What in the world can these two have in common? The actions of their parents.īut where Saint does what his father says, usually, because his father is pushing him toward a pro-football careers, Esther follows her parents (father) because if she didn't. Esther is on the fast track to becoming a nun, and no I do not kid, and Saint, given name Francis, can do just about whatever he wants, because he is the star athlete and the school knows he has connections. Saint and Esther attend the same super religious college. Which is exactly what Esther thinks of him. Bet you're not like that behind closed doors. You know the type - all biblical with publicized praying and verses all over his public persona. ![]() ![]() This book almost failed to get my attention. You’re also invited to join her reader group at: ĭirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance by Vesper Vaughn She also enjoys long walks on the beach at sunset, as long as it’ll be followed by a good, old-fashioned spanking right after.ĭEAR PROFESSOR is her debut standalone novel, and her next book, HUNTER, is also a standalone novel that promises to be equally as taboo and sexy.įACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | PINTEREST She loves taboo romance and pushing boundaries in her work. Twenty minutes ago, he could have killed me.īlaire Drake is a pseudonym for a New York Times bestselling author who wanted to think outside her box and write the kind of things that would shock even them. The strong, rich taste that lingered on his lips was heady and only added to the intoxicating way he touched me.Īnd then. Until my whole body was alight with his touch and responding to his every movement. He kissed me until I was fucking spinning and could barely string two thoughts together. His tongue ran along the seam of my mouth, and as I fisted the sides of his shirt, I bit his lower lip.Ī low growl left his throat, but he didn't relent. Shock paralyzed me as he kissed me harshly. I staggered back into the wall, gasping at the ferocity of his movement. It was deadly, the way his hands clasped my face and his mouth descended on mine. The words had barely left my lips when he pounced on me. “Don't ever fucking put that to your head again.” “Don't,” he ground out, his arms tensing and looking even bigger. It bounced but stayed on the seat, and then he turned on me with blazing eyes. He came at me like a flash, snatched the gun from my hand, and dropped it on the sofa. His jaw clenched when my thumb edged toward the safety, and when my finger moved to hook around the trigger, he moved. Slowly, I turned the gun back to me and touched the barrel to my temple the way he did earlier. The boy I loved before I knew what love even was. The boy who offered to pee on my foot when I got stung by a jellyfish in Mexico on vacation when I was seven. The boy who once ripped his favorite shirt to stem the bleeding when I fell and cut my leg, then proceeded to carry me home. I wished he would look away, because in that gaze, I saw the Hunter I knew. I don't have much of a life here in hiding anyway.” The safety was on the gun, and I held it out to him. His mask and gloves fell to the floor, but he made no move to pick them up. I scoffed quietly at him and grabbed the gun from the coffee table. I wanted to ignore the indecision on his face, but I couldn't. It was easier to provoke him and be angry with him than give in to the horrible ache that had settled in my heart. He looked at me, and his expression was a little tortured. Kill me and everyone's happy, right? My pathetic excuse for a father gets to keep his empire and you're taken care of for life.” ![]() ![]() “Trying to work out whose life is worth more, right? Mine is probably worth a lifetime of comfort for you. Once again, he rubbed his hand across his face. “Staying, are you? Figure it's easier to kill me in my sleep?”
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