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โ€œ๐ˆ๐Ÿ ๐ˆ ๐ญ๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ค๐ข๐ฌ๐ฌ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐š๐ญ ๐ฆ๐ข๐๐ง๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ, ๐ฐ๐ก๐ž๐ง ๐ˆโ€™๐ฆ ๐จ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ ๐ฌ๐ก๐ข๐Ÿ๐ญ ๐š๐ง๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎโ€™๐ซ๐ž ๐จ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ๐ข๐œ๐ข๐š๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐š ๐œ๐ฅ๐ข๐ž๐ง๐ญ ๐š๐ง๐ฒ๐ฆ๐จ๐ซ๐ž . . . ๐ฐ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฅ๐ž๐ญ ๐ฆ๐ž?โ€

Dirty Charmer by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Emma Chase, is LIVE!




Me: Are you texting while youโ€™re driving??

Apparently, Tommy and his bodyguard brethren are trained to text without

actually having to look at their phones, so they can communicate covertly with the

device in their pocket.

But Iโ€™ve explained to himโ€”at lengthโ€”that that doesnโ€™t matter worth a damn.

Iโ€™ve informed him of the overwhelming statistics on the dangers of texting while

operating a vehicle and Iโ€™ve disclosed my firsthand experiences of seeing the deadly

carnage of such behavior during my emergency room rotations.

And still, after a weighted pause, he replies:

Godly Orgasm Giver : Maybe.

Me: Well, STOP IT!!

For a moment, the screen remains quiet . . . and then those sneaky little dots

appear again.

Godly Orgasm Giver: I like it when you get all shouty caps at meโ€”have

I ever told you that?

Iโ€™m going to revisit the idea of Tommy teaching me how to throw a punch. It

would come in handy at moments just like this.

โ€œIs everything all right, Abby?โ€ my mother asks. โ€œYouโ€™re all flushed.โ€

She examines me above her glasses like Iโ€™m a bug under a microscope.

โ€œI . . .โ€

Grogg, the butler, bends down and dips his large, square head towards my


โ€œA gentleman is out front, Lady Agatha . . .โ€

Oh no.

โ€œOn a motorbike.โ€


โ€œWell, send him away.โ€ The Dowager Countess shoos her hand in the air, as

countesses do. โ€œWe donโ€™t accept solicitations.โ€

I scramble to my feet. โ€œActually, heโ€™s here for me.โ€

I throw my tablet and phone and books into my satchel, to hasten my not-so-

great escape.

โ€œPardon?โ€ my father inquires.

โ€œHe?โ€ my grandmother prods.

I swallow hard, rushing out the words. โ€œYes. Heโ€™s a friend. I messaged him for a


My brother Sterlingโ€™s eggs-Benedict-laden fork pauses midair on its way to his


โ€œI didnโ€™t know you had the sort of friends who road motorbikes.โ€

โ€œI didnโ€™t know you had friends,โ€ my sister Athena comments, not in a cruel way,

but with sincere surprise.

I shrug, looping the strap of my satchel over my shoulder.

โ€œYes, well . . . you know . . .โ€

With that brilliant retort, I turn and walk out of the room.

I head towards the foyer, the heels of my knee-high boots clicking rapidly on the

marble floor like a ticking time bomb. I yank open the giant front door and . . . come to

an immediate stop on the veranda outside of it.

Because Tommyโ€™s there, down the long gray steps on the front drive, sitting easily

astride a shiny contraption of chrome and steel, wearing work boots, snug blue jeans

and a black leather jacketโ€”looking so sinfully good it might actually be illegal.

I have to remind myself that Iโ€™m angry with him, and when I do, I march straight

down the steps. His eyes alight on my boots, skirt and light gray sweaterโ€”the ensemble

gives off an unintended โ€œnaughty schoolteacherโ€ feelโ€”and the corner of Tommyโ€™s

wicked mouth hooks up accordingly.

โ€œHello, sweetheart.โ€

โ€œAre you mad?!โ€

He takes a moment to think it over.

โ€œNot the last time I checked.โ€

โ€œWhat are you doing here?โ€ I hold out my hands. โ€œAnd what is this?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s a motorbike.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s death on wheels.โ€

He chuckles. โ€œJames loaned it to me for the day. The hills are beautiful this time

of yearโ€”I thought weโ€™d take a ride together. You wanted stress relief, didnโ€™t you?โ€

Tommy taps the shiny handlebar. โ€œA ride on this is as stress-relieving as it getsโ€”better

than normal-bloke sex.โ€

I peer at him. Do I want to know?

Apparently I do, because I hear myself asking, โ€œNormal-bloke sex?โ€

โ€œYeah.โ€ He winks. โ€œI mean itโ€™s not better than how I do itโ€”obviously. But the way

an average bloke has sexโ€”this is definitely better.โ€

I shake my head, folding my arms. โ€œDo you have any idea how dangerous these

things are? The statistics on motorbike fatalities areโ€”โ€

Tommy covers my mouth with his hand.

His palm is warm, and so is his voiceโ€”a thick, sweet, honeyed tone.

โ€œDo you trust me, Abby?โ€

After a moment, he takes his hand away and I gaze into those deep, dark eyes . . .

falling into them so easily it should be frightening.

My answer is simple. True ones always are.

โ€œI do.โ€

Tommy smiles fully, and my stomach flutters with that lovely swirling sensation.

โ€œThen climb on.โ€

He places a helmet on my head, buckling the strap under my chin.

โ€œAnd you might want to do it fastโ€”your grannyโ€™s coming.โ€

I glance over my shoulder to see the whole family gathered outside the front of

the door, a spectrum of curious and gob-smacked expressions plastered on their

typically reserved faces. And my grandmother is indeed headed this way, her jeweled

necklace jingling as she quickly descends the long slope of stone steps.


Her voice is high-pitched and harriedโ€”a tone Iโ€™ve never heard her use before,

and one Iโ€™m not keen on exploring now.

โ€œHave to be going!โ€ I lift my hand and give them a thumbs-up. โ€œTalk soon!โ€

Like a teenager running off with the town bad boy, I hike up my skirt and climb

onto the motorbike behind Tommy. He clasps my hands together securely over his


โ€œHold on tight, lass.โ€

I do just thatโ€”squeezing my arms around his solid frame and resting my cheek

against the warm leather on his back as he revs the engine to life and we pull away with

a roar that vibrates in my bones.

And as strange as it isโ€”or maybe itโ€™s not strange at allโ€”Iโ€™ve never felt safer.


๐ƒ๐จ๐ฐ๐ง๐ฅ๐จ๐š๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐œ๐จ๐ฉ๐ฒ ๐ญ๐จ๐๐š๐ฒ!

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