Question: What do you do when you fall for your best friend’s little sister?
More important question: How long can you keep it a secret before it all goes up in flames?
The Billionaire’s Forbidden Little Sister, an all-new brother’s best friend rom-com from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
Theo Cruz, a New York man known for his family’s billion-dollar empire, Cruz Enterprises, has been indicted this afternoon in the Court of Public Opinion on charges of Bro-Code Conspiracy.
Chief counsel for the prosecution, Caplin Hawkins, spoke candidly about the accusation.
“Once thought of as a best friend to many—including myself—Theo Cruz has officially turned his back on human decency. He’s conniving and dishonest, and a habitual offender of Bro-Code Law 676. He’ll rue the day he forgot that you never—under any circumstances—get involved with your best friend’s little sister.”
Fact: I haven’t actually been arrested or indicted.
More important fact: I inadvertently messed up—big-time.
Two strangers in a foreign country, we said hello.
Hello turned into a kiss.
A kiss turned into a rendezvous.
And a rendezvous turned into more than I’d ever imagined.
But her unruly golden curls and beautiful body hid an important detail—She’s my mouthiest billionaire best friend’s forbidden little sister.
Fact: I knew not of my crimes.
More important fact: I know now, but even though I know I’m playing with fire, there’s no way I’m stopping. I can’t leave her alone.
Question: What do you do when you fall for your best friend’s little sister?
More important question: How long can you keep it a secret before it all goes up in flames?
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Excerpt
Lena
Two hours and another two shots
for Pippa later and she’s in full-on dance mode. Shaking her hips
and tits like she owns the joint. It only took one intense shimmy
during “Gonna Make You Sweat” to understand what she meant—her
boobs, left braless, would absolutely
be a lethal weapon. I’m pretty sure the sweat between them even
vaporized into a misty Mel Gibson mirage, they shook so hard.
And not once has she wanted to
stop for a break.
She’s in the running to be
the next Energizer bunny, but my bladder is full, and I’m
dehydrated. For the love of God, I need something to drink other than
Mel-flavored sweat mist and gasoline.
Thankfully, when Pip spots
Sophie and Frederick on the other side of the dance floor, she does
some weird version of the robot, spins in their direction, and makes
like the wind through the crowd while letting her arms trail behind
her.
It’s so fucking strange, it’s
hilarious, and I can’t help but laugh.
Sophie feels the same, covering
her mouth comically as she spots Pippa. I wave my hand, hoping to get
her attention, and by some miracle, she spots me through the strobing
lights and writhing bodies.
I jerk my chin and swipe a hand
across my chest before tapping the skin next to my eye and doing the
walking symbol with my fingers. Sophie nods, interpreting my
baseball-esque code, regardless of its lackluster delivery. If I were
on the other end of things, I’d be waffling between second and
third base right now, trying to figure out what to do.
“I’ve got her!” she
whisper-yells toward me, and the weight of drunken-friend-motherhood
lifts off me in a flash. I’m sure my friends with kids would tell
me this is how they always feel when they actually make it to the
bathroom.
I didn’t think it was a
possibility for a female living on planet Earth, but when I make it
to the toilets—as
the Italians call them—the
line is short and speedy. I’m standing at the bar again, waiting on
a bartender to take my order in under five minutes.
Of course, the bar takes so
long, I have to sit down on one of the stools to bide my time. And
just like that, the timetable of the universe has been righted.
While I wait, I glance back
toward the dance floor to check on Pip, the dancing queen—who is
now showing off her twerking skills to a cute twentysomething guy. If
I had to guess based on his appearance, I’d peg him as one of the
locals. But for all I really know, he hails from the Jersey Shore.
Thankfully, Sophie and
Frederick are sticking close to Pip’s side, and her dance partner
of unknown origin isn’t getting too handsy.
All
is well. I
breathe a sigh of relief and turn back toward the bar to resume my
quest for a drink and, like magic, lock eyes directly with a
bartender.
Thank
God!
He jerks his chin up to head my
way, and I climb to stand on the rung of my barstool with glee.
But when he’s five steps
away, his attention swings back to a point down the bar, and
immediately, he diverts.
What
the hell?
I glance down at my perky,
tight-nippled breasts and frown. How
in the hell did he see these fuckers and not come in for the landing?
Annoyed, I follow him with my
gaze to what I’m sure must be a woman with three tits and an
exposed pussy.
I pause. Stop. Go
completely still.
Wow.
That is definitely
not a woman with
freakish anatomy. In fact, that’s no woman at all.
Midnight-blue eyes, a little
scruff on his strong jaw, and the kind of lips that I instinctually
know will be
good at kissing, the man who stole my bartender warrants more than a
double take.
Hot
damn.
He’s clad in a smart suit but
no tie, and his collared shirt is loose at the neck but perfectly
fitted around the tight, firm muscles of his chest. The suit is
obviously tailored and screams of money, but I have a feeling not
even gold-plating would be able to disguise the spectacular body he’s
got underneath.
