College drop-out, Roxy Cumberland, moved to New York with dreams of becoming an actress, but her dwindling bank account is quickly putting the kibosh on that fantasy. To make some quick cash, she signs up to perform singing telegrams. Her first customer is a gorgeous, cocky Manhattan trust-funder if she ever laid eyes on one. And what could be more humiliating than singing an ode to his junk, courtesy of his last one night stand? Maybe the fact that she’s dressed in a giant, pink bunny costume...
After a night out to celebrate winning his last case, lawyer Louis McNally II isn’t prepared for the pounding in his head or the rabbit serenading him from the front door. But the sassy wit and sexy voice of the girl behind the mask intrigues him, and one look at her stunning face—followed by a mind-blowing kiss against his doorjamb—leaves Louis wanting more.
Roxy doesn’t need a spoiled rich boy who’s had everything in life handed to him on a Tiffany platter. But there’s more to Louis than his sexy surface and he’s determined to make Roxy see it...even if it means chasing her all over NYC.
Excerpt
Today’s
weather forecast: imminent shitstorms across the Tri-State area.
Roxy
Cumberland’s footsteps echoed off the smooth, cream-colored walls of the
hallway, high heels clicking along the polished marble. When she caught her
reflection in the pristine window overlooking Stanton Street, she winced. This
pink bunny costume wasn’t doing shit for her skin tone. A withering sigh
escaped her as she tugged the plastic mask back into place.
Singing
telegrams still existed. Who knew? She’d actually laughed upon seeing the tiny
advertisement in the Village Voice’s
Help Wanted section, but
curiosity had led her to dial the number. Her laughter had stopped abruptly
when she’d heard exactly how much people were willing to pay in exchange for
her humiliation. So here she was, one day later, preparing to sing in front of
a perfect stranger for a cut of sixty bucks.
Sixty
bucks might not sound like much, but when your roommate has just booted you
onto your ass for failure to come through on rent—again—leaving you no place to
live, and your checking account is gasping for oxygen, pink bunnies do what
pink bunnies must. At least her round, fluffy tail would cushion her fall when
her ass hit the sidewalk.
See? She’d already found a silver lining. Maybe the
shitstorm would hold.
Or not.
Over the last week, she’d been on thirteen auditions, trudging on blistered feet
between callbacks and will-definitely-never-call-backs, smiling and reciting
lines for bored production executives. Toothpaste commercials, walk-on rolls
for daytime soaps…hell, she’d even auditioned to play a mother in a diaper rash
ad. They’d all but laughed her twenty-one-year-old ass out of the building.
Too bad
they couldn’t touch her. Nothing and nobody could. She was from New fucking
Jersey.
While
Roxy usually kept that fact to herself, she couldn’t help but admit that Jersey
had prepared her for this constant rejection. It had given her the brass balls
to say “their loss” every
single time someone in a business suit decided her acting skills weren’t good
enough. That she wasn’t good
enough. One word kept her going, kept her boarding the subway to another
audition. Someday. Someday she would look back at this pre-stardom
experience and be grateful for it. She’d cozy up to Ryan Seacrest on the red
carpet and have a damn good story to tell. Although she might just leave out
the pink bunny suit.
Unfortunately,
on days like today, when a shitstorm cloud was riding low above her head,
following her everywhere she went, someday seemed a long way off. Sixty
dollars couldn’t plug the hole in the shitcloud, it could only keep her eating
properly for the next week. As far as her living situation went, she’d figure
something out. If it meant taking the bus to Jersey and sneaking into her old
bedroom for the night, she’d bite the bullet. The next morning, she’d slip her
feet back into her heels and get back to pounding the pavement, her parents
never being the wiser.
Through
the eyeholes of the bunny mask, Roxy glanced down at the piece of paper in her
hand. Apartment 4D. Based on the song she’d memorized on the way here and the
swank interior of the building, she knew the type who would answer the door.
Some too-rich, middle-aged douchebag who was so bored with his life that he
needed to be entertained with novelties like singing bunny rabbits. He’d close
the door when she finished, text his main squeeze some emoticon-heavy thank-you,
and forget all about this little diversion on his way to play indoor tennis.
Roxy’s
gaze tracked down lower on the note in her hand, and she felt an uncomfortable
kick of unease in her belly. She’d met her new boss at a tiny office in
Alphabet City, surprised to find a dude only slightly older than herself
running the operation. Always suspicious, she’d asked him how he kept the place
afloat. There couldn’t be that high a demand for singing telegrams, right?
He’d laughed, explaining that singing bunnies only accounted for a tenth of
their income. The rest came in the form of strip-o-grams. She’d done her
best to appear flattered when he’d told her she’d be perfect for it.
Would
she go that far? Taking her clothes off for strangers paid a damn sight more
than sixty bucks. It would be so easy for her to take that leap. As an actress,
she had the ability to detach herself and become someone else. Being the object
of attention didn’t bother her; it was what she’d trained herself for. That
kind of income would guarantee her a place to live, allow her to continue
auditioning without worrying about her next meal. So why the hesitation?
