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About the author:
Stephanie Brother writes scintillating stories with bad boys and stepbrothers as their main romantic focus. She’s always been curious about complicated relationships, and this is her way of exploring the situations that bring couples together and threaten to keep them apart. As she writes her way to her dream job, Ms. Brother hopes that her readers will enjoy the full emotional and romantic experience as much as she’s enjoyed writing them.
What inspired you to write your book?
Who doesn’t love a hot rockstar?
Here is a short sample from the book:
My story begins like all the truly classic romances. It’s Saturday night and I’m being dragged by my overbearing roommate to a dive bar crammed full of obnoxiously drunk losers.
Thrilling, right? I really should be studying, but Megan is nothing if not persistent. So I squeezed into a short skirt and took time to put on makeup, though now I wish I hadn’t bothered.
It’s not very late when we get there, but the crowd already seems half wasted. People are yelling, jostling for space at the bar; it feels like a fight could break out any moment. I’m not looking for romance, but if I was in the market for a guy this is the last place I’d choose.
I pull Megan close and yell into her ear, “This is where you hang out on the weekends?”
“Stay right here,” she yells back. “I’ll get us some drinks!”
She starts pushing her way through the crowd. I stay near the wall, trying to hold onto a little personal space. There’s a band playing on a small stage on the other side of the room, though no one’s paying them much attention. I listen for a few moments and realize everyone else is right to ignore them.
Maybe I can get away with leaving after one drink … but that won’t satisfy Megan. She thinks I’m missing out on the full college experience. Honestly, with all the time I’ve been spending at the library, this rowdy place is a shock to my system. If this is the full college experience, I’m okay with being a little bit deprived.
I don’t expect the hand on my shoulder. Megan’s back already?
I turn, and instead of my roommate I’m faced with a stunning man. Dark hair, sexy as hell, with eyes that I can’t look away from. I blink, not certain my imagination hasn’t conjured him up. He’s not much taller than me, but broad and solid — and standing squarely inside my personal space.
Even though he has my attention — boy, does he have it — he doesn’t move his hand from my arm. “Do you need a drink?” he asks. He’s holding a beer bottle, and I can smell it on his breath when he leans close to make himself heard.
I shake my head and give him a half smile to thank him for his offer. His dark eyes penetrate mine and I’m mesmerized, unable to look away.
He doesn’t return my smile. I’m not even sure he blinks. And he’s still touching my shoulder.
“Are you here alone?” He leans in closer still, and I finally manage to break eye contact. Aside from his undeniably beautiful face, he’s really not my type. His hair is messy, his jeans are torn, and his shirt is open halfway down his chest.
I shake my head, then add, “With a friend.” I turn my head to look at his hand, which hasn’t moved, the heat of him burning through the thin fabric of my sleeve. I would typically be telling a guy to get his hands off me at this point, but for some reason the words don’t come out of my mouth.
A tiny corner of my brain wonders what’s going on. I’m not the kind of girl guys hit on, usually. So what is this stud doing paying attention to me?
He follows the direction of my gaze and one corner of his mouth turns up. A subtle lift of an eyebrow adds to his smirk as his hand leaves my shoulder to reach for my hair. He tangles it slowly around his finger, pulls gently, then rests his hand against my arm again, fingers still playing with the lock of hair he’s claimed as his. He steps in closer, his foot against mine, our hips nearly touching. A shiver runs down my back as my whole body seems to come to attention.
His actions are entirely inappropriate, but instead of telling him to get lost, I’m staring at his lips, noticing how thick they are, how they’re curled into a slight smile. It’s clear that he knows what kind of effect he’s having on me, and his cocky expression pisses me off. But it also turns me on. I can’t ever remember having a reaction like this to someone I’d just met. Or really anyone, ever. Whatever reaction he’s sparking in me, I’m not sure I like it.
He speaks again, but at the same time the singer on stage starts to wail, shredding his vocal chords to no good effect. I shrug my shoulders and touch my ear, to let him know I can’t hear him.
He releases my hair and brings his mouth against my ear. I feel his warm breath on my skin when he speaks. “Follow me.”
And with no apparent decision on my part, as though the logic centers of my brain have been completely switched off and I’m being controlled by other powers in my body, I follow him.