His face is serious—but God,
even serious, he is handsome as fuck.
The urge to find out what he
looks like when he smiles is both overwhelming and terrifying. I
mean, how would I even quantify anything beyond perfection?
A shiver runs up my spine. I
really
want to see what this guy is all about.
I imagine if I could remember
Pippa existed at this point, I’d try to thank her for insisting I
celebrate our accomplishments by lifting the man ban for the night.
As it is, I’m not sure anyone
but me and the hottie with the sparkling eyes are left on the planet.
When he finishes talking to
what I can only assume is the bartender who abandoned me, he turns
back toward the dance floor and rests his hip against the bar.
His still-serious eyes scan the
joint, moving from the dance floor to the VIP section to the intimate
booths scattered along the walls and then back to the line of the
bar, all the way back to me.
My breath catches in my throat
when he meets my curious gaze and pauses.
Yes,
please.
Drink forgotten, I mouth the
word “Hi” toward him, and the slight hint of a smile threatens to
quirk up just one corner of his lips.
God,
I want to see him smile.
He mouths “Hi” back before
pulling the center of his bottom lip between his teeth and dragging
it back out. One perfect dimple pokes out from his cheek.
Hell’s
bells, that’s one dangerously sexy look…
Unconsciously, I lick my bottom
lip, and without hesitation, he shoves away from his spot at the bar
and closes the distance between us.
“Hi,” I repeat when he
stops within hearing distance—and in this club, with this crowd and
noise, that’s pretty fucking close.
With full lips, white teeth,
and two dimples, he smiles the sexiest smile I’ve seen in my life
at the single-syllable word. And as a bonus, I can see now that his
sparkling eyes are midnight blue, like the deepest part of the ocean.
“Hi,” he responds, rounding
out our freak cycle of hellos, and it’s instantly evident he’s an
American like me.
“You should do that more.”
He raises a questioning brow,
leaning just one hand into the lighted marble bar top behind me. It
makes his size feel impressive, makes me feel enveloped. My whole
body spasms, and I take a deep breath to control it. “Do what
more?”
“Smile,” I clarify.
A soft but deep and raspy
chuckle leaves his perfect, kissable mouth. “Who says I don’t?”
I reach up toward the skin
between his brows and his gaze follows my hand skeptically, but he
doesn’t back away. “This little, almost nonexistent line right
here,” I say softly, running a finger across it.
His eyes search mine in the
kind of hot and sexy way that makes me wonder if my panties are still
there, but I do my best to keep my voice even as I explain further.
“I bet you furrow your brow all the time.”
He leans closer to me, and my
fingers slide into the lush, dark locks of his hair on accident. “Is
that right?”
“Uh-huh,” I answer simply,
unable to form words until my hand finds its way back to the safe
space of my lap. It’s purely circumstantial that my fingers graze
his cheek and then his neck along the way. I clear my throat and look
up to meet his eyes again. “I mean, here you are, in a club, at a
bar with beautiful women all around you, and until you came over
here, I couldn’t tell if you were having a good time at all.”
He laughs a little and then
asks, “You know what’s funny?”
Completely oblivious to the
answer but equally eager to find out, I shake my head.
“Neither could I.”
“And now?” I challenge
with one inquisitive eyebrow.
“Now, I definitely am.”
I smile then, allowing a
cascade of goose bumps to cover my arms from my shoulders to my
fingertips.
Goddamn.
He’s trouble, and I like it. In fact, I like it way
too much.
“Well, in that case…” I
pause and bite down on my bottom lip. “Since you stole my
bartender, I think it’s only fair that you buy me a drink.”
He searches my eyes, a small
smile once again lighting his own. “Stole your bartender?”
“Yep. Plucked him right from
my braless grasp.”
He laughs again, shaking his
head and fighting like hell not to look down. I’m immediately
impressed by his level of self-control. Nine out of ten of the men
I’ve been with in the past would have focused in on my buzzword and
failed to look away from it for the rest of the night.
But not this guy. He’s
interested—I can tell by the way his pupils have dilated—but for
now, he’s content to focus on my eyes.
Irony at its finest, as that
simple behavior actually increases his chances of seeing my nipples
later.
“Okay, then. I guess I owe
you one. What’s your poison?” That handsome grin of his grows
wider, and I swear to God, I can feel it all the way to my damn toes.
Tell
him gin and tonic because it will taste good when you get him to kiss
you later, my
horny, sex-deprived subconscious instructs.
The other side of my brain—the
rational
side—suggests something low in alcohol content—something that
promotes good decisions.
I think it over for a brief
moment, scanning the features of his too-handsome face and landing on
his luscious smirking lips once again.
The answer pours out of me like
a benediction. “Gin and tonic, please.”
About Max Monroe
A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten 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.
Connect with Max Monroe
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