Today’s stop is for Andie J. Christopher’s Dusk Until Dawn. We will have info about the book and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.
Happy Reading 🙂
Bartender and aspiring painter Maya Pascual loves turning up the heat. And
dumping a vodka-and-karma chaser on the man who broke her heart is
perfect Bronx girl payback. But how can she resist when Miami playboy
prince Javier Hernandez begs to make it up to her. . .
Between his disastrous personal life and his wealthy family’s meddling,
Javi needs to get back on track. The only thing that’s certain is
his passion for Maya. If she’ll just let him show her how sorry he
is, maybe he can move on and start fresh. But one look in her
gorgeous eyes and he knows letting her go will be easier said than
Maya agrees to one dinner with Javi. But as their attraction threatens to
combust, she wonders if a night of no strings, no repeats surrender
is the only way burn off their desire once and for all…. Unless the
light of day reveals it’s impossible to let go.
Javier Hernandez’s dick was bored. The rest of him was bored, too. But the dick part had him worried.
He slouched back on the padded bench in the VIP booth. Yvette and her friend—couldn’t remember her name—danced near the edge of the balcony. They were conspicuous enough that someone among the writhing mass of bodies in the club below would snap a picture with their phone. Before sunrise, they’d be plastered on a gossip blog as a romantic item.
He hadn’t been to a club in almost a year, and right now, he wasn’t sure why he’d ever enjoyed this kind of thing. Since his little sister called him out at a family gathering, his father had kept him on lock down.
The only reason he was off-leash tonight was a business dinner with an out-of-towner who wanted to see the Miami nightlife. His father was quick to nominate him for that job. But not before pushing him out the door with a few words on how to land the client’s cash into their family’s hedge fund.
The potential client was currently passed out in a black car on the way to the airport. His father might not like how he got things done, but the guy was happy, and Javi didn’t doubt that they’d have his business.
He didn’t know why he was still hanging around. For the past year, he’d had his shit together—working out, showing up to work on time, and staying away from women who would garner any publicity for the family. He’d thought that being back in a familiar environment would be a relief. Instead, it felt like pants that didn’t fit—his old life was tight in the crotch, and not in a good way.
Both models shot him suggestive glances, and Yvette beckoned him with one finger and a flutter of her eyelashes. A year ago—fuck, six months ago—he’d have been with them, taking a selfie, and posting it on social media. Thinking that people would be jealous of him—Javier Hernandez, asshole who cavorts with models.
Losing the regard of his family had cured him of the idea that he was living some sort of charmed life. He’d used that image to bolster his wounded ego after his wife left him. He didn’t need that Band-Aid now that the wound had closed up. If he wanted to fuck, he fucked. But he didn’t make a big production of it. He didn’t make a point to be photographed with models, strippers, or club girls. He’d even closed down his Instagram account. There wasn’t any point. All of those women had made him feel precisely nothing.
Javi drained his vodka soda and reached for the half-full bottle. He’d made some bad life choices if the sight of two underwear models grinding on each other inspired the need for a drink instead of a boner.
There might be some sort of temporary disturbance in the Force, or maybe he was permanently out of the game. Living like a careless fuckboy hadn’t made him feel alive, it had deadened everything inside him that his marriage hadn’t killed.
The last year of living like a monk with benefits hadn’t been all bad. Gradually, he’d started repairing his relationships and noticing the people around him again.
Maybe he just needed more alcohol to get in the spirit of things. He sent a text to the manager, telling him to send up a bottle of Dom for the girls along with more vodka for the other people they’d invited to join them.
He flinched when Yvette sauntered over and straddled his hips. Her black dress crept up until he could see that she wasn’t wearing panties. They were concealed by the table, so she wasn’t about to flash anyone. But people would see them and make assumptions.
He used to like this club because of the private alcoves where he could indulge in any sort of vice he desired. That way he never had to kick anyone out of his condo in the light of day.
Yvette rolled her sinewy body against him and her friend sat next to him, her fingers grazed the front of his pants on their way to making this whole scene too X-rated for the birthday party at the next VIP table.
