks like raiding the minibar for Milky Ways.
As he completed my registration, the clerk was all smiles. More than five years ago, I’d started out as a hotel concierge. Back then, the eagerness to please oozed out of my pores. Every happy customer meant a positive review or a possible promotion. Working at a five-star hotel in NYC was like that. Maybe that was the reason why I ended up opening my own personal concierge business.
The clerk finished my transaction, handed me a keycard, and gave me the standard spiel. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he added.
“Thanks, Frank, you’ve been more than helpful.” Working the front desk was a thankless job. Everyone came to you with their problems—plugged-up toilets, complaints about the couple next door screaming out expletives during sex—but you always had to appear calm and polite. Even if you weren’t feeling it.
After I settled into my room, I finally returned the call from earlier. This particular person wouldn’t be satisfied with a text message.
“What’s wrong now, Penny?” I asked with a sigh.
“What’s wrong is you got back from the U.K., stopped at my place, hung out with Sophie, and then didn’t wait for me to come home.”
I rolled my eyes. At least she wasn’t in front of me right now. There would be over-the-top hand gestures involved, and head rolling. As one of my best friends since our days in the foster care system, I loved Penny dearly, but once you ticked her off, you heard about it for weeks. At least Sophie was far more levelheaded.
Relaxing was out of the question, so I decided to chat with Penny on the way to a coffee shop across the street from the hotel. Downtown Boston buzzed around me, making it hard to hear our conversation.
Even this early in the afternoon, Penny continued to berate me with that saccharine voice of hers. “If you weren’t staying in town for a while, I would’ve snatched your fake-blond ass off the street and beat you down for ignoring one of your besties.”
Umm, thank you? “Oh, don’t be mad you can’t pull off blond.”
“Have you ever seen a blond Indian chick? The men come running, sweetie. So where are you going and when are we hanging out?”
“We can have breakfast tomorrow, if you want.” Yep, I dodged her question.
“When have you ever seen me up early enough for breakfast?”
Never, which is why I suggested it. “Look, I’m borderline jet-lagged, so by tomorrow morning I can tell you whatever you want.”
“Why tomorrow morning? Why can’t you stay here with Sophie and me?”