TAKE ME (Take a Chance #4) is out! Here’s an EXCLUSIVE excerpt and giveaway!
Yep, the last book in the Take a Chance series is live! Want to see what the last one is all about? Then go forth and buy! And if you haven’t read the other books in the series, that’s okay! They are all stand-alone books that are about different (but related) couples!
Here’s the HAWT cover:
And the blurb:
Married in the morning…
Professional heartbreaker Mike Worth thrived on the chase—and dancer Morgan Collins represented the ultimate prize. But there was no way he was going to throw away his single-man status…not even for an elusive redhead with sparkling eyes and mile-long legs. So how did he let one drunken Vegas night end with I do instead of hell no?
Morgan’s life revolved around her career and she had no intention of letting a man interfere—even if Mike made her question all her rules about love. At his urging, she reluctantly agreed to give their spur-of–moment marriage a chance. But once their trial-honeymoon ended, would she choose to follow the dance and leave her unforgettable husband behind?
The buy links:
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And now, an EXCLUSIVE excerpt from TAKE ME:
Morgan Collins ignored the weight of that man’s stare with the stubborn determination that had been rightfully handed down to her from a long line of stubborn Irish women.
But, really.
Of all the arrogant, insufferable, no good know-it-all’s in the world, that man sitting in her seat was definitely the worst. And then some. First, he stole her booth and didn’t even care. Then he topped that off with accusing her of being a stripper and trying to send her off sans the dance he’d thought she was trying to deliver.
She didn’t know which was more insulting—the fact that he’d automatically assumed she was a stripper, or the fact that he hadn’t wanted her to dance for him at all. Like, what the hell was his problem, anyway? How had he even known she was a dancer? Maybe he had recognized her from the stage. That could have led to his snide assumption about her being a stripper. Some men didn’t know the difference between a Vegas Showgirl who danced because she loved the art, and a stripper who took her clothes off for money.
She wasn’t one of those girls.
She danced because she was a dancer. She didn’t know a life without dancing and hoped she never would. Dancing was her life. The thing that made her happiest and most fulfilled. A burst of masculine laughter crossed the loud bar and she looked over her shoulder. It was him, all right. How bad was it that she recognized his laugh already? He’d been over there, in her seat, for two hours now. Laughing with his buddies, tipping back the drinks.
While she’d been stood up by her blind date.
She was supposed to meet some guy her friend had hooked her up with but the jerk hadn’t even bothered to show. Between that dating disaster, the audition she’d gone on earlier that she was sure she’d blown, and the asshat in her booth, her self-esteem had taken a blow today. A big one.
As she watched him in what she hoped was an un-obvious manner, his group of men all stood up and exited the bar. Leaving only one behind—the same one who’d insulted her. He slid back into the booth, spread his legs across the seat, and stared back at her.
Wait. Back at her? Oh, crap, she was still staring, wasn’t she?
He cocked a brow at her but she refused to look away. She’d been caught. Might as well make herself look cocky and bold instead of skittering away like a frightened lamb. When she didn’t back down, he grinned and pointed at the seat opposite of him—the other half of the booth that was quite empty now. He wanted her to sit with him.
Should she?
Before she even realized she’d made a decision, Morgan was crossing the room with her half empty whiskey sour in her hand. His gaze skimmed over her body and she didn’t miss the light of appreciation in his eyes. He might have sent her away earlier but he liked what he saw. Good. Maybe she’d get him all riled up and horny, and then leave. It would serve the jerk right.
You know what? That’s exactly what she would do.
She sauntered over, a hand on her hip and a seductive smile on her lips. She knew how to play men like him. She’d been dealing with his type all of her life. They thought they owned the world and all the women in it, all because they were hot. She’d caught a little bit of his green-yellow-red light speech—and she knew he lived by that rule. Run when the relationship got serious.
Little did he know, she lived by it, too. She just called it self-preservation instead of having a fancy freaking name for it.
She stopped in front of the booth and shot him a look from underneath her lashes. Men loved that garbage, and from the look in his eyes, he was no different. He was eating all of this up like a kid in a candy store. “Are you ready to give me my seat back? Or did you just call me over here to insult me some more?”
“I called you over here because you’ve been watching me,” he said, lifting his mug to his lips. “And I’ve been watching you watching me.”
Darn, she’d been caught. Best to play it off like it meant nothing. Because it didn’t mean anything. At all. “If I was watching you, it was only because you’re in my seat.”
