Check Out
The Amazing
Cover For
Breaking The Rules
by
Cynthia Sax!
|
|
|
|
|
V
Blurb:
Nathan Lawford, Blaine Technologies’
chief financial officer, is known as the Iceman. He conducts his
personal and business affairs without emotion, never allowing himself
to become involved with anyone. When Nate sees something or someone
he wants, he negotiates, paying a simple, set monetary price.
Now he wants Camille, the company’s
green-haired intern.
Camille Joplin Trent never expected to
be paid to pleasure the man of her dreams. She can’t quite figure
out why this is a bad thing. Nate is intelligent, handsome,
sophisticated, everything she’s ever wanted in a lover and never
thought she could have. Their contract is for a month, thirty
lust-filled days of making every sexual fantasy they’ve ever had
come true. At the end of this month, the rules state their
relationship will end.
Of course, Camille has never been good
at following rules.
Buy Links:
Excerpt:
This is the morning I break Nathan
Lawford, Blaine Technologies’ notoriously uptight chief financial
officer, the executive employees call the Iceman.
I hum the words to an extremely vulgar
hip-hop song as I stride through the concrete-and-glass lobby, my
phone in my right hand and the straps of my backpack slung over my
shoulder.
Not even Jerome, the company’s
powerful high-security guard, could dampen my enthusiasm today. He
searched my black canvas bag for a record twelve minutes, wrinkling
important papers and poking his clumsy fingers into delicate
electronics. He leered and sneered at me, and I said nothing,
tolerating the harassment.
Because today Nate will touch me.
I’ve spent months defrosting the
Iceman, following rules I’ve crafted, rules he isn’t aware of. I
can’t touch him unless he touches me. I can’t see him outside of
our morning elevator rides unless he approaches me. I can e-mail him
but not call him, check his agenda but not change it.
Even with these self-imposed
restrictions, I’ll win, my victory growing more certain as our
daily skirmishes escalate in intensity.
Every morning Nate takes the same
elevator at the same time, his schedule as rigid and unbending as he
is. Every morning I share the same elevator car. He looks at me. I
look at him. We exchange a couple of verbal barbs, some increasingly
steamy sexual innuendos, and then we part ways, going to our
different floors, our different worlds.
I’m the green-haired rebel intern.
Nate is an unemotional rule setter, a huge immovable wall I can’t
stop pushing against, a challenge I can’t back away from. He drives
me absolutely wild and I will have him. On my terms.
I glance at my phone’s screen. Sh**
on a stick. I have three minutes to trek to the elevators. Clipping
my phone to my skirt’s frayed waistband, I march faster, the heels
of my shoes ringing against the gleaming white marble tile. Video
screens hang from the walls, displaying happy images of the
conforming masses. Dark-suited corporate clones linger around the
paid-to-be-perky receptionist.
Loitering isn’t an option, as there’s
no flexibility in the Iceman’s timetable. I turn the corner and my
heels squeak on the floor. No one is waiting for the elevators, the
area empty. I press the up button three times in rapid succession,
pleased that I’ll have Nate’s complete attention during our
five-minute elevator ride.
Privacy is essential for my plan to
work, as I’m not the type of woman any career-minded executive
would choose to acknowledge publicly. I glance at my reflection in
the elevator’s shiny metallic doors and wince. Although I no longer
wear my temporary tattoos or visible body jewelry, the green hair and
the holes in my ears, nose, and bottom lip remain, declaring my rebel
status to the world.
This is who I am, who I’ve always
been. I break rules. I push people. I don’t fit in anywhere. I tell
myself I’m okay with this. In my heart I know I’m not. But I
can’t change, not even for the Iceman.
The bell rings, the doors to elevator
number four open, and my heart pounds. Nate stands in the back right
corner, staring down at his phone, appearing as unapproachably
handsome as usual, his blond hair short and neat, his broad shoulders
clad in a form-fitting black suit, his crisp white shirt accentuating
his golden tan. His tie is always black, always plain.
He wears the same clothing combination
every day, and I want to peel the monochromatic fabric away from his
kicking hot physique and lick him from his head to his toes. This
impulsive act, while certain to be sexually satisfying, violates the
rules of my game. He must touch me first. I keep my hands to myself
and stride into the elevator, my hips swaying and my head held
defiantly high.
Nate glances upward, our gazes lock and
hold, and I forget to breathe, to think, to move. His eyes are the
palest, coldest gray, a frigid blast of icy wind on a hot Californian
day, and I want him as I’ve never wanted anyone else, my need for
him carnal and raw.
He slides his phone into his jacket
pocket and the silver Rolex on his wrist gleams. This symbol of
wealth and the establishment, a physical reminder of who Nate is,
doesn’t squelch my lust. It perversely feeds my fantasies.
In my overactive imagination Nate
doesn’t stay in his corner. He stalks toward me, hooks one of his
arms around my waist, pulls my curves into his muscle, and—
“Miss Trent.” His crisp
businesslike tone returns me to reality.
“Nate.” I mimic his curtness,
breaking an unspoken company rule by addressing a top executive by
his first name. I tap the button for the legal floor. This is the
law-enforcing, super-quiet department I’ve been sentenced to. I
don’t fit in there, but then, I’ve never fit in anywhere.
Except here. I belong in this elevator
car. I belong with Nate. I claim the corner across from him and
openly study the object of my obsession. “You spent another weekend
alone, I see.” The lines around his mouth and eyes are deeply
etched, attesting to his many months of celibacy. This pleases me. I
don’t want Nate to touch any other woman. He’s my iceberg to
melt.
He raises one of his eyebrows. “Have
you added stalking to your long list of crimes?”
I roll my eyes. I was found guilty of
three minor misdemeanors while I was a careless teenager and now I’ve
been labeled a criminal for life. “Don’t flatter yourself. A
blind woman can tell you’re not getting any.” I stretch the
truth. His expression is as cold and as emotionless as it normally
is.
Nate frowns, glances at his reflection
in the mirrored walls, sweeps one of his hands over his perfect hair.
“What’s the matter?” I grin at
him as I set my backpack on the floor by my feet. “Are all of the
hookers in LA on strike?”
He returns his gaze to me and narrows
his eyes. “You’re well informed.” Ice drips from his words, his
coolness indicating I’ve scored a direct hit. Many people subjected
to Nate’s subzero demeanor assume he’s a frigid, unfeeling
bastard. I recognize it for what it is—a shield, as effective as my
sarcasm and green hair.
“You bet I’m well informed.” It
didn’t take me long to discover that every well-dressed, insanely
beautiful woman appearing beside Nate in the newspaper’s society
pages was a high-end escort. His hooker fetish doesn’t bother me.
Nate is a faithful, serial-monogamous John, taking a long time to
choose the right escort and then paying for her exclusive attentions.
“You’re not hideous.” I unbutton
my formerly black blazer, the sole suit I own faded from having been
hand washed every night. “Why do you pay for sex?”
“Everyone pays for sex in one way or
another.” Nate visually tracks my movements as I shrug out of the
garment, removing one more barrier between us. “Some muddle the
price with talk of love and feelings. I prefer straightforward,
honest negotiations.”
Author Bio:
Cynthia Sax lives in a world where
demons aren’t all bad, angels aren’t all good, and magic happens
every single day. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love
you”, they will do anything for the women they love. They live
passionately. They fight fiercely. They love the same women
forever.
Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.
Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.
Author Links:
Author Website: http://cynthiasax.com/
Blog: http://tasteofcyn.com/
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.sax
Twitter: @CynthiaSax
.jpg)
