About the Book
From New
York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo comes a romance about taking
chances, double lives, and falling madly in love with the one person you’re
supposed to want dead.
Never
steal from a king.
Down on
her luck in Las Vegas, Isabel “Izzy” Lake turns to the regulated prostitution
industry. But her first day on the job ends abruptly when her client dies, and
his suitcase contains over a million dollars.
Izzy
takes the money and sets off to a small town on the other side of the country,
where she attempts to live a low-profile life. A few weeks into her new country
girl lifestyle, she finds owning an old fixer-upper isn’t so fun when you’re a
city girl with zero DIY skills.
Izzy’s
handsome new neighbor, Kingston Jameson, is all too eager to fix her leaky
faucet and warm the cold side of her bed. It’s not long before she finds
herself falling for King. But is he really the sweet-talking country boy he
claims to be, or has he come to collect more than her heart?
***
Kingston
“King” Jameson knew he shouldn’t have let Garrett pick up the suitcase full of
cash. And he sure as hell never expected Garrett to die at a brothel and get
robbed by a prostitute.
King
needs to get the suitcase – and the secret item hidden in the lining – before
his boss kills him.
He has one
problem: The girl who stole the suitcase has hidden it very well. She left her
entire life behind in Las Vegas. She’s got nothing left to lose. If King wants
that suitcase, he needs to get close to her. Close enough to watch her every
move. To know her deepest secrets.
Okay,
he has two problems: He’s also fallen in love with the girl he’s supposed to
kill.
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About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee,
chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too
much time re-watching Game of Thrones and Sex and the City. When
she’s not binge watching, she’s usually enjoying the Oregon rain with a hot cup
of coffee and a book.
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Excerpt
The drive home is
relatively silent, save for the occasional heaving noises from Izzy.
When I
pull into her driveway, I make sure to park with the passenger side as close to
her front door as possible. Then, I carefully open her door, catching her so
she doesn’t tumble out, and carry her up the front steps.
“Try not to collapse,
okay?” I say, setting her down gently. “I have to look for your keys.”
“Are you feeling me up?”
she asks as I slide my hand into each pocket of her jeans.
Her breath is coated in
the sickly sweet scent of whiskey mixed with a trace of vomit. Her hair smells
like the smoky atmosphere in the bar. But her body is dangerously warm and soft
under my touch.
“No, ma’am,” I reply,
pulling a set of keys out of her front pocket.
She reaches up and
clumsily traces her fingertip down the front of my lips. “Why not?”
I shake my head.
“Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of women who are
too drunk to remember their own name.”
“That’s a shame,” she pouts
as I unlock the door. “It’s… It’s Jolene.”
She laughs as I scoop
her up in my arms and carry her into the house, where we’re greeted by Steve.
The gentle beast wiggles her butt violently as she sniffs me up and down,
taking in the smells of the bar.
“Hey, Steve,” I greet
her as I use my foot to push the door closed behind me.
“You have to call her
Steve-Bella until she’s used to Steve,” Izzy corrects me.
Maybe I should refer to
you as Jolene-Izzy until you’re used to your new name.
I lower her onto the
worn-in beige sofa, which I assume she purchased second-hand at The Junk
Drawer. Taking a step back, I watch with slight amusement as she adjusts a
throw pillow under her head and closes her eyes with a big smile on her face.
“How did you learn those
fancy moves?” she slurs.
“What are you talking
about?” I reply, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table so I can keep an
eye on her for a bit.
I tell myself I need to
make sure she doesn’t choke on whatever’s left inside her stomach, but I know
I’m only kidding myself.
Her eyelids flutter
open, her gaze unfocused as she looks me up and down. “You tackled that guy
like a defensive lineman, but you don’t look like a lineman. You’ve got
quarterback written all over that hard body.”
I shake my head. “I used
to be in the military. How did you learn those fancy moves? That was
quite an elbow you dealt that guy.”
“I used to be in the
military,” she replies with a cheesy grin.
“No, you weren’t.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
This girl just made off
with 1.4 million dollars cash from a criminal organization. She’s obviously
drinking to cope with the sudden loss of her friends and family. Yet, she still
remembers to clam up about the details of her former life when she’s drunk.
I’m more impressed with
her by the second.
“All right. I’ll let you
keep your secrets,” I reply, getting to my feet now that I’m pretty sure she
doesn’t need me here to watch over her.
“Thank you,” she says,
closing her eyes again.
“For what?”
“For saving me.”
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