Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
New Year’s Eve in Sin City was supposed to be fun. Champagne, music, maybe a little bad decision-making. But waking up in a luxury suite—naked—with three of rock’s biggest heartbreakers wasn’t part of the plan.
Conal Curran, the wickedly charismatic frontman of the Black Pythons, is beside me, a sinfully sexy smirk on his lips… and a gold band on his finger that matches mine. His equally irresistible brothers, Rafe and Bron, are on my other side, looking every bit the devastating rock icons they are.
Known for their scores of platinum records and insatiable carnal appetites, the only thing bigger than the arenas they play is the size of their … “instruments.”
Apparently, I didn’t just party hard—I married the most notorious trio in the music industry.
The smart thing would be to get a quick annulment. Conal is a legendary womanizer, Rafe’s fingers are known for more than just shredding guitar solos, and Bron plays his drums like he does his women—fast, hard, and with no regrets.
They’re the ultimate temptation, but I’m no groupie. I’ve never even been with a man.
And yet … when I offer Conal an easy dissolution of our so-called marriage so he can continue nailing his hordes of eager fans, he refuses to let me go. And his brothers? They don’t believe in taking turns.
Rafe plays me like his favorite guitar, teasing and tormenting, making me scream and beg for more.
Bron is pure, unrelenting rhythm, dominating his drums like the world is ending—and me like it’s just beginning.
And Conal? He might be the most dangerous of them all—because beneath the rock-star swagger and panty-melting charm, he makes me feel something real.
Just when I start to believe this wild, reckless, impossible love story might actually work… I uncover the truth about why they put a ring on my finger.
Three rock legends are determined to make me theirs.
Now, I have to decide if I’m willing to bet my heart on the most dangerous gamble of all
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
HAZEL
Water.
I need water, but I’m not sure I have the strength to get out of bed.
My head is pounding.
I peek through the slits of my eyelids at the ceiling that seems oddly high. It’s still dark, not morning yet. I need water and a Tylenol, or I won’t be able to rest.
Something’s not right, though. This isn’t my bedroom.
A wispy memory surfaces, reminding me that I’m in Las Vegas with my friend Bliss. We checked into a hotel yesterday and we’re sharing a bed, because there weren’t any rooms available with two beds that we could afford.
But when I look to the side, it’s not Bliss who’s beside me.
There’s a bare, muscular, very male arm in my bed, with an equally bare and muscular chest attached. My tired eyes shoot open. I brought a man back to my room? But with just one bed, where’s Bliss?
Slowly, painfully, I turn my head in the other direction and flinch when I see a second man in my bed.
It even hurts to think, but I try. What on earth happened last night, and who are these men?
I return my focus to the ceiling and lie very still as I mine my aching head for memories. Last night was New Year’s Eve. People everywhere. There were bright flashing lights, loud music, … a casino. I was in a casino with Bliss … and some men.
If Bliss was there, nothing too bad could have happened. Right? But I only have fragments. I don’t even remember how we got to the casino from our off-the-Strip bargain hotel.
Limousine. The word and image flash through my brain simultaneously. The impossibly long, sleek car pulled up to the curb as Bliss and I were walking. We stopped to talk to the people in the limo …
More memories emerge from the fog in my mind, slotting into place like missing puzzle pieces, but they can’t be right. No way.
The Curran brothers were in the limo. The three men who make up the core of the hottest rock band in the world, the Black Pythons.
Moving slowly and carefully, I manage to sit up, and the sheet falls away from my body. I’m naked.
As I hurry to cover my chest, I take another look at the man on my right. Conal Curran, devastatingly handsome even while asleep, the dark stubble on his face creating fierce shadows, while his long, nearly-black hair surrounds his head like a halo.
There’s nothing innocent about this man, though. The lead singer’s bad-boy reputation is the stuff of legend.
My eyes trail over his impressively-built chest down to a line of dark brown hair that starts at his belly button and disappears where the sheet barely covers his hips. My breath catches when I spot the shape of something long and thick beneath the sheet—another legend about this man that’s apparently true.
To my left, a man is lying face-down, short hair sticking out in every direction, his broad back like some kind of diagram of ideal muscle definition. Then I catch sight of another man beyond him.
I quickly confirm that I didn’t imagine Conal on my right. Nope. I’m in bed with not one, not two, but three men. I’m naked, and they seem to be naked, too, though the sheet covers their lower bodies, just barely.
This isn’t my hotel room. No way was the bed there big enough for four people, especially when the men are built like this.
Holding my breath, I look past the short-haired man to study the third one. Even in profile, there’s no mistaking Bron, the Pythons’ drummer, with his enviable mane of long brown hair. A thick beard, one that countless women dream of stroking their fingers through, covers the lower part of his manly face. Odds are good the other man beside me is their brother Rafe.
I’m in bed with the Black Pythons, musical geniuses and playboy heartbreakers.
Did I have sex with one of them? With more than one of them?
My head feels horrible, and the rest of my body doesn’t feel much better, but there’s no particular soreness between my legs. Most of last night is still a mystery, though.
Bliss. I need to find Bliss. She was definitely with me last night, and I pray she remembers what happened.
Gingerly, I scoot my body over the sheets, down toward the foot of the bed, careful not to bump the sleeping men who surround me. I’m fully naked without the protection of the bedsheet, but there’s no helping that for this maneuver.
Clothes are scattered on the floor, but I don’t see the blue dress I was wearing. A shimmery, silvery-white fabric catches my eye, and I head straight for it as a wild thought starts buzzing at the back of my brain.
The fabric turns out to be a short dress with wide straps adorned with pearlescent beads. There’s also a pile of white tulle on the floor, but I refuse to acknowledge it.