He moved Yvette off his lap. She didn’t miss a beat and kissed her friend. Javi ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look slightly less debauched.
He should have gone home when the potential client left. But he hated being alone.
Coming out with Yvette and company hadn’t fixed that. Even in a crowded club with two women making it clear that they expected to fuck him, he felt empty inside. He finished another drink and considered pouring another one. He bought the bottle, why not drink it dry and bang two models? That’s what he’d always done before.
Javi shook his head and poured a shot. The bottle empty, he tapped his fingers on the table, willing his order to show up faster.
He needed to fuck. And soon. When he was inside someone else, he could stop thinking about her and how badly he’d messed up. For a few minutes, sometimes a few hours, he could forget what a shit he was. His head was crowded with regrets and voices from the past that he needed to stay silent.
But he just wasn’t interested in any of his present options.
He considered Yvette and her friend—he remembered now, Lauren— for a long second before fully abandoning the idea of leaving with them. He didn’t need to wake up the next morning with a dry mouth and two people who didn’t care about him. His hiatus from fuckery was about to become permanent.
Right then, he decided to settle up the bill and leave.
“Yvette, querida.” Her face snapped toward him immediately at the Spanish endearment as Lauren nibbled on her ear. “I’m going to get out of here.” When Yvette reached for her purse, he stopped her with a hand.
“Stay here and have fun. I ordered you some treats. Enjoy.”
“Is something wrong?” She moved Lauren’s face away from her neck, and the other woman smiled a lazy, sexy grin. God, what was wrong with him? Fucking those two would make any sane, straight man happy. “Do you want just me?”
Yvette moved to stand, and Lauren’s beautiful face twisted into a grimace. His stomach growled, and he thought of his way out. “No, I’m not feeling well.” He patted his belly. Maybe he’d stop for some food on the way home. He winked at the two women and they both smiled at him. “I’ll call you.”
He wouldn’t be calling either of them, but the lie would get him out of there faster.
The two women started kissing again; he hadn’t spoiled their fun. Almost any other man on the planet would be falling all over himself to join them, but he’d been there and it didn’t do anything for him anymore. Stuck in his emo thought loop, he didn’t register that the waitress approaching wasn’t just any waitress until she was right in front of him. It was her. Maya Pascual. Maybe he hadn’t wanted a threesome with two models because he’d somehow sensed her, smelled her on the air, and she’d sucked his desire for anyone else out of the room without him even knowing it.
He didn’t know how to process her being here, working here. The last he’d heard, she was back in New York, painting. But it was her in front of him like a mirage.
She stopped in her tracks as if she couldn’t quite believe it was him either. One side of her mouth curled up in a smile, the kind she used to dole out when she was about to say something sarcastic and wildly inappropriate. Then, she looked over at Yvette and Lauren. Her gorgeous face twisted into a mask of disgust. She looked as though she’d smelled something bad, but that didn’t keep her from walking closer to him.
He opened his mouth to explain what she would certainly pillory him for before she took a bottle of Ciroc on her tray, thumbed off the cork, and started pouring it on him in long stripes until the bottle was empty.
The cold liquid against his face was a shock, but it wasn’t enough to make him back up or move out of the way. Not when he was close enough to smell her again. He wondered if it was the same. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted to, and he actively fought the urge to bury his face in the skin at her neck.
“I should light you on fire, cabrón.” The glint of rage in Maya’s eyes backed up the suggestion that she turn him into a human candle. Jesus, she was hot when she was angry. Feeling her against him burned. His head was all messed up, but his dick reacted like it always had when Maya was around. It knew where it wanted to be. More than anything.
Andie J. Christopher writes edgy, funny, sexy contemporary romance. She
grew up in a family of voracious readers, and picked up her first
Harlequin romance novel at age twelve when she’d finished reading
everything else in her grandmother’s house. It was love at first
read. It wasn’t too long before she started writing my own
stories—her first heroine drank Campari and wore a lot of Esprit.
Andie holds a bachelor’s degree from the University of Notre Dame in
economics and art history (summa cum laude), and a JD from Stanford
Law School. She lives in Washington, DC, with a very funny French
Bulldog named Gus.
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