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My mind wandered during the ceremony. I cheered with everyone else as the pastor pronounced them ‘man and wife!’

I smiled at Clay over my bouquet as he escorted me down the aisle behind the bride and groom. Outside we were swarmed by well wishers and people looking for gossip.

Nosey Parkers, as my mother called them.

One of the guests lifted my hand to stare at the enormous yellow diamond engagement ring I wore.

“You’re next dearie!”

I shook my head. Not for a couple of years. And it would be nothing as big as this. Clay and I agreed on that. We wanted something small, intimate.

Besides, being engaged was enough for now.

I had stuff to do. Like graduate.
 

Six Months Later

Nevada

I sighed, rubbing my neck. I was determined to do well on my exams. The semester had gone by so fast. It was already getting chilly out. Well, chilly for Southern California.

Something touched my foot.

I kicked my foot in the air and turned the page. I’d had such a heavy class load the fall semester that I’d used post it notes instead of highlighting. Besides, I was forever frugal and planned to sell my books back to the bookstore.

That sort of thing always made Clay laugh. I asked him what he did with his books when he was done. He honestly hadn’t known.

Something tickled my foot again. And then my ear. And then a heavy weight landed on me.

“Oof! Clay!”

He was kissing my neck as he pressed into my back. His hands started wandering almost immediately. He was incorrigible really.

How much sex could one man have?

“Come on Nev, we have to pack.”

“I’m almost done.”

He turned me over and braced his hands on either side of my head, forcing me to look up at him. He was grinning. But he was also serious as fuck.

“Nev. We are leaving for Paris immediately after your exam. You’ve been studying for weeks. You’re ready. Also, we need time to-“

“Do not say ‘fuck’.”

“Make love. We need time to make love.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Again?”

“Twice in one day does not a satisfied Clay make.”

I laughed as he started unbuttoning my top.

“Are you ever going to slow down?”

He was kissing the tops of my breasts as he undid my jeans.

“No.”

He started pulling my jeans off and froze.

“Well, maybe in twenty years or so.”

“Is that when you fall in love with your secretary?”

He was back on me in an instant.
 

“No, Nevada. Never. Now you are going to get a spanking, you bad little girl.”

I squealed and tried to get away. He was laughing as he held me over his knee and gave me three loud smacks. Then he leaned down and kissed the sting away.

“But we can always play secretary. Let’s try that in Paris.”

He rolled on top of me, our bodies coming together perfectly, as usual.

“Would you like to go on a business trip with me, Ms. Jones? We don’t have to tell my fiancé.”

He looked offended when I cracked up. I stopped laughing a few minutes later as he slid inside me.

He had a way of getting my attention.

I liked it. I liked it a lot.

 
A Bad Boy For Summer

Joanna Blake

Copyright © 2015 Joanna Blake

All rights reserved.

Chapters

One - Overture

Two - Lecture

Three - Departure

Four - Nature

Five - Feature

Six - Immature

Seven - Vulture

Eight - Culture

Nine - Mature

Ten - Adventure

Eleven - Imposture

Twelve - Capture

Thirteen - Rapture

Fourteen - Agriculture

Fifteen - Juncture

Sixteen - Mixture

Seventeen - Stature

Eighteen - Torture

Nineteen - Premature

Twenty - Recapture

Twenty One - Enrapture

Twenty Two- Indenture

Twenty Three - Picture

Twenty Four - Future

Exclusive excerpt from
Player

So many people are involved in making an indie novel a success. Mostly by holding my hand and reminding me to get offline and get back to work. Sabrina, Cora, Kaylee,
 
Jordan, and Vanessa are just a few of the fantastic authors who keep me going on a daily basis. To the supportive and vibrant indie scene, this is for you.

I am so lucky to have met Shauna Kruse of Kruse Images: Models and Boudoire. Margreet Asselberg of Rebel Edit & Design and the very handsome and kind Lance Jones, tattoo model.

Jess Peterson of Breathless Book Promotions, Krystal Fahl of Not Another Damn Blog-Blog and Jen Wilder of Just Another Page: you ladies are the best. Thank you for everything. I could not do this without your help. You pretty much rock my world.

To my street team, ARC readers and my publisher Sara Bartlett of Pincushion Press: I love you guys. Thanks for encouraging me through the crazy process of writing two books at the same time. And thank you for demanding that Frannie get her own book! This one is a little different from my other books. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter One

Jace

The sun baked into my back, the hot metal tools stinging my hand where I gripped them. I wiped my forearm across my brow. My thick arm was dark with grease and tattoo ink.

My Gran always used to say that tattoos made a body look dirty.

That always made me laugh.

I hadn’t been clean since I was 14 years old. That was the first time I got inked. Now I was 24 and it was a regular occurrence.

A ritual you might call it.

So was getting drunk and racing souped up cars. Not at the same time though. I might be wild but I had no desire to end up mangled in a flaming hunk of metal.

I’d seen far too many people end up dead, or worse.

I was no dummy.

No matter what I looked like.

I worked hard at the shop and with the chores Dad gave me around the house. But when it came to school, I never lifted a book. Didn’t have to. The answers just sort of came to me.

Now I might have skipped a few papers here and there but as far as test taking, I was the ambivalent owner of a 4.o GPA back in high school.

Not that anyone would guess it from looking at me.

Grease monkey.

Criminal.

Dirt bag.

All of that was true and more.

If you asked me, I would tell you without even blinking.
 

And I’d say it with a shit eating grin.

My dad, me, all the guys at the shop, we took pride in being different. Breaking the rules.

Being
real.

Not that it made my life any easier. But hell, what the fuck did that? We weren’t rich. And we didn’t want to be. We were free.

That was worth more than anything in my book.

