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DIRTY CHARMER - EXCERPT


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!

๐„๐—๐‚๐„๐‘๐๐“:

Abby


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

grandmother.

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

Oh no.

โ€œOn a motorbike.โ€


OH NOOOO.

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

lift.โ€

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

mouth.

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.

โ€œAbigail!โ€

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

stomach.

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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