Duke: Faking the Play (The Boston Tomcats, #3)

by Kayley Loring

He smelled like a bar of soap that had just cleansed The Witcher’s entire naked body in an outdoor forest shower and then been tossed into Padma Lakshmi’s spice cabinet. He had tatted-up arms that were, for lack of a better term, magnificently lady boner-inducing.

ME: Duke. He’s not actually a duke in tits. His nickname it Dick. ME: Shot! ME: SHIT. DAD: You really are your mother’s daughter. ME: Duke. Not a duke in title. Nickname is Duke.

DASH: And you got your Arabella. Plus I’m a fan of a solid butt grab. ME: Look, I didn’t know they were going to take that photo. She just sort of fell into me. On me. Past me. HANNAH: Oh, so you’re already FALLING for each other.

Dash said, “Crazier than a giant fixer upper football player ending up with a type-A ballerina, after having a surprise kid, after not seeing each other for two years and then randomly ending up in the same city?

“God! Even the way you say crank and gloom makes it sound like a sexy tea shop in London that I want to go to!”

“Peas and carrots,'' she said.

I looked back at Millie and found her wiping tears from her eyes. “How was my performance?” she asked. “Brilliant. As always,'' I said. “Grool,” she smirked.

That’s So Wizard!

Millie bent over to place her phone on a lower shelf. I checked out her ass, which was perfectly outlined by her dress. It looked like an upside down blue velvet teardrop. A very squeezable, extremely spankable, highly biteable velvet teardrop.

The world is your oyster and has been ever since you were a girl. Stop focusing on the grit and see the pearl.”

“What’s the pearl?” She pinched my cheek. “You are, dear sister. You are the pearl. Let yourself shine.”