New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
Lexi
Ryan
Adult
Contemporary Romance
Release:
December 22, 2014
Amazon
| Barnes and Noble | iTunes
He talks dirty to me, but I don’t know his name.
He wants to tie me up, but I don’t know his face.
He turns me on, but I couldn’t point him out in a
crowd.
I’ve fallen for an anonymous stranger, and tonight the
anonymity ends. Tonight I want more than typed secrets and texted promises. I
want something reckless. Heat. Passion. The thrill of being entirely possessed.
Because I suspect this anonymous stranger isn’t a
stranger at all.
Lizzy Thompson met riverrat69 online through Something
Real, a service promising to deliver meaningful relationships by forbidding its
users to share names or photos until they’ve reached a certain benchmark. She
was looking for love. He was researching an investment. They hit it off. Talked
and flirted, hid behind screen names and cartoon avatars.
Now they’re breaking the rules and meeting in person.
But Liz is prepared. She’s picked up hints and followed clues.
She’s ninety-percent convinced she’s discovered the
identity of her dirty-talking online friend.
She wonders if her ex-lover Sam Bradshaw knows her identity
too.
When she rolls the dice on one reckless night, her
chance at something real could crumble.
Excerpt
from Something Reckless
“You look amazing in this dress. I’ve been pretending
all night that there’s something I want to do more than get you out of it.”
“What would you do with me if you got so lucky?”
“I’d keep you up all night, for starters.” He slides a
hand into my hair and traces the side of my neck with his thumb. His groan
rumbles through me. “Tell me what you came here for.”
I
thought that was pretty clear. “I’m wearing extremely
slutty underwear. What do you think?”
His nostrils flare and his breathing goes thready. “I
think I’m going to have to up my game, because now I want to see it.”
I have to bite back a smile. “Good,” I say. My heart
thumps out a beat, probably Morse code for please
and thank you.
“How slutty is this underwear of yours?”
I lick my lips. “Oh, it’s damn near whorish.”
“Let me see it, Liz.”
I lift my chin and prop my hands on my hips.
“Seriously? That’s all the seduction I get? Let
me see it?”
He steps closer until I have to crane my neck to look
at him, and holy hell he smells good. “What game are we playing here, Rowdy?”
he murmurs against my ear. “Is this the one where we pretend we don’t want each
other and sleep alone . . .” His fingers skim down my shoulder and my eyes
float closed. “Or is it the one where I make you come so hard you scream my
name and tomorrow you act like you want nothing to do with me?”
“Are those my only choices?” I ask, but I keep my eyes
closed, focusing on the feel of his rough fingers dancing across my skin. The
truth is, I don’t want to play either game. I’m done playing games when it
comes to Sam. I’m done pretending I don’t want him when I do, and I’m done
pretending our annual one-night stand is enough for me.
“Tell me you aren’t going to run away in the morning.
Promise me you won’t shut me out again.”
I don’t know what that means, and I’m too scared to
analyze it. My eyes are still closed when he takes my chin in his fingers and
tilts my face up to his, still closed when he brushes his lips over mine and
when I open under him because I’m helpless to this man’s kiss.
“Promise me,” he repeats.
“I won’t run away.” Then I unzip my dress and let it
fall to the floor in a puddle, and my boldness is rewarded. Sam’s lips part and
his breath escapes him in a rush.
He steps back and takes me in. The bra is strapless,
black lace demi-cups that lift my breasts until they threaten to spill out. The
panties—what there is of them—are a thong in matching black lace. Their fine
lace straps sit in a sharp V high on
my hipbones.
A ringlet of hair escaped my up-do, and he takes it
between his fingers and twirls it around. I deserve a medal for not melting
right here at his feet.
He hooks his index finger under the black bow between
my bra cups. “Did you wear this for me?” His voice is a husky whisper that I
can’t deny.
“Yes.”
His fingers skim my belly, trace over my hip,
following the lace of my thong behind me to where the straps meet at the small
of my back. My breath catches as he takes the fabric path over the curve of my
tailbone and down, his fingers bringing every nerve ending to life as they
pass. Electric pleasure whips through me.
“Fourteen months since I’ve touched you,” he says.
“Fourteen months since I’ve gotten to hear the way you breathe when you’re
turned on, since I’ve gotten to listen to you scream as I make you come. Tell
me you haven’t thought about it.”
“I’d be lying.”
“Don’t lie,” he says, eyes hot and intense. “Just tell
me you want me.”
Copyright Lexi Ryan, 2014
Adult Contemporary
Romance
FREE introductory
novella to the SOMETHING RECKLESS
“You
need a good guy. A long-term guy. One who does dates and romance and emotional
strings…I’m just an asshole who wants to tie you up, make you come, and walk
away.”
Samuel
Bradshaw is a man with a reputation—the kind of reputation that should have me
running the other way. Instead, it has me searching for the shortest distance
to his bed. I won’t be the starry-eyed girl who thinks she can change a man
like Sam, and despite what he thinks, forever is not what I need. I need the
things he makes me feel, the way he turns me on, and the promise of pleasure in
his eyes. This promises to be SOMETHING WILD.
About
the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author Lexi Ryan’s
novels have been described as intense, emotional, and wickedly sexy. A former
college professor, she now writes full-time from her home in Indiana, where she
lives with her husband, two children, and a neurotic dog. Find her on Facebook
or Twitter to chat about books, TV, and her children’s latest antics.
CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn't pick up she's at the well hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master's degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
She's frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn't ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
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