From USA Today bestselling author Lisa Desrochers comes the third book in her sizzling new adult series.
If you play with fire …
Tossed out of college and cut off by her parents, Samantha West is in pretty dire straits. So when her rocker best friend hooks her up with a job dancing at a gentlemen's club, who is she to turn it down? Plus, there are rules to dancing at Benny's: No touching, keep your clothes on at all times, and never get closer than three feet. Unfortunately for Sam, her first private client makes her want to break every single one of them.
Harrison Yates is scorching hot, but he's got a past that involves being left at the altar not too long ago. Sam is determined to make him forget about his ex, but when she makes her move, it flings her life into a spiral of chaos she never saw coming. Because Harrison Yates isn't who he seems to be. And his secret will probably get her killed.
"Every page is deliciously breathtaking, wickedly sexy and sensational. A LITTLE TOO HOT is wonderfully unique and a LOT HOT! I am a HUGE Lisa Desrochers fan."
-- KATY EVANS, New York Times bestselling author of REAL
"Lisa is brilliant at creating sizzling sexual tension and impossible circumstances that make the reader hold their breath all the way to happy ever after. Sam and Harrison are more than A Little Too Hot, they are scorching!"
-- JAY CROWNOVER, New York Times bestselling author of RULE
"Lisa Desrochers' best yet! A LITTLE TOO HOT is hotter than hot with all the emotional punch to back it up!"
-- SOPHIE JORDAN, New York Times bestselling author
Deleted scene set up: In an early draft, Jonathan’s apartment mate, Kevin (who is also the drummer in his band), played a bigger role. Here is his first appearance before he got the editorial ax.
It’s noon when I wake up on Jonathan’s sofa to Dr. Who number nine saying, “Excuse me, do you mind not farting while I’m saving the world?”
I rake my eyes open and find the TV on. When I turn my head, Kevin’s standing at the foot of the sofa, glaring down at me, his black fauxhawk mushed over to the side. “Jonathan says you’re paying rent.”
I push the blanket Jonathan gave me when we got home last night to the side and sit up. Last I remember, he and Ginger were in his room, fighting. She was here waiting for him when we got home at sometime after three, and she was super pissed. Can’t say I blame her. They were screaming so loud when I finally turned off the light and went to…sofa, I can’t believe I actually fell asleep. But as I listen past Dr. Who, it becomes glaringly apparent Ginger didn’t make good on her threat to rip Jonathan’s dick off, because he’s quite clearly using it at the moment. Ginger grunts with every stroke, just like a tennis player. It’s a little hard to miss.
“Yeah. How much?”
My jaw drops. “Are you shitting me? Nine hundred to sleep on your sofa?”
“If you think you can get a better deal somewhere else, by all means…” he says, with a wave of his hand at the door.
Asshole. “But Jonathan says he’s paying nine hundred.”
“So if I pay nine hundred and Jonathan pays nine hundred, what are you paying?”
“Like I said,” he says with another wave at the door, “knock yourself out.”
I rub my eyes and try to think. “What does the nine hundred cover?”
“Just the rent,” he answers with a sneer, like I’m some kind of idiot.
“Do you need it all right now?”
Jonathan’s door clicks open, and when I look up, I wish I hadn’t, because the only thing he’s wearing is his extensive ink, and the condom he’s in the process of peeling off as he crosses to the bathroom.
And I’m suddenly feeling like I’ve made a huge mistake.
I’m supposed to pay nine hundred a month to live with a guy who hates me, and a guy who I’ve already seen naked more times than his mother ever did?
Ginger stumbles out of the room behind him in one of his band T-shirts. “Hey, Red,” she says with a wave at me as she staggers past the sofa to the kitchen. “One of you douchebags better have made coffee.”
At just the mention, I feel my morning withdrawal headache pulse to life behind my eyes. “I didn’t, but I’ll love you forever if you bring me a cup.”
Jonathan comes out of the bathroom in a pair of jeans that he probably left on the bathroom floor last night. He drops onto the sofa next to me and his hand finds my thigh and squeezes. “Morning, Red. You give anymore thought to my proposal.”
I roll my eyes as Ginger comes out of the kitchen and hands me a mug. “She’s smarter than me, dickwad. She’s not going to sleep with you again.” She pushes Jonathan aside and wedges her butt between us as I gulp half my cup. “If you guys are going to be hanging out,” she says, pressing her shoulder into mine. “Can you do me a favor and remind him to keep his dick in his pants?”
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything,” I tell her, breathing in the steam from my mug so no caffeine escapes.
“My dick was in my pants all night,” Jonathan protests from her other side. “Until you took it out.”
I don’t mention the blond, because, technically, I don’t think he’s lying.
“Not to break up the love fest,” Kevin says, “but if Ginger’s going to be staying here, she needs to pay rent too.”
Ginger glares flames at him and he pales a little and stalks up the hall to his room.
“I gotta get ready for work,” she says, pushing up from the sofa. She takes her coffee and disappears behind Jonathan’s door.