Title: Man About Town
Series: Gentlemen, Inc.
Author: Thea Dawson
Genre: Contemporary Rom/Com
๐๐๐๐ฉ? ๐ผ ๐ก๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ก๐ ๐๐ก๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐ก ๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐๐ง ๐๐ช๐ง๐ฉ ๐๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ค๐ฃ๐.
๐ผ๐ก๐๐ญ
How did a working-class girl who dreams of being a writer end up with a job at one of the exclusive banks on the west coast?
Dumb luck, that's how.
I’m pretty sure that any minute now, the Powers That Be will realize I don’t belong here. Before that happens, I need to figure out how to fit in—how to look the part, dress the part, and act the part.
Fortunately, there’s Marcus.
Hiring him to be my date for the office party was easy.
Blackmailing him into helping me revamp my image is actually kind of fun.
But not falling for him?
That might be impossible.
๐๐๐ง๐๐ช๐จ
In an ill-advised moment of rebellion, I turned my back on my old job and my family’s wealth. Now I’m in Los Angeles working four part-time jobs and contemplating my life choices.
I grew up mingling with the rich and mighty, so I’m not worried when Alex hires me to impress her snooty co-workers.
And I’m only a little worried when she blackmails me into being her makeover mentor.
But when I start to fall in love with her?
Hollingsworth’s mouth lowers onto mine in one smooth and completely unexpected moment.
I’m so surprised—by him barging in, by hearing that Cassandra is somewhere in the store, and now by his kiss—that it takes me longer than it should for my mind to catch up to what’s going on.
And by that time, my body is way ahead of the game.
My mind observes that Hollingsworth’s lips are every bit as good as I remember, velvety, sensual, and firm, but my lips have already parted under their command, allowing his tongue to explore their edges before teasing its way inside my mouth. My mind tells me that the bunched-up dress I’m clutching to my chest might be the only thing between me and a big mistake, but my arms just want to get rid of it. My hands want to be empty so that they can explore those broad shoulders and bury themselves in his thick hair. My chest wants to be pressed up against his, with nothing between us.
I wriggle, trying to shove the dress away. Not lifting his mouth from mine, Hollingsworth steps back just enough to take it from me, hanging it by one of its delicate straps on the same hook as the dress he just brought in. I have a moment of regret that I’m wearing a very practical white bra and a pair of ordinary black cotton panties, then all thoughts of my underwear are wiped away when he steps toward me again, pulling our bodies flush against each other, and ohhhhh …
There’s a wall of muscle beneath that soft cotton t-shirt. I tug on the hem and run my hand underneath. Warm skin meets my fingers, smooth and practically vibrating under my touch, and my hand glides over abs and pecs and traps, each sculpted to perfection. I brush a nipple, and he shudders, sending a corresponding thrill through me, then my hand lands in the center of his chest. The wild pounding of his heart reverberates through my hand, through my arm, and into my own chest, becoming part of me.
I’m so surprised—by him barging in, by hearing that Cassandra is somewhere in the store, and now by his kiss—that it takes me longer than it should for my mind to catch up to what’s going on.
And by that time, my body is way ahead of the game.
My mind observes that Hollingsworth’s lips are every bit as good as I remember, velvety, sensual, and firm, but my lips have already parted under their command, allowing his tongue to explore their edges before teasing its way inside my mouth. My mind tells me that the bunched-up dress I’m clutching to my chest might be the only thing between me and a big mistake, but my arms just want to get rid of it. My hands want to be empty so that they can explore those broad shoulders and bury themselves in his thick hair. My chest wants to be pressed up against his, with nothing between us.
I wriggle, trying to shove the dress away. Not lifting his mouth from mine, Hollingsworth steps back just enough to take it from me, hanging it by one of its delicate straps on the same hook as the dress he just brought in. I have a moment of regret that I’m wearing a very practical white bra and a pair of ordinary black cotton panties, then all thoughts of my underwear are wiped away when he steps toward me again, pulling our bodies flush against each other, and ohhhhh …
There’s a wall of muscle beneath that soft cotton t-shirt. I tug on the hem and run my hand underneath. Warm skin meets my fingers, smooth and practically vibrating under my touch, and my hand glides over abs and pecs and traps, each sculpted to perfection. I brush a nipple, and he shudders, sending a corresponding thrill through me, then my hand lands in the center of his chest. The wild pounding of his heart reverberates through my hand, through my arm, and into my own chest, becoming part of me.
Thea Dawson is a world traveler, vegetarian, salsa dancer, film fanatic, and lover of happy endings. In an alternate steampunk universe, she travels by dirigible and gets in sword fights with dashing villains.
In this one, she lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband/salsa partner, three antic children, and an agenda-driven cat. She writes at the intersection of smart, sweet and steamy; her goal with every book is to melt your heart and brighten your day.
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