College drop-out, Roxy Cumberland, moved to New York with dreams of becoming an actress, but her dwindling bank account is quickly putting the kibosh on that fantasy. To make some quick cash, she signs up to perform singing telegrams. Her first customer is a gorgeous, cocky Manhattan trust-funder if she ever laid eyes on one. And what could be more humiliating than singing an ode to his junk, courtesy of his last one night stand? Maybe the fact that she’s dressed in a giant, pink bunny costume...
After a night out to celebrate winning his last case, lawyer Louis McNally II isn’t prepared for the pounding in his head or the rabbit serenading him from the front door. But the sassy wit and sexy voice of the girl behind the mask intrigues him, and one look at her stunning face—followed by a mind-blowing kiss against his doorjamb—leaves Louis wanting more.
Roxy doesn’t need a spoiled rich boy who’s had everything in life handed to him on a Tiffany platter. But there’s more to Louis than his sexy surface and he’s determined to make Roxy see it...even if it means chasing her all over NYC.
She ran a thumb over the rates young-dude-boss had jotted
down on the slip of paper. Two hundred dollars for each ten-minute performance.
God, the security she would feel with that kind of money. And yet,
something told her that once she took that step, once she started taking off
her clothes, she would never stop. It would become a necessity instead of a
temporary patch-up of her shitstorm cloud.
Think about it later. When you’re not dressed like the
fucking Trix Rabbit. Roxy took a deep, fortifying breath, the same
one she took before every audition. She wrapped her steady fingers around the
brass door knocker and rapped it against the wood twice. A frown marred her
forehead when she heard a miserable groan come from inside the apartment. It
sounded like a young groan. Maybe the douchebag had a son? Oh, cool. She definitely wanted to do this in front
of someone in her age group. Perfect.
Her sarcastic thought bubble burst over her head when the
door swung open, revealing a guy. A hot-as-hell guy. A naked-except-for-unbuttoned-jeans
guy. Being the shameless hussy she was, her gaze immediately dipped to his
happy trail, although, on this guy, it really should have been called a rapture
path. It started just beneath his belly button, which sat at the bottom of
beautifully defined ab muscles. But they weren’t the kind of abs honed from
hours in the gym. No, they were natural,
I-do-sit-ups-when-I-damn-well-feel-like-it abs. Approachable abs. The kind you
could either lick or snuggle up against, depending on your mood.
Roxy lassoed her rapidly dwindling focus and yanked it
higher until she met his eyes. Big mistake. The abs were child’s play compared
to the face. Stubbled jaw. Bed head. Big, Hershey-colored eyes outlined by
dark, black lashes. His fists were planted on either side of the door frame,
giving her a front-row seat to watch his chest and arms flex. A lesser woman
would have applauded. As it was, Roxy was painfully aware of her bunny-costumed
status, and even that came in second place to the fact that Approachable
Abs was so stinking rich that he could afford to be nursing a hangover at
eleven in the morning. On a Thursday.
He dragged a hand through his unkempt black hair. “Am I
still drunk, or are you dressed like a rabbit?”
His voice was rough from sleep. Probably not his usual
voice. That had to be the reason her tummy did a backflip. “I’m dressed like a
rabbit.”
“Okay.” He tilted his head. “Should I be drunk for
this?”
“If anyone should be drunk for this, it’s me.”
“Good point.” He jerked his thumb back toward his dark
apartment. “I think there’s some tequila left—”
“You know what?” This is my life right now. How did I get
here? “I think I’m all set.”
He nodded once, as if out of respect for her decision. “So
what now?”
“Are you…” She consulted her slip of paper through the round
eyeholes. “Louis McNally?”
“Yeah.” He leaned against the doorjamb and considered her.
“I was named after my grandfather. So, technically, I’m Louis McNally the
Second. How’s that for fancy?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Just making small talk.”
“Is this a typical Thursday exploit for you? Get a lot of
forest creatures on your doorstep?”
“You’d be the first.”
“Well, then. Call me Pink Bunny the First. How’s that for
fancy?” When he laughed, she was grateful for the mask that hid her unexpected
smile. Honestly, this situation was getting more ridiculous by the minute. She
definitely didn’t have time for this. At one o’clock she was auditioning for a
small theater company’s ironic production of Lassie. Priorities, Roxy.
“You sound cute.” He squinted at her, as if attempting to
see through the plastic mask. “You cute under there, bunny?”
“Being that your one-night stand from last night sent me
here to sing for you, I don’t know if that matters,” she answered sweetly.
“Cute girls trump all.” One dark eyebrow rose. “What was
that about singing?”
Roxy cleared her throat, letting the horrifically stupid
lyrics imprint on her brain. Lyrics she hadn’t written, thanks God. The sooner
she got this over with, the sooner she could get out of the suffocating costume
and forget this ever happened. Until tomorrow. When she was scheduled to dress
like a giant bumble bee. For fuck sake.
Make every performance count. Channeling
Liza Minnelli, she cocked one hip and raised the opposite hand.
To my hot shot honey bunny
Last night we went places and had some fun-ny
You brought me home and we skipped the small talk
Now I’m daydreaming about your perfect—
“Stop.” Louis shook his head slowly. “Jesus, please, make it
stop.”
Roxy let her hand drop to her side. “You better be
complaining about the lyrics and not my singing.”
Tessa Bailey is originally from Carlsbad, California. The day after high school graduation, she packed her yearbook, ripped jeans and laptop, driving cross-country to New York City in under four days.
Her most valuable life experiences were learned thereafter while waitressing at K-Dees, a Manhattan pub owned by her uncle. Inside those four walls, she met her husband, best friend and discovered the magic of classic rock, managing to put herself through Kingsborough Community College and the English program at Pace University at the same time. Several stunted attempts to enter the work force as a journalist followed, but romance writing continued to demand her attention.
She now lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband of seven years and three-year-old daughter. Although she is severely sleep-deprived, she is incredibly happy to be living her dream of writing about people falling in love.
Website: http://www.tessabailey.com/
Her most valuable life experiences were learned thereafter while waitressing at K-Dees, a Manhattan pub owned by her uncle. Inside those four walls, she met her husband, best friend and discovered the magic of classic rock, managing to put herself through Kingsborough Community College and the English program at Pace University at the same time. Several stunted attempts to enter the work force as a journalist followed, but romance writing continued to demand her attention.
She now lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband of seven years and three-year-old daughter. Although she is severely sleep-deprived, she is incredibly happy to be living her dream of writing about people falling in love.
Website: http://www.tessabailey.com/
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