
โ๐๐ ๐ ๐ญ๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ค๐ข๐ฌ๐ฌ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐๐ญ ๐ฆ๐ข๐๐ง๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ, ๐ฐ๐ก๐๐ง ๐โ๐ฆ ๐จ๐๐ ๐ฌ๐ก๐ข๐๐ญ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎโ๐ซ๐ ๐จ๐๐๐ข๐๐ข๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐ ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐๐ง๐ญ ๐๐ง๐ฒ๐ฆ๐จ๐ซ๐ . . . ๐ฐ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฅ๐๐ญ ๐ฆ๐?โ
Dirty Charmer by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Emma Chase, is LIVE!
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐:
Abby
Me: Are you texting while youโre 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 Iโve explained to himโat lengthโthat that doesnโt matter worth a damn.
Iโve informed him of the overwhelming statistics on the dangers of texting while
operating a vehicle and Iโve 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 meโhave
I ever told you that?
Iโm going to revisit the idea of Tommy teaching me how to throw a punch. It
would come in handy at moments just like this.
โIs everything all right, Abby?โ my mother asks. โYouโre all flushed.โ
She examines me above her glasses like Iโm a bug under a microscope.
โI . . .โ
Grogg, the butler, bends down and dips his large, square head towards my
grandmother.
โA gentleman is out front, Lady Agatha . . .โ
Oh no.
โOn a motorbike.โ
OH NOOOO.
โWell, send him away.โ The Dowager Countess shoos her hand in the air, as
countesses do. โWe donโt accept solicitations.โ
I scramble to my feet. โActually, heโs here for me.โ
I throw my tablet and phone and books into my satchel, to hasten my not-so-
great escape.
โPardon?โ my father inquires.
โHe?โ my grandmother prods.
I swallow hard, rushing out the words. โYes. Heโs a friend. I messaged him for a
lift.โ
My brother Sterlingโs eggs-Benedict-laden fork pauses midair on its way to his
mouth.
โI didnโt know you had the sort of friends who road motorbikes.โ
โI didnโt 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.
โYes, 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 Tommyโs 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 jacketโlooking so sinfully good it might actually be illegal.
I have to remind myself that Iโm angry with him, and when I do, I march straight
down the steps. His eyes alight on my boots, skirt and light gray sweaterโthe ensemble
gives off an unintended โnaughty schoolteacherโ feelโand the corner of Tommyโs
wicked mouth hooks up accordingly.
โHello, sweetheart.โ
โAre you mad?!โ
He takes a moment to think it over.
โNot the last time I checked.โ
โWhat are you doing here?โ I hold out my hands. โAnd what is this?โ
โItโs a motorbike.โ
โItโs death on wheels.โ
He chuckles. โJames loaned it to me for the day. The hills are beautiful this time
of yearโI thought weโd take a ride together. You wanted stress relief, didnโt you?โ
Tommy taps the shiny handlebar. โA ride on this is as stress-relieving as it getsโbetter
than normal-bloke sex.โ
I peer at him. Do I want to know?
Apparently I do, because I hear myself asking, โNormal-bloke sex?โ
โYeah.โ He winks. โI mean itโs not better than how I do itโobviously. But the way
an average bloke has sexโthis is definitely better.โ
I shake my head, folding my arms. โDo you have any idea how dangerous these
things are? The statistics on motorbike fatalities areโโ
Tommy covers my mouth with his hand.
His palm is warm, and so is his voiceโa thick, sweet, honeyed tone.
โDo 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.
โI do.โ
Tommy smiles fully, and my stomach flutters with that lovely swirling sensation.
โThen climb on.โ
He places a helmet on my head, buckling the strap under my chin.
โAnd you might want to do it fastโyour grannyโs 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.
โAbigail!โ
Her voice is high-pitched and harriedโa tone Iโve never heard her use before,
and one Iโm not keen on exploring now.
โHave to be going!โ I lift my hand and give them a thumbs-up. โTalk 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
stomach.
โHold on tight, lass.โ
I do just thatโsqueezing 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 isโor maybe itโs not strange at allโIโve never felt safer.
๐๐จ๐ฐ๐ง๐ฅ๐จ๐๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐๐จ๐ฉ๐ฒ ๐ญ๐จ๐๐๐ฒ!
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