She ran
a thumb over the rates young-dude-boss had jotted down on the slip of paper.
Two hundred dollars for each ten-minute performance. God, the security
she would feel with that kind of money. And yet, something told her that once
she took that step, once she started taking off her clothes, she would never
stop. It would become a necessity instead of a temporary patch-up of her
shitstorm cloud.
Think
about it later. When you’re not dressed like the fucking Trix Rabbit. Roxy
took a deep, fortifying breath, the same one she took before every audition.
She wrapped her steady fingers around the brass door knocker and rapped it
against the wood twice. A frown marred her forehead when she heard a miserable
groan come from inside the apartment. It sounded like a young groan.
Maybe the douchebag had a son? Oh, cool. She
definitely wanted to do this in front of someone in her age group. Perfect.
Her
sarcastic thought bubble burst over her head when the door swung open,
revealing a guy. A hot-as-hell guy. A naked-except-for-unbuttoned-jeans guy.
Being the shameless hussy she was, her gaze immediately dipped to his happy
trail, although, on this guy, it really should have been called a rapture path.
It started just beneath his belly button, which sat at the bottom of
beautifully defined ab muscles. But they weren’t the kind of abs honed from
hours in the gym. No, they were natural,
I-do-sit-ups-when-I-damn-well-feel-like-it abs. Approachable abs. The kind you
could either lick or snuggle up against, depending on your mood.
Roxy
lassoed her rapidly dwindling focus and yanked it higher until she met his
eyes. Big mistake. The abs were child’s play compared to the face. Stubbled
jaw. Bed head. Big, Hershey-colored eyes outlined by dark, black lashes. His
fists were planted on either side of the door frame, giving her a front-row
seat to watch his chest and arms flex. A lesser woman would have applauded. As
it was, Roxy was painfully aware of her bunny-costumed status, and even that
came in second place to the fact that Approachable Abs was so stinking rich
that he could afford to be nursing a hangover at eleven in the morning. On a
Thursday.
He
dragged a hand through his unkempt black hair. “Am I still drunk, or are you
dressed like a rabbit?”
His
voice was rough from sleep. Probably not his usual voice. That had to be the reason
her tummy did a backflip. “I’m dressed like a rabbit.”
“Okay.”
He tilted his head. “Should I be drunk for this?”
“If
anyone should be drunk for this, it’s me.”
“Good
point.” He jerked his thumb back toward his dark apartment. “I think there’s
some tequila left—”
“You
know what?” This is my life right now. How did I get here? “I think I’m
all set.”
He
nodded once, as if out of respect for her decision. “So what now?”
“Are
you…” She consulted her slip of paper through the round eyeholes. “Louis
McNally?”
“Yeah.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and considered her. “I was named after my
grandfather. So, technically, I’m Louis McNally the Second. How’s that for
fancy?”
“Why
are you telling me this?”
“Just
making small talk.”
“Is
this a typical Thursday exploit for you? Get a lot of forest creatures on your
doorstep?”
“You’d
be the first.”
“Well,
then. Call me Pink Bunny the First. How’s that for fancy?” When he laughed, she
was grateful for the mask that hid her unexpected smile. Honestly, this
situation was getting more ridiculous by the minute. She definitely didn’t have
time for this. At one o’clock she was auditioning for a small theater company’s
ironic production of Lassie. Priorities,
Roxy.
“You sound
cute.” He squinted at her, as if attempting to see through the plastic mask.
“You cute under there, bunny?”
“Being
that your one-night stand from last night sent me here to sing for you, I don’t
know if that matters,” she answered sweetly.
“Cute
girls trump all.” One dark eyebrow rose. “What was that about singing?”
Roxy
cleared her throat, letting the horrifically stupid lyrics imprint on her
brain. Lyrics she hadn’t written, thanks God. The sooner she got this over
with, the sooner she could get out of the suffocating costume and forget this
ever happened. Until tomorrow. When she was scheduled to dress like a giant
bumble bee. For fuck sake.
Make
every performance count. Channeling Liza Minnelli, she cocked
one hip and raised the opposite hand.
To my
hot shot honey bunny
Last
night we went places and had some fun-ny
You
brought me home and we skipped the small talk
Now I’m
daydreaming about your perfect—
“Stop.”
Louis shook his head slowly. “Jesus, please, make it stop.”
Roxy
let her hand drop to her side. “You better be complaining about the lyrics and
not my singing.”
“I—sure.”
He scanned the hallway, looking relieved when he saw that none of his neighbors
had overheard. “Who did you say sent you?”
She
stared back at him, dumbfounded. Not that he could tell with the mask hiding
her face. “You had more than one girl over last night?”
“I was
celebrating,” he said defensively. “Don’t be a judgmental rabbit. They’re the
worst.”