The ride I was working on was a labor of love. It was a special project I’d been working on during my lunch break and after hours for months now. She was a hot little muscle car with all kinds of crazy custom add-ons.

I fucking loved this car.

Probably why I called her ‘Miriah’ after my mom.

My beautiful, crazy mom who died too young.

I barely remembered her but from pictures I could tell she’d been hot and more than a little wild. Just like my souped up little ride. Miriah was going to win me a lot of cash.

If I ever fucking finished her.

I sat up and grabbed a rag to wipe the sweat and grease drippings off my face. A glistening cold beer was held in front of me. I looked up to see my best friend Clyde leaning against the unfinished side panel of the car.

“How about we get the fuck out of here Jace? Maybe get us some real women? You know, the kind that like beer instead of motor oil.”

I grinned at him and swallowed deeply, downing the beer. It was half gone in two shakes.

“No man, you go. I have to finish her up before the season starts.”

He shook his head at me, and tipped his beer, spilling some on the blazing hot asphalt.

“Your loss man.”

I laughed and finished my beer. Then I rolled back under Miriah.
 

Like I said, I had shit to do.

Frannie

I sat up and rubbed the back of my neck. I was sore from bending over my laptop for what felt like twenty hours straight. I knew it wasn’t really that long. But it was my final paper of the year and it had to be perfect.

Scratch that- it was the final paper of my entire collegiate career.

I wanted to end it on a high note.

Not to mention it was for my favorite class.

Professor Candel was insightful, eloquent and if I was honest with myself, more than a little dashing. In an ‘older man who knows everything’ sort of way. I had the tiniest bit of a school girl crush on him. All the girls did.

I sighed and leaned back. I had proofed the damn thing at least four times. I already had his recommendations in hand, as well as the teaching job in Japan he’d practically handed to me.

I already had the good grade.
 

But it wasn’t good enough for me. It had to be perfect.

I had to be perfect.

Ever since I was a little kid I’d worked hard for my grades. At first it was to please my parents. By the time I’d realized they could care less about me, it was already a habit.

So why was I killing myself over this last paper?

I guess it was just a hard habit to break.

Either way, I did still have to hand it in. Professor Candel was old school. He insisted on papers being actual, well, paper. So I had to get over to campus before they locked the building his office was in, and slip my paper through the slot in his door.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost 6:15. I had about an hour and forty-five minutes to go before the absolute final deadline. I shook my head. It had to be good enough as it was. I hit print and went to my bedroom to throw on a bra and swipe lip gloss across my lips.

I stared in the mirror, knowing I was making an effort in case I saw the handsome Professor. It was a stupid impulse I knew. But it was there all the same.

Not that I would know what to do with a man if I ever had one.

In fact, I’d never even been kissed.

Very sad but very, very true.

Pathetic even.

No one knew my deep dark secret of course. Except my best friend forever, Nevada Jones. Thankfully she had educated me after her own late, but very extensive, start in the sex game. So I was prepared with knowledge, but not experience.

Still, lip gloss did not a sex kitten make. Especially in my case. I made a face at myself in the mirror. Big puffy lips, big blue gray eyes, round cheeks and the craziest tumble of auburn curls ever.

I had long since given up on it, instead letting it grow as long as possible. Wet, it reached below my hips but dry, it was only to my mid back. At least the weight of it kept the curl a little less frizzy.

I rolled my eyes at myself, not impressed.

This is not the time to start beating yourself up Frannie.

I scooped up my bag and ran down to my beat up old car. My parents had bought me an expensive convertible when I was just sixteen but I hadn’t wanted it anymore by the time I graduated. Not to sound ungrateful, but I was tired of them buying my affection.

They didn’t do it for me anyway. They just did what was expected. Like someone had handed them a spreadsheet on what rich people did for their kids.

They ticked off the boxes but that was it.

They were too busy working to bother taking the time to ask me if I’d wanted a car, let alone what kind.

So I scraped and saved and got myself… The Blue Banger.

I patted the dash affectionately and turned him on, pulling out into traffic. My apartment was dirt cheap and far from campus. About thirty-five minutes to be exact. But I was early. I had plenty of time to find parking and walk my paper up to the Sociology building. Plus, it was after rush hour so I wasn’t too worried.

Not until I heard the sound.

The click clack clunking sound.
 

Oh no.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!

Oh YES.

The Blue Banger abruptly rolled to a halt. And stopped. In the middle of the street.

Car horns blared as they drove around me. I tried to stay calm but ended up frantically waving my hands in the air, signaling people to go around me. Finally there was a break in traffic, so I grabbed my bag and ran to the curb to call my insurance.

It was ten minutes before the tow truck showed up.

By the time the guy rolled up, I was semi-hysterical and trying desperately not to cry. I now had less than an hour to make it to Professor Candel’s office. I forced myself to stop wringing my hands and turned to face the tow truck driver.

Who just happened to be the best looking guy I had ever laid eyes on.

Oh.

My.

God.

Tall, lean and built like an athlete, the guy had green eyes and dark hair. His tight jeans were ripped and covered with grease. His tank top was so tight it should have been illegal.

His pecs were bigger than mine, and since I was a double D, that was saying a lot.

My jaw must have been open because he just stared at me, looking dumbfounded. Then he raised his eyebrows.

“That yours?”

I nodded slowly.

Dear heaven above, sex on wheels had just arrived to save the day. And of course, I had nothing to say to him. Smooth Frannie. Just like usual.

“You okay?”

I nodded mutely.

Not surprisingly I was utterly tongue tied. Especially around a man like him.

Who was I kidding? I’d never even SEEN a man like him.

He didn’t seem to notice though. He just shook his head and grabbed a few flares from the back of his truck, marking out an area for drivers to avoid. Then he held out his hand.

Did he want… a tip?

Again, he just raised his eyebrows.

“Your keys?”