Two billionaire brothers enjoy twisted games where women are the sport. They find a female, date her, and compete to see who can bed her first.
Too bad they picked the wrong one this time. Dawn's too smart for their verbal play and too quick to get trapped by clever ploys.
The more the brothers work to capture her heart, the more they discover she might not be theirs to play.
When dealing with these two sexist pigs, I’d hoped to channel some great feminist in the history of women. Someone like Joan of Arc or Virginia Woolf. Sure it seemed a bit much, but this game that I volunteered for was more than us three. This was about lashing back at the theorized alpha male who thought he could do or say anything he wanted just because he had good looks, money, and the stupidity of a swollen ego.
When I walked up the boat’s ramp, I was supposed to appear regal and powerful, courageous and deadly like a lioness. Instead, with all the pretty butterflies swarming around me and stirring up my hair, I looked like a goddamn Disney princess.
And just to add insult to injury, Frederick appeared behind me. “You’re more captivating than Cinderella, right now.” Fury boiled in my veins. I was hot and ready to bubble over. “Well I’m not Cinderella and you’re no Prince Charming.”
On the center of the ramp, he stepped closer to me. I refused to inch back like a scared little damsel in distress.
But, I probably should have moved away.
Frederick’s masculinity encircled me. It was such a silly thing to think, but it did. His woodsy cologne trapped me to him. The profile of muscles under his thin white shirt kept my focus. The wind picked up as if under his command, raising my dress just a little and brushing soft wisps against my flesh. I shivered.
“Oh no,” he whispered to me like a lover to his devoted. “I’m not Prince Charming. I’m the bad guy that sneaks into the castle when Prince Charming is off singing songs in the woods. [...] And I’m the one that makes her scream until her throat’s raw and she can’t sing a note.”
About the author:
Kenya Wright always knew she would be famous since the ripe old age of six when she sang the Michael Jackson thriller song in her bathroom mirror. She has tried her hand at many things from enlisting in the Navy for six years as a Persian-Farsi linguist to being a nude model at an art university.
However, writing has been the only constant love in her life. Will she succeed? Of course.
For she has been coined The Urban Fantasy Queen, the Super Iconic Writer of this Age, The Lyrical Genius of Our Generation. Granted, these are all terms coined by her, within the private walls of her bathroom as she still sings the Michael Jackson thriller song.
Kenya Wright currently resides in Miami with her three amazing, overactive children, a supportive, gorgeous husband, and three cool black cats that refuse to stop sleeping on Kenya’s head at night.
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