Hollywood lawyer Maggie Ward likes her client Finn Carter’s music but the sexy younger man is far too much trouble to actually get to know… Right?
Maggie Ward is a Hollywood lawyer with a list of musician clients but none as famous as rock star Finn Carter. And he’s got the bad boy reputation to prove it. It’s no wonder every move he makes is dogged by paparazzi. So when he gets into an accident on his motorcycle and ends up in hospital, it’s splashed all over the tabloids that the car was driven by his ex-girlfriend’s new man. Finn’s manager wants him to lie low and the place he chooses is Maggie’s house.
Finn’s habit of strutting around naked is more heat than Maggie can take and when she comes home one day to find him nude in her kitchen, she finally succumbs to her wicked fantasies.
Afterwards, Maggie is more determined than ever to keep the relationship on a strictly physical level while Finn hints that he wants more. Can two such different people find more than sex in common?
General Release Date: 9th May 2014
Finn Carter flopped down on the chair across from Maggie’s desk and groaned loudly.
“My heart is broken.”
Maggie glanced up from her laptop. “Oh dear,” she said. “Not again. That makes it, what, three times in the last two months?”
Finn’s smoky blue eyes sparkled at her. “Probably,” he agreed. “Now what are you going to do about it?”
She blinked at him. “Me?”
“You’re my lawyer,” he told her, a grin starting to tip the sides of his sensual mouth. “You’re supposed to have solutions to my problems.”
It was difficult not to smile back at that famous face but somehow Maggie managed it.
“Your legal problems, buster. Not your romantic ones.” She picked up a pen and tapped it against her cheek. “Are there still such things as lovelorn columns? You could write into one. Think about the headline—Huge Music Star Just Wants Love. The columnist would be overrun with responses. Of course, nowadays, you could probably just send out a tweet and have the same effect.”
Finn was staring at her so intently that the burgeoning smile at her own joke dried up.
“What’s the matter?” she wanted to know.
When he answered, his voice was harsh and utterly unlike the smooth tones he used to sing. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what? Joke with you?”
Maggie was taken aback. She seldom laughed at her client’s quips but, after all, she and Finn had known each other for nearly a decade. If that didn’t give her some leeway to show a bit of humour with him, what did?
“Subtly put yourself down,” was Finn’s incredible reply. “Act like you’re a million years old.”
Maggie felt her expression freeze. “I wasn’t aware that I was doing that,” she said stiffly.
“‘Are there still such things as lovelorn columns?’”
He was an excellent mimic. Heat flooded Maggie’s cheeks.
“Stop being a prick,” she snapped. “We both know exactly how old I am—”
But even before she’d finished her thought, she could see the grin on his face. Had she just…?
Yes, she had. She’d just called her biggest client a prick.
He was going to fire her.
“How old are you, anyway?”
Maggie’s head drooped as she waved his question away. He was playing with her. He fired agents as an annual ritual, starting with his own parents at the age of seventeen. Of course he was going to fire her. He was just going to make her squirm first.
“You’ve been my lawyer ever since I landed my first recording contract,” he continued to muse aloud, “and assuming you were called to the bar for a couple years before that, you would have to be, uh, thirty-nine?”
Despite herself, Maggie had to smile slightly. “Is that the polite way of saying forty?”
Finn was leaning across the desk, staring at her as if his life depended on her response. “Am I right?”
“I’m thirty-eight,” she said. “As of last Monday.”
A frown suddenly marred his handsome face, reminding her of a series of sexy pouty ads he’d done a few years ago. Was that for the jeans company or the cologne? It was so hard to remember. Everybody wanted Finn Carter for their brands. His smoky, sexy good looks were a perfect vehicle to sell anything from vacation spots to athletic shoes.
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t even know your birthday.”
“Why would you?” Maggie asked reasonably. “I never told you what it was.”
Her breathing started to slow down to a normal pace again. Maybe he wasn’t going to fire her after all. Maybe she really was the only fixture in his constantly changing retinue of professional hangers-on, as one popular magazine had once described her in a slim side panel to a long spread about Finn.
“You know my birthday,” he pointed out.
She ventured a tentative smile. “June sixth. Every female between the ages of twelve and eighty knows that.”
He leant back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “And I get presents from pretty much all of them. What did you get me this year?”
Maggie flushed. “A pen.”
“Right.” His beautiful voice was suddenly flat.
“It was a very nice pen,” she found herself protesting.
“So nice, in fact,” he said, “that you bought one for every single one of your male clients, didn’t you?”
How did he know that?
Nan Comargue is a romance and erotic romance writer who has been reading romance novels all her life. She prefers sexy confident heroes who win over slightly introverted heroines (read: nerdish types) but she writes about everything from angel-warriors to cowboy ménage.
Nan blogs about her writing journey and other interesting topics (zombies!) here but lately she tweets more than she blogs (and sometimes more than she writes).
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