He patted his muscular thighs. “If you want it so bad, come get it.”
She eyed his lap. Did she dare? The temptation was definitely there. What would he do if she sat on him? Called his bluff?
She lowered herself onto his thighs, wriggling her butt to get comfortable. Positioning herself sideways on his lap, she saw that his bright sea green eyes went all wide and he set his mug down with too much force. She fought back a grin. Yeah, he definitely hadn’t expected her to take his suggestion.
His hands flopped to his sides like a fish out of water, as if he was uncertain of what to do with them. “Uh, okay. That works.” He gave a hoarse laugh and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “So, what’s your name? I feel like I should know it, since you’re on my lap and all.”
“Morgan.” She sipped her whiskey sour. Her hand didn’t shake at all, even though the glass felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Hopefully, only she knew how fast her heart was beating over the fact that she was sitting on a strange man’s lap. She purposely didn’t ask him what his name was. “Where are all your buddies?”
“They went home.”
“And you didn’t go with them?”
“Nah.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “The bachelor party is over and I’m a big boy. I live alone.”
“Aww. Are you getting married, sweetheart?” She cocked her head and fluttered her lashes. “How cute.”
Of course, she already knew it was a different guy. Probably the hottie who’d been at the bar when she’d sat down because blondie had given his stoplight speech when he said the bachelor wasn’t here. But instead of revealing her theory, she decided to act like God hadn’t given her the good sense to know left from right.
Men liked that, too.
“Not me. My best friend’s the one getting married.”
She played with her hair, wrapping a fiery curl around her finger. He eyed her hands, his eyes hot and intense on her. So freaking easy. “And you didn’t want to hire him a stripper? Some best friend you are.”
“Yeah, well, he’s marrying my baby sister so he doesn’t get to see that side of me for his bachelor party.” He shifted his weight on the booth, unsettling her precarious perch on his legs. She quickly regained her balance on his lap. “No stripper or hookers or any other shit like that. Not when it involves my baby sister.”
Oh, so he had a soft spot for his little sister, huh?
That was actually kind of…cute. Damn it. Now she knew why he’d sent her away. It hadn’t been an insult to her. He was being a protective older brother.
Her righteous anger deflated, leaving her sitting in a strange man’s lap for no reason. She grasped at straws to get the anger back. “Are you calling me a hooker now?”
His cheeks turned red. “No, of course not.” He took a drink of his beer. “About that, I’m sorry about earlier. I just saw your bra thing under your top,” he gestured to the strap of her beaded bra, “and assumed you were here because one of the guys hired you.”
“It’s fine.” She slid off of his lap and stood. Her anger was gone and she didn’t feel right sitting here with him anymore. “Well, it’s nice meeting you and all but I’m going to call it a night.”
He canted his head. “Let me buy you one more drink? To make up for my mistake?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is.” He rose and stepped into her personal space. Damn, he was hot and tall. Like, really tall. She was five-seven and he towered over her. She wanted to back off, to give herself room to breathe, but that would make her look weak. Not the image she wanted to give him. “I have to insist.”
She stared him down—even if she had to look up at him to stare him down—and he did the same to her. Man, this man had alpha male written all over him. And she liked it. She had come here for a date…
“Fine. One drink, Mr.…?”
His eyes lit up with satisfaction. “Mike Worth.”
“Well, Mr. Worth.” She slid into her side of the booth now that he’d emptied it. “I’ll have a whiskey sour. You go grab it and I’ll sit here and keep our seat safe. I hear there’s a jerk going around and stealing seats tonight.”
He shot her an amused look and headed off for the bar. Hot damn, he looked as good going as he did coming. The jeans he wore hugged his tight butt and she had a feeling he spent a lot of time in the gym. That made two of them.
As he ordered drinks, she pulled out her red lip-gloss and reapplied, checking to make sure she didn’t have raccoon eyes or something else equally embarrassing. She’d woken up at five thirty for the audition, then spent all afternoon rehearsing for the Monday night show she was an alternate in. It involved a lot of high kicks—Rockette style—and she ached from hip to toe.
He slid into the booth opposite of her and handed her the drink. He’d gotten the same. “Here you go, Morgan.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
She stirred her drink with the tiny red straw all bars gave, and watched him. He scanned the room around them, then turned the power of those baby blues on her. Although, upon closer inspection they were more sea-green than blue. She liked the ocean color even more than blue.
