Is it possible to expose Chicago's hottest player--without getting played?
This is the story I've been waiting for all my life, and its name is Malcolm Kyle Preston Logan Saint. Don't be fooled by that last name though. There's nothing holy about the man except the hell his parties raise. The hottest entrepreneur Chicago has ever known, he's a man's man with too much money to spend and too many women vying for his attention.
Mysterious. Privileged. Legendary. His entire life he's been surrounded by the press as they dig for tidbits to see if his fairytale life is for real or all mirrors and social media lies. Since he hit the scene, his secrets have been his and his alone to keep. And that's where I come in.
Assigned to investigate Saint and reveal his elusive personality, I'm determined to make him the story that will change my career.
But I never imagined he would change my life. Bit by bit, I start to wonder if I'm the one discovering him...or if he's uncovering me.
What happens when the man they call Saint, makes you want to sin?
If you haven't read Katy's books before, I have no idea where you've been, but you'll be a fan once you meet Malcolm Saint. If you have read Katy's books before, get ready to add a brand-new, Katy-created (so you know he's special) book boyfriend to your roster! Malcolm Saint is the kind of guy that will cause a girl to clear her roster--the whole damn bench--because who needs a player when you can have an all-star? And he is everything you'd want in a player, girls, so grab a drink and a blanket and prepare to be one with this book until the very last page.
I want to talk about our heroine, Rachel Livingston, I really do, because I liked her a lot, but as soon as I wrote the words "Malcolm Saint" my mind totally scrambled and everything else disappeared; so she'll have to wait. Let's talk Malcolm. Malcolm Saint is a gazillionaire playboy/wild one/risk-taker/manwhore, and I love him. He's insatiable in just about every way, and so self-contained and self-controlled that he would drive any ordinary girl to act like a deranged psychopath. For instance, while reading this book, I wanted to be impressed with Rachel's self control, but I couldn't get past the voice screaming in my head, "Just give in, already!! Are you crazy?! Throw yourself at his feet!!" Clearly, I would have been a slobbering fool for Mr. Saint, so it's probably good that I only get to spend time with Malcolm between the pages of a book. He would hate me--but I digress. He's smart and charming and I'm guessing his green eyes would make a girl stop in her tracks and lose her train of thought. That's how I picture him, anyway. And I haven't even gotten into his picture-perfect appearance. I'm thinking a sexy Superman w/ the occasional stubble. You know, like Clark Kent (sans glasses), looking tousled and still perfect when he just wakes up. But I digress…again. Malcolm Saint will do that to a girl.
Beyond the physical perfection that causes women to lose all rational thought around him, is this sweet, gushy center--imagine caramel. Delish. He doesn't let too much out, he keeps his stories and his details tucked safely in his inner jacket pocket, but every now then, he slips one into a conversation, and it's like a gift. And if I, as humble reader, felt like I'd just received something rare and fragile in a beautiful bow of words, I can only imagine how Rachel felt to take those words in. And then there are these corner-of-the-mouth kisses that were so tender that I felt my cheeks warm every time he gave one. Seriously. Who knew so much could be said in a corner-of-the-mouth kiss?! Screw professional distance, I say, go get that man, Rachel! But I didn't write this book--and thank God because only Katy Evans could slow me down and have me grasping for every new page.
See, Rachel is a reporter tasked with getting into the inner circle of Saint's world and writing an exposé. She's told to get close, like intimately close, and while I really wasn't fond of her editor for even suggesting such a thing, I felt some sympathy for the up-and-coming writer. Although I have to say, after her second meeting with Saint, I was urging young Rachel to find a new job.
Remember that gushy center I talked about earlier? There's a pretty thick layer of chocolate around it, but I felt the caramel right away. Malcolm Saint might be a manwhore, but he's not a heartless manwhore. In fact, he's got a big heart; he just doesn't show it off. Why, you ask? The guy has had family issues enough to harden anybody's outer shell, and he lives a life in the public eye, where no one is who they pretend to be. So, if he's developed a crispy coating on that shell, who can blame him?
So, just imagine you're the girl invited into the inner sanctum. You're being pursued by the untouchable (or very fleetingly touchable, but just one finger, please) Malcolm Saint. That's enough to turn the blender in your brain on high and let it run. And if you're tasked to write just one story to put you on the road to everything you think you've ever wanted, and he's the blindingly bright headlights of the truck coming at you, what do you do? Slam on the brakes or take the risk of crashing and burning? Can you feel the rock and the hard place?
If you're wondering if Remington Tate makes an appearance or you're hoping Saint is oh-so-Remy-like, get over it. Remy was only the first man-angel Katy created. Saint is a whole new breed, and you'll be so happy that the lovely Ms. Evans has such a generous imagination--we all reap the benefits. She had me turning pages fast and furiously. I stayed up way too late, and when I read the last page, I yelled, "Crap! It can't be over! When's the next book coming out?!" I felt a bit teary. I wanted to start again. I have a book hangover. I need more Saint; we all do, girls. You'll see. He's tough and kind of cold but totally cuddly; he's a buttoned-up business suit except when he's watching the White Sox or on the boat (or naked, which is cool, too); he's the guy who doesn't believe in love, who doesn't take women home or sleep with them, but wants to see this one girl wear his shirt. His high-powered edges got sanded right down in private, and he made me completely squishy. Like, pathetic squishy; like, what-do-you-need-I'll-give-it-to-you pathetic squishy. Rachel's not wondering anymore because she got a front-row seat, but in case you're still wondering how and why I, along with every other woman who sees Saint, turned into a puddle of goo, I say: Just read the book. It'll be the best thing you've done for yourself in a long, long while. The drought is over; my cup runneth over with Malcolm Saint.
Katy Evans grew up with book-boyfriends until she found a real sexy boyfriend to love, married him, and now they are hard at work on their own happily ever after. Katy loves her family and friends, and she also loves reading, walking, baking, and being consumed by her characters until she reaches "The End." Which, is hopefully, only the beginning...
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