Objects of Attraction Series by Penelope Bloom (1-3)
Requirements: ePUB Reader, 1.1 MB
Overview: I love to write steamy, dark bad boy romance novels full of possessive men and the feisty women who try and fail to resist them. Feint of heart, beware.
Genre: Romance
1. His Banana – My new boss likes rules, but there’s one nobody dares to break…
No touching his banana.
Seriously. The guy is like a potassium addict.
Of course, I touched it.
If you want to get technical, I actually put it in my mouth.
I chewed it up, too… I even swallowed.
I know. Bad, bad, girl.
Then I saw him, and believe it or not, choking on a guy’s banana does not make the best first impression.
I should backtrack a little here. Before I ever touched a billionaire’s banana, I got my first real assignment as a business reporter. This wasn’t the same old bottom-of-the-barrel assignment I always got. I wasn’t going to interview a garbage man about his favorite routes or write a piece on how picking up dog poop from people’s yards is the next big thing.
Nope. None of the above, thank you very much.
This was my big break. My chance to prove I wasn’t a bumbling, clumsy, accident-prone walking disaster. I was infiltrating Galleon Enterprises to follow up on suspicions of corruption.
Cue the James Bond music.
I could do this. All I had to do was land the position as an intern and nail my interview with Bruce Chamberson.
Forget the fact that he looked like somebody carved him out of liquid female desire, then sprinkled on some "makes men question their sexuality" for good measure. I needed to make this work. No accidents. No disasters. No clumsiness. All I needed to do was hold it together for less than an hour.
Fast forward to the conference room before the interview, and that’s where you would find me with a banana in my hand. A banana that literally had his name on it in big, black sharpie. It was a few seconds later when he walked in and caught me yellow-handed. A few seconds after that was when he hired me.
Yeah. I know. It didn’t seem like a good sign to me, either.
2. Her Cherry – How’d I meet her?
Well, a gentleman never brags, Thankfully, I’m no gentleman.First, I paid for her cherry (pie, but that’s not the point),Next, I deflowered her. After that? I left my business card and walked out like I owned the place. Yeah, you could say we hit it off.
Hailey
How did I meet William?He walked into my bakery, bought a cherry pie, stole a vase of flowers—I still have no idea what he wanted with them—and left his business card. Before I say what I did with the business card, I should clarify something:William couldn’t have walked into my life at a worse time.My bakery was failing. My creepy ex refused to leave me alone. Oh, and I was a twenty-five-year-old virgin, a fact my friends refused to stop hassling me about. Fixing my little virginity problem with William would be like swatting a fly with a hammer. Overkill, but the best kind. William was stupid hot, the kind of hot that makes women do stupid things. The kind of hot that made me think crazy things. Like thinking the fly wouldn’t even mind getting hammered by William and his washboard abs. That makes two of us.So I called him. Maybe it was against my better judgment. Maybe I was stepping into a disaster waiting to happen.I knew I was in trouble when he chuckled in that deep, sexy voice of his over the phone and said, “I’m still craving your cherry. Do you deliver?”
3. His Treat – Having a hot boss isn’t complicated or confusing at all,
Said no one ever…
But all I have to do is resist for a few months.
Come January, I’m flying to Paris to chase my dream of being an artist,
Too bad I can’t have my treat and eat it, too.
I forgot to mention… My hot boss was also my high school crush.
Sort of.
First, I wanted to crush him with gooey affection.
In the end, I just plain wanted to crush him. Now he’s back, and he might as well have “do not touch” printed on his chest.
One tiny question: would it count if I didn’t use my hands?
Let me answer my own question. Yes, Emily, you raging horndog, it counts. Besides, my dream is practically waiting for me like a perfectly wrapped, shiny little package if I can just behave. I’d be an absolute idiot to risk that, and I have a long, proud history of not being an idiot to protect.
Unless it’s kind of like when you do really well in class all semester so you can afford to flunk a test at the end. Three months is a long time, and if he’s the one giving me the big, fat, dirty “F”, it does add a little dose of temptation to the equation.
But all I have to do is one quick job for him. A few posters and a few props for a big Halloween party that he’s hosting.
Then I just walk away from his dreamboat eyes and perfect body, grab a plane, and forget about all the beautiful children we could’ve squeezed inside our white picket fence.
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