Read Cuffed by His Charm Stacey Kennedy
Cuffed by His Charm
A Dirty Piffling Secrets Novel
Nether the Cover
An extract from Cuffed by His Charm
Chapter 1
Gabe
Ladies, whips and chains better be your matter if Gabe O'Keefe is your current beat out. Our sources tell united states that not but is he a big player at Afterglow—he's the sex club's possessor!
Years I'd spent ensuring my sex life stayed out of the tabloids. I'd been conscientious, cautious, and camouflaged. Now not simply is my sex life detailed in the grocery store tabloid Gotcha! only the world besides knows that I ain a sex social club.
The tabloid's sudden interest in me had been a long time coming. It all began with an article in Gotcha! a little over a month ago, and as each successive week ticked by, tabloid reporter Penelope Burke did her all-time to rip autonomously the lives of my longtime friends. Get-go, the magazine attacked my Harvard roommate, billionaire real estate mogul Micah Holt, printing stories that held a ring of truth to them. Next, the magazine focused on business-savvy billionaire Darius Bennett and printed stories detailing private conversations we'd had at my bar, O'Keefe's Pub. That'due south when we realized that someone had planted a recording device in the ane place nosotros'd idea nosotros were safe. Only that wasn't the end of our problem with the tabloid. In fact, things but got worse.
When Gotcha! turned the spotlight onto Ryder Blackwood, owner of Blackwood Security, a private security detail company, he dug deep into who could be our mole. When he discovered the truth, it was fifty-fifty worse than anyone had imagined. What nosotros learned was that the governor of California, Tobias Harrington, was trying to bury—literally—one of Ryder's clients, Senator Gary Winters. Tobias was using the bugs in my pub to get intel from Ryder's private conversations. But the greedy a-holes who planted those bugs weren't only taking money from the governor. They were also selling the things they'd heard on the recordings to a trash magazine. And the person whose betrayal ran that deep is the but person on my listen today.
I grit my teeth against the rage burning inside and shift the gears of my MV Agusta F4 sports bike, the engine roaring beneath me; the ability is a much-needed condolement as the control I've kept on my life spins away from me. Determined to become that control back, I tear through the streets of San Francisco, weaving my bike in and out of traffic. Concluding night I slept a total of 2 hours, and this forenoon I'd spent hours at the gym, trying to slice together my side by side steps.
An hour agone, on this gloomy Friday morning time, a plan solidified.
I breeze through the T-intersection, and then I stop at the curb in front end of the original location of what is now my chain of Irish gaelic pubs beyond North America. Pushing out the kickstand of my bike, I slide my leg over the seat every bit I remove my helmet. To the right is an alleyway that leads to the back lot where my Audi is parked, and where at that place are stairs that lead to my apartment to a higher place the pub. In that location'due south a lot on my listen as I walk effectually my cycle then enter my pub.
The most important thought is finally putting this tabloid shitshow backside me and moving on with life. Usually, I don't listen a little attention. I enjoy the way women openly gawk at me. What I don't like is people knowing about my private life and ripping it apart as if it's something to (a) talk about around the water cooler and (b) laugh at. Some things are private, and who I screw and how I screw them are most definitely in that category.
The pub is empty as the door shuts behind me, not that I'g surprised. Information technology'south ten o'clock in the morning, and we don't open for another two hours. Wood-paneled walls environment me, with the bar off to the right and tables scattered throughout. In that location's a skilful reason I'm hither today, and that reason is standing behind the bar in a pair of skinny jeans and a tight blackness T-shirt with O'Keefe'south burgundy Celtic knot logo across her great pair of boobs.
McKenna Archer.
My body reacts instantly to her nearness, swelling my dick and kicking up my middle charge per unit. She's everything I've ever wanted in a adult female and more. She'due south across beautiful, with long blond hair, captivating amber optics, and she's got just the right corporeality of curves to remind me how much I hunger for her. Though if she simply had her looks I could have easily walked away from her, just she'southward so much more than a pretty face. She's clever and witty and stiff when she needs to be, just she's soft the residuum of the fourth dimension, making me yearn to protect her.
For the entire year that she's worked for me, I've battled against breaking my ane rule: Don't date employees. In fact, the push-and-pull game between u.s.a. has built so heavily over the by three months that, before this tabloid shit happened, I was days away from helping her find employment elsewhere so we could finally engagement. Considering if I'grand sure almost anything in my life, it's how I feel about this woman before me.
Source: http://www.randomhousebooks.com/books/247672/
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