Note to self: don’t fall in love with a gangster.
I’m the good girl: a college student who studies hard, wants to do good, and plays by the rules. I shouldn’t be falling for a guy like Darren Lee, the bad boy owner of an exclusive nightclub that, unbeknownst to me, caters to an international triad.
We’re absolutely wrong for each other. Maybe that’s why the heat between us is so sizzling hot…
But Darren’s desires run dark and wicked. Should I submit to his passions? Something tells me that if I throw caution to the wind, I could be in for a world of hurt.
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Additional Notes: This opposites-attract story of a dangerous love is best suited for new adult romance, mafia romance, or billionaire romance readers who like their books dark and super steamy. Themes and elements in this trilogy include organized crime, kidnapping, romantic suspense, and a secret baby.
f the bookThis book has over 1,800 reviews and has been featured several times in the highly competitive Bookbub mailings. To help with sales of the translated book, the author will run Amazon ads and possibly Facebook ads or TikTok videos.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to date,” I say to Lashawna as we stand amid a pile of shoes that others had left on the floor of Nordstrom Rack.
My friend Lashawna hands me a pair of strappy four-inch heels.
I balk. “Won’t these shoes send the wrong message?”
“Like what?” Lashawna asks, examining a pair of espadrilles for herself.
“That I’m willing to go to third base on the first date—which I’m not.”
“Sure, they have a little come-and-get-me vibe, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to put out. This is the 21st century, Laney.”
“Women still get judged as sluts if we try to look too sexy.”
“By older generations, maybe. Since when were you so old-fashioned in your thinking?”
Since not being “old-fashioned” landed me in a relationship with a gangster.
But Lashawna, even though she’s my first and closest friend in Denver, doesn’t know my past. She doesn’t even know my real name, Bridget Moore, or that my real hair color is light brown instead of black. With my hair dyed darker, I look more like my father, whom Grandma liked to say is even cuter than Michael B. Jordan. Otherwise, I’m a blend of both my parents. I have my mom’s hazel eyes but not her blond hair, and I have my dad’s smile. According to Grandma, who raised me, I have my dad’s temperament, too.
“I’m a mom,” I answer, picking up a more modest pair of shoes instead.
“So?” Lashawna challenged, taking the shoes from me and replacing them on the rack. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be sexy. You could totally be a MILF. Look at you. You just need a new wardrobe.”