Damn him and his stupid attractiveness.
Under his scrutinizing stare, she shifted her weight in the booth and blew out a soft breath. Her hair fluttered from the exhalation. “You’re staring,” she said.
“I am?” He seemed to shake himself out of a stupor. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. But, you know, I can’t quite place your accent. Where are you from?”
She raised a brow. “Texas.”
“Ah. Texas.” He glanced under the table. “That explains the boots—which I like very much, by the way.”
She inclined her head in thanks. “Let me guess—you’re born and bred in Vegas?”
He grinned. “Yep.”
“And you’re probably a bookie or a professional gambler or something like that, aren’t you?” She pointed her hand that held her drink at him. “Wait. Are you a stripper?”
He laughed. Actually laughed. Her pulse leapt at sound.
“Sure. We’ll go with that.”
So he wasn’t any of those things. Some part of her wanted to press for more information. To find out what he really did, but what was the point? It’s not like she actually cared, right? “Okay, then.”
“So you know what I can’t figure out?” He leaned across the booth and met her gaze. She inhaled deeply and held it. The man could seduce with his eyes. “Why are you here, on a Friday night, all by yourself?”
She hesitated. Should she tell him the truth and let him know she’d been stood up, or make it sound a little less embarrassing? Shrugging, she said, “My plans fell through last minute.”
“Ah. That makes more sense than you being all by yourself.”
She toyed with her straw and bit down on the corner of her lip. He stared at her mouth and her stomach clenched. The way he looked at her right now made her think about bringing him home and…
No. Not happening.
She forced herself to sit up straight. To stop swaying toward him, even though she hadn’t even realized she was swaying toward him until she moved back. “Because it’s so hard to believe I might not have plans?”
“A woman that looks as good as you do always has plans.”
Oh God. That shouldn’t have made her want to jump his bones. She needed to back off. Or return to the old plan of getting him all hot and bothered before she left.
“Well…” She licked her lips, her heart racing at the way his gaze heated up. “Maybe you’re my plans now.”
He growled and she shivered at the guttural sound. “That’s fine by me.”
Propping her elbows on the table, she reached for his hand. The touch of his skin on hers sent a small electrical-like shock through her blood. She almost dropped his hand, but he turned his wrist and caught her fingers before she could retreat. Guess she had to keep up her act…though it was starting to feel less and less like an act by the second.
“Maybe I’d like to go home with you tonight and show you just how much I like the growl you just made by making you do it a hell of a lot more,” she said, tracing circles on his knuckles.
He caught her other hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist, pinning her down with his eyes. Yeah, this man liked control almost as much as she did. “That could be arranged.”
“Hm.” She licked her lips again, not dropping his stare. “And maybe I want to go home with you right now.”
He pulled her across the table so she was practically lying across it, then leaned in until his mouth was at her ear. “Maybe I’d like that, sweetheart.”
The solid surge of desire caught her off guard. This was supposed to be a game—a way to teach a lesson to the man who’d automatically jumped to nasty conclusions about her. The very same man who spoke about women like they were stoplights instead of human beings. She wasn’t supposed to want him. It was time to finish it and go home. Alone. “You know what I think?”
He ran his fingers through her hair, his touch feather light. “No, but I think you’ll tell me.”
“I think…” She lifted her face to his, their lips no more than a breath apart. The desire to close the distance, to see if he was a good kisser or not, consumed her, but she stayed on target. “That you smell good.”
And he did. Damn him.
His fingers flexed on her and he moved in for the kiss. She pulled free and slid a finger in between their mouths, denying him the kiss he sought. He moved back and looked down at her in surprise. The surprise faded away into frustration. “What are you doing?”
She placed a hand on his shirt, curling her fist into the material and pulling him just a little bit closer. For a second, just a tiny second, she debated keeping him there. Debated forgetting about revenge, and instead debated getting a fabulous orgasm out of this man instead.
“I’m thinking,” she flicked her tongue over his lips, “that next time you call a woman a stripper, you should be absolutely sure she is one first. Have a good night with your hand, sweetheart.”
She shoved him back in the booth, stood up, and left him there. She couldn’t resist stealing another look back at him. And what she saw shot little thrills of anticipation shooting up her spine, then back down to twist her stomach into knots.
He was looking at her like she’d just declared war on him…and he intended to win.
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Last but not least–enter to win a copy of the first three books, Try Me, Love Me, and Play Me!
