Without further ado, here’s the cover for Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel, coming June 15th!
He was a pig, a jerk, selfish, callous, crude, tactless, prone to outbursts and gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous where you didn’t even attempt to hide the fact that you were staring. I knew the type: His entire life he has coasted on his good looks, artificial charm, and sex appeal. Everyone wanted to be on him or be him. I had been hurt by jerks like him before. He was like those guys but far worse.
I was the unfortunate sucker to be offered a gig I desperately needed as his live-in chef for a Summer in the Hamptons. But I wasn’t like the other girls, the models and socialites who came through the revolving door of his bedroom. I would bite the bullet, take the gig, deal with his sexist comments, his expectation that I would fawn over him, and have no problem letting the door hit my ass on the way out when I was done.
But then something unexpected happened that changed everything and I realized that there maybe more to him than the labels I had affixed to his character. Maybe. But if he really wanted me, it wasn’t going to be easy, not like everything else in his life. He was going to have to work, I was going to make him miserable. He was going to hate wanting me just as much as I hated myself for wanting him back.
Heath Hillabrand: International Supermodel. Womanizer.
Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I sort of, kind of, pushed back. But I’ll admit, it was a weak attempt, because dammit he’s so fucking hot and his kisses taste like sex. If there was a sex-flavored popsicle, it would be called the Heathsicle. Maybe we could do this just this once and get it out of our systems, I thought to myself, pulling him in by his shirt collar as we kissed.
He moved to my neck, kissing it so softly, and it made everything tingle. I cannot believe I am making out with a supermodel. He buried his face into the crook of my neck, kissing softly, but pausing in between, caressing my skin with his warm breaths.
Why is he doing this to me? It’s like he knows I have a weak spot for narcissists.
He ran his right hand up my thigh, pushing my dress up. All I had underneath was a thong, a flimsy shield for a sex machine like Heath Hillabrand. He grabbed my ass firmly, pressing me up against him and when I felt his huge hardness through his jeans, the reality of the situation began to sink in, but not nearly as much as when his fingers slid into me.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.This is the point of no return, get your shit together. You cannot be this fucking weak, Sadie.
“Okay, we have to stop,” I said, pushing him away from me, as a I panted for air. My skin was prickly all-over with sex tingles and my body so wanted to keep on, but that sliver of sober brain I had left would not let me move forward.