• Winslow Brothers #3
• Billionaire Bad Boys Spin-Off
4.5 Stars
Dear Fellow Bookworms,
I need your help.
I, Rachel Rose, am in quite the pickle with a hot-as-sin English Lit professor by the name of Ty Winslow, and I don’t know how to get out of it.
Let me break it down for you:
Girl meets Guy.
Girl gives Guy her underwear on a dare but nothing else identifying (like her name or number) because she plans to never see Guy again.
But Girl does see Guy again, in a very professional setting, where she is to be the Teaching Assistant to his Professor for an entire semester.
Girl would like to ignore all events of the past, but Guy is a whole list of tempting things that are hard to resist. (See below:)
#1: Insanely attractive.
#2: The most fun a girl could ever have.
#3: Successful and intelligent.
#4: He can quote Walt Whitman at the drop of a hat—which I’m sure you know is a dangerous thing for a literature-lover.
#5: Smooth with a capital S. He could charm the panties off a woman WITHOUT the help of a dare.
And now, Mr. Hot Professor, the man I’m determined to resist, is challenging me to a competition—a playful, secret game, so to speak—where the winner takes all.
My plan? Play the game long enough to win—long enough to walk away with the upper hand—without doing something stupid like falling in love.
It’s possible . . . right?
If you have any advice, please reach out to me soon—before it’s too late.
XOXO,
Rachel
And still I'm asking myself: How are none of Max Monroe's books streaming their behinds off on Netflix yet?? The world is a weird and sad place!!
TY
I glance pointedly down at the ring—a mood ring—on her right
ring finger, and she lets go of my hand like it’s morphed into a scorching hot
plate.
Rachel Rose is her. The woman from Orchid.
“What’s your mood tonight?” I asked her.
And she answered with a seductive, “A little wild. A little
reckless.”
The conversation I had with her that night replays in my
mind, and I know there’s no way in hell I’d get those big green eyes and
entrancing lips of hers confused with someone else.
And fuck me, this woman, she’s even more of a goddess than
my brain allowed me to remember.
Her skirt, coat, and blouse are classic and professional,
but even they can’t hide the mind-blowing curves that lie beneath the material.
Her breasts are full, her hips and thighs perfectly rounded, and her legs
shapely in a way that reminds me of paintings from the Renaissance.
She is the exact type of curvy that turns me into a fool.
And her face is undeniably beautiful too. More so than the
dim lights of Orchid allowed me to see.
“Rachel,” I repeat her name, letting it fall slowly off my
tongue. “It’s always good to be able to put a name to a face.”
Her laugh is awkward, but that’s probably because she’s been
lying through her pretty little lips ever since we made eye contact. “Well,
it’s nice to meet you too, Professor Winslow.”
“Please, Rachel, just call me Ty.”
“O-okay,” she answers and swallows hard against a nervous
titter in her throat. “So…uh…what would you like for me to accomplish today?”
How about you acknowledge that you gave me your panties? is
the very first thought to come to mind. Is that something you do often? and Or
was it just something you did for me? are the second and third.
Thankfully, my brain-to-mouth filter seems to be connected
today because no matter what my dick has prepared in its PowerPoint
presentation, this is Nate’s daughter.
I can’t go there.
“We’ll keep it laid-back today. I have a folder of
information for you. My class schedules, some teaching plans for the semester,
that kind of stuff,” I answer, even though everything inside me wants to press
her more about that Friday night. I swear, this woman has some balls to just
outright deny something we both know is true.
To be honest, in a weird way, I think I might admire her for
it.
“Okay, cool,” she answers calmly, but I don’t miss the way
her fingers fidget with her coat.
I walk back over to my desk and shuffle through the mess of
papers and files to find the stack that’s for her. “I went ahead and compared
our schedules. The only class of mine that you’ll be able to attend
consistently is my afternoon English 101 class with the freshmen. Though, I’d
love to see you fit in a few of my other courses throughout this semester, but
not to the detriment of your master’s workload.”
I hand her the thick file, and she takes it with hesitant
hands, her eyes acting like my face is the sun and avoiding direct contact for
long periods of time is needed for survival.
“This is probably not everything, but it will give you a good
start,” I instruct, and for some insane reason, I can’t swipe the smile off my
face. There is just something about her and the way she is avoiding the reality
of our initial introduction that, the more I think about it, is amusing as
hell. “Log-ins for my online drive, my class schedule for the spring semester,
some of my teaching plans for English 101, and a few other odds and ends I know
will be of use.”
She stares down at the file in her hands. Which I’m guessing
has more to do with avoidance than interest, seeing as it’s a plain manila
folder. “Great. Thanks.”
“I also think it would be a good idea for us to get to know
each other a little better,” I say and lean back against my desk, crossing my
arms at my chest. I know I’m putting her on the spot, but I’m so fucking
curious if she’s ever going to break from the façade of acting like Orchid
never happened, it feels like I have to push. “So, tell me a little bit about
yourself, Rachel.”
Her green eyes flicker up and hold, and I know immediately
that something has changed. She’s formed a backbone or found her courage or is
gearing up to tell me to go fuck myself. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. “What
do you want to know exactly?”
“Just a little about you. What are your greatest passions in
literature? Your likes? Dislikes?” And how often do you go to nightclubs and
give men your underwear?
She shrugs. Toys with the file in her hands. “Well, I got my
bachelor’s at Stanford. Took a few years off to…I don’t know…not focus on my
career.” Her laugh is self-deprecating. “And literature, devouring books,
writing…I love all of it. Though I’m not certain what I want to do with my
master’s, I know it will lead me to where I should be.”
“And what do you do for fun outside of NYU’s campus?”
You bastard. You just can’t help yourself, can you?
“For fun? Off campus?” she questions. “I don’t know. I mean,
I just got back to New York, so I’d say that answer is pending.” The hint of a
fire blazes behind her eyes, and what leaves her gorgeous mouth doesn’t
disappoint. “And personally, I don’t think what I do for fun off campus should
be any of your concern.”
I love it. She knows when to put her foot down. Strong,
curvaceous, beautiful women are my fucking weakness.
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About five years ago, a dynamic duo of romance authors teamed up under the pseudonym Max Monroe, and, well, the rest is history...
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of more than thirty contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
