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About the author:
Kitty Barstow is a lover of books, rescue dogs, and vanilla ice cream…but that's the only vanilla thing about her. She writes sexy stories by day and works as bartender extraordinaire at nights. Many of her stories are inspired by the hijinx at the bars she's worked. From steamy to panty-melting, she's got stories for everyone with plenty of gorgeous AF heroes and sassy heroines!
What inspired you to write your book?
I love sexy romances that can be devoured in 90 minutes or less.
Here is a short sample from the book:
I headed into Naughty Nights, the premier club in Rockville. My expectations weren't high, so I was blown away by how trendy it was for a city this size. Hell, it could have passed for a club in New York with its two levels, VIP section, velvet couches, and plenty of pretty girls. The bouncer shot me a strange look as he nodded for me to go in. Can’t blame him. How many dudes wore a tux to a dance club? Why the fuck had Chad wanted his groomsman in tuxedos? They didn’t even wear tuxes at the royal wedding for God’s sake.
The bride, Gretchen, had grown up in Rockville and insisted her wedding be here. I wasn’t a huge fan of traveling to this small city. Chad was loaded. Hell, we both were having gotten into the tech craze early with our own proprietary software that almost all the social media sites used.
He could’ve gotten married in France or on top of fucking Everest if he wanted to. But it was their wedding. They wanted something intimate and romantic, so they married at the country club on Rock Basin lake.
I decided to skip out after my best man duties and have a few drinks on my own. Despite Gretchen’s pleas to set me up with one of her friends, I’d chosen to go stag. You didn’t bring a date to a wedding unless you were really into her. I’d learned long ago, women saw themselves walking down the aisle and inserted their dates as the groom. No, thank you. But I was yearning for some comfort and could really use a woman to warm my bed. This seemed like the best bet in town to find such company.
As happy as I was for Chad, I had to get out of there, especially when I was being eyed by every girl in the room. Page six had just named me the hottest bachelor of the year. There was no predator as dangerous as a single woman at a wedding. A casual dance or a flirty comment was easily mistaken as a promise of a future. I had no interest in any of it.
Damn, that article. No matter how low of a profile I kept I’d managed to earn a few stalkers. I’d kept a low profile until now. I was a nerd who loved to code. Now, I was being touted as a sexy, single billionaire, whatever the fuck that meant. At first, I’d enjoyed my new celebrity status, but what I wouldn’t give to be in a quiet room with a laptop and pages of code trying to solve a problem. That was where I was most comfortable.
I made a beeline for the bar. There was one empty stool. The place was crowded. A band played some heavy club music. Waitresses took orders and patrons tossed back drinks as if prohibition might be reenacted at any time. This place probably made bank. I should look into investing.
“Hi there,” a girl said wedging herself beside me. She was a cute brunette with a buxom body.
“Would you like to go somewhere quiet? They have these couches upstairs.”
Buxom and brazen. It was an invitation I would have accepted, except it felt a little forced and rushed. She didn’t even ask me my name. She batted her heavy eyelashes so hard I thought she might just fly away. “We can have some fun, Mr. Garmo.”
Fuck. She recognized me. Some stupid journalist had coined the term Garmo geek as in geeky is the new sexy. And I was Gabe Garmo, the geeky Greek billionaire. Damn, the letter G and alliteration.
The bartender placed a martini glass in front of me. Except, it wasn’t a martini. Instead of an olive there was a maraschino cherry.
“This isn’t mine,” I said. “I haven’t ordered yet.”
The bartender jerked his shoulder to the opposite end of the long bar. “It’s from her.”
She had long dark hair I'd wager felt like silk and wide-set brown eyes. A man could get lost in those eyes for a few hours. Her skin was a lovely dark tan.
I lifted up my drink toward her and mouthed thank you. She lifted up her own martini glass and mouthed you’re welcome. Her mouth was so sensual the gesture almost seemed dirty. Brazen and sexy, I liked that. The drink tastes of gin and dry vermouth, but there was something else too. As experienced as I was with alcoholic beverages there was something distinct and unique I could not name.
“Hey there,” Another girl said coming beside me. “New in town?”
It was rude, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the brazen woman across the room. “I’m sorry. Excuse me.”
I headed toward her, curious and turned on at the same time. Had a girl ever bought me a drink? That was usually my move. Luckily, the seat beside her was now vacant.
“Thank you for the drink,” I said. Yes, that was a great opening line. Very original.
“You looked like you needed rescuing.”
“That’s why you did it? Pity?”
She tilted her head, a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes. "Pity isn't the word I’d use. Do you like the drink?”
“I do. What is it?”
“It’s called a Tuxedo.”
I laughed. “Fitting.”
“I thought so.”
“May I join you?”
She gestured to the empty stool beside her.
Her black dress was cut short and backless. She had a fantastic back. I could tell if she laid flat, her lower back would produce the nicest dip. The small of a woman’s back was the sexiest feature in my opinion. I wanted to sip champagne from that dip. I wasn’t the only one checking someone out though. Thankfully.
She gave me an up and down look, her eyes lingering on my waist. “Like what you see?” I silently thanked my trainer, for making me train so hard for the triathlon next month.
She nodded. “Nice…cummerbund.”
I laughed, not expecting that answer. I point to the dumbass part of the tux, not even sure what its purpose is. “What? This old thing. It’s not even my best cummerbund.”
“Hard to believe.” She took a long sip of her drink. She could have been a walking advertisement for it. It would sure as hell make me spend my money.
“I’m Gabe,” I said.
“Layla,” she said. “Like the song.”
I leaned in closer. “I have a feeling you’re not like anything.”
Her cheeks colored. Her smile softened her, but it disappeared all too quickly. She gestured to my tuxedo.
“So, are you a secret agent?”
“If I told you it wouldn’t be all that secret, right?”
“True, but why else parade around in a tux?”
“I was the best man at my best friend’s wedding. I snuck out early.”
“Prefer drinking alone?”
“Not at all, but single women at weddings can be…well, they tend to give you that look, you know?”
“Afraid someone will make an honest man out of you?”
“I’m always honest…so yes.”