“O-kay,
my work is done here.” She turned tail—literally—and started walking
back toward the elevator. Over her shoulder, she called, “Zoe sent me. You
might want to write that down.”
“Is she
the redhead?” Louis called back. When Roxy stopped in her tracks, he smiled to
let her know he’d been kidding. Maybe. “Hold up. Can you just wait here a
second? I should give you a tip.”
As he
fumbled in his jeans pocket, Roxy smirked. “Which tip are we referring
to here? I did just sing an ode to your penis.”
“Please
don’t remind me.” He drew a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet, pinching it
between his fingers. “Just one request, though. I want to see your face first.”
Roxy
felt a stab of irritation. What the hell did it matter what she looked like?
Everywhere she went, every part she read for, critical eyes poked and prodded
her. Too thin. Too curvy. Too tall. Too short. Never what they wanted.
And just this morning, she’d been told she had a stripper’s body. The fact that
this wealthy party guy was holding money over her head in order to judge her
appearance only tripled her annoyance. “Why? If you like what you see, will you
invite me inside? You haven’t even showered off the last girl yet.”
He
actually had the grace to look a little ashamed. “I—”
Roxy
didn’t give a shit about his answer. “Would you expect me to be flattered?” She
clutched her chest dramatically. “Please, oh keeper of the golden penis, let me
worship at your flawless phallus.”
“Careful.”
His shame morphed into irritation. “You’re starting to sound a little jealous
to me.”
“Jealous?” Oh, that did it. The shitstorm cloud
above her head darkened, lightning bolts shooting through its sides. Kicked out
of her apartment, not a single callback in weeks, and leaning toward stripping.
He’d caught her on a bad fucking day. Honestly, good days were getting harder
to come by, and right now, she could think of only one thing that would help.
Wiping the smug superiority off the Penis Prince’s face.
She bit
down on her lips to plump them up, then reached up and removed the mask.
Satisfaction danced in her bloodstream when his jaw went slack, brown eyes
melting into a deeper shade. That’s right, buddy. I ain’t half bad. As she strode toward him, he
straightened from the doorjamb, a groan working its way free of his throat. He
saw the intention in her expression, knew what was coming. It didn’t escape her
that even though she wore a thick pink bunny suit, he was looking at her like
she wore a string bikini. Louis McNally the Second was an interesting
character, she’d give him that.
“Jealous?”
she repeated before shoving him into the apartment, bringing his back up
against the inside wall just beside the door. “Sweetheart, I would rock your
world.”
Not
giving him a chance to respond, she surged up on her toes and melded their
mouths together. Ohhh, snap. There was zero hesitation on his part, just
a long, expert pull of her lips. As if she’d let go of a trapeze and he’d
caught her in midair. The kiss hit the ground running, mouths opening, tongues
fighting to take the lead. One strong hand found her chin and pulled it down
further, allowing him to slant his head and deepen the kiss even further. Shock
exploded behind her eyes, and she swayed a little under the wave of heat. Affected.
He was affecting her in a way she wasn’t familiar with. She’d kissed a lot of
guys, but she’d never felt dread over the idea of stopping. Louis pushed his
tongue deeper, making a hungry sound and sending it vibrating into her mouth.
She echoed it. Louder. Her head fell back and he moved with her, keeping their
lips locked together, as if he couldn’t allow her to get away. What was
happening here? She was losing control of the situation. Get it back.
Roxy
pulled back and sucked in a deep breath. His mouth was damp and parted as he
tried to draw in his own oxygen, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. “Who the
hell are you?”
Swallowing
the odd feeling in her throat, she plucked the twenty-dollar bill out of his
fingers. “I’m gone.”
She
blew into the hallway, sensing him staring after her. With as much dignity as
one could muster while dressed like a pink bunny, she bypassed the elevator and
took the stairs, two at a time.
Review
This was a light, funny, quick read
from Tessa Bailey that I have to say I enjoyed.
While it may not be my favorite of Tessa’s, it was still funny, sexy,
and the chemistry between the characters was definitely there. 3.5 stars.
From the moment Louis meets Roxy, who just happens to be dressed in a pink bunny suit singing a song about his ummm “junk” lol he can’t get her out of his head. Roxy isn’t like Louis’s typical girl, she is not rich, she has a hard life, and she is not giving in so easy. Thus begins the chase……
Tessa is the queen of dirty talkers and the end of this books mentions that the next hero of this series is a “dirtier” talker than Louis so, YES….I am all over that, can’t wait! If you’re looking for a light, sweet, sexy read…you’ll enjoy this one!
*Reviewed by Brandi
Buy the book
About the author:
Tessa lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband and young daughter. When she isn't writing or reading romance, Tessa enjoys a good argument and thirty-minute recipes.
Connect with Tessa Bailey:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tessa-Bailey
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mstessabailey
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6953499.Tessa_Bailey
Website: http://www.tessabailey.com
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