(A Second Chances Novel #1)
Publication date: April 30th 2014
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
When Alexis Lin heads to Sin City for the summer, she wants nothing more than to dive into the clubs, spas, and concerts – the benefits of her father’s high roller lifestyle. On her first night in the city, Alexis gets into trouble at a club but walks away from it with the help of Connor Vincent. Private security guard to the top gamblers, Connor is all charm with his clients, but he’s the anti-Prince Charming when it comes to women. Connor doesn’t have time for romance. He has his own problems to deal with, including his wild card of a brother who has come to town to collect on a past debt.
Alexis and Connor’s unlikely chemistry heats things up as chance again conspires to throw them together. The stakes become even higher when unexpected tragedy strikes Alexis’ family and when Connor’s brother threatens to ruin the life that Connor has worked so hard to build. To come out ahead of the game, Alexis must be brave enough to listen to her heart, Connor must finally face up to his past, and both must decide how much they’re willing to lose.
Sometimes risking your heart is the biggest gamble of all.
Excerpt:
Tucker’s shout calling out my drink brings me back. As soon as my fingers close around the glass, an elbow smacks into my arm. Goddammit. My arm has more Manhattan on it than my glass has in it.
I whip around and shoot a death glare at the guy next to me. The bar is crowded, sure. But would it kill him to wait until there was actually room before plowing his way into a spot?
I’m face-to-face with a solid wall of dark blue, a t-shirt that’s stretched over broad shoulders and a muscled chest that would probably give Elle an immediate hard on. My gaze lifts to a face with chiseled, strong features, full but firm lips, intensely blue eyes blazing in contrast to his tanned skin. That kind of eye color should not legally exist on a human being. I’m the one who’s drenched in whiskey, but he’s the one staring at me like he’s pissed off at the world.
I snap in his direction, “Thanks for that. Now I’m soaked and out of a drink.” I eye the stack of cocktail napkins next to him, but they’re out of my reach. Not about to dive on him to get them.
Without saying a word, he takes a wad of napkins and unceremoniously shoves them at me. His fingers rake through his dark wavy hair, which is already messy like he’s been pushing his hand through it all night. For some reason, everything about his appearance makes me think he rides a bike. I check him out again as I blot my arm dry. Striking. Especially with the slight stubble on his face, and with those eyes. Too bad he’s kind of an ass.
“What, sweetheart? You want me to buy you a drink now? You’ll have to sweet talk me more than that. Or I accept sexual favors, too.” He says it half-heartedly, like he’s reading it out of some stupid playbook of his.
Are you shitting me? Okay, make that a total ass. I cough out a laugh. “Yeah, right. No thanks.”
He shrugs. “No skin off my back. People in this city drink too much anyway.”
His voice is low and resonant, the timbre of it sending an involuntary jolt of electricity through me. The look he gives me and the way one corner of his mouth curves up is almost mocking. Not that I’m expecting any sort of chivalry on his part, but that had to be the worst apology. Ever.
I raise my eyebrows. “You might have noticed, but you’re standing at the bar?”
“I’m not drinking, am I.” He says it flatly, as a statement.
“No,” I admit. “But you seemed pretty intent on shoving your way into a spot here, and there are less crowded places to go if you didn’t want a drink.”
He glances away, unfazed by my stellar display of logic. “Came here to talk to someone.”
“Lucky girl. Or guy,” I say with sarcasm.
Why am I even wasting my breath with this guy? I don’t wait for a reply before shoving away from the bar. I briefly debate circling around and going to the other end to get another drink, but my nerves are crawling with irritation. And not just because my arm is sticky. I need to get away from anti-Prince Charming before I go into total bitch mode. I’m here to have fun, and normally things like that bounce off of me and don’t leave any impression. But he got under my skin, and I don’t like that.
Tucker’s shout calling out my drink brings me back. As soon as my fingers close around the glass, an elbow smacks into my arm. Goddammit. My arm has more Manhattan on it than my glass has in it.
I whip around and shoot a death glare at the guy next to me. The bar is crowded, sure. But would it kill him to wait until there was actually room before plowing his way into a spot?
I’m face-to-face with a solid wall of dark blue, a t-shirt that’s stretched over broad shoulders and a muscled chest that would probably give Elle an immediate hard on. My gaze lifts to a face with chiseled, strong features, full but firm lips, intensely blue eyes blazing in contrast to his tanned skin. That kind of eye color should not legally exist on a human being. I’m the one who’s drenched in whiskey, but he’s the one staring at me like he’s pissed off at the world.
I snap in his direction, “Thanks for that. Now I’m soaked and out of a drink.” I eye the stack of cocktail napkins next to him, but they’re out of my reach. Not about to dive on him to get them.
Without saying a word, he takes a wad of napkins and unceremoniously shoves them at me. His fingers rake through his dark wavy hair, which is already messy like he’s been pushing his hand through it all night. For some reason, everything about his appearance makes me think he rides a bike. I check him out again as I blot my arm dry. Striking. Especially with the slight stubble on his face, and with those eyes. Too bad he’s kind of an ass.
“What, sweetheart? You want me to buy you a drink now? You’ll have to sweet talk me more than that. Or I accept sexual favors, too.” He says it half-heartedly, like he’s reading it out of some stupid playbook of his.
Are you shitting me? Okay, make that a total ass. I cough out a laugh. “Yeah, right. No thanks.”
He shrugs. “No skin off my back. People in this city drink too much anyway.”
His voice is low and resonant, the timbre of it sending an involuntary jolt of electricity through me. The look he gives me and the way one corner of his mouth curves up is almost mocking. Not that I’m expecting any sort of chivalry on his part, but that had to be the worst apology. Ever.
I raise my eyebrows. “You might have noticed, but you’re standing at the bar?”
“I’m not drinking, am I.” He says it flatly, as a statement.
“No,” I admit. “But you seemed pretty intent on shoving your way into a spot here, and there are less crowded places to go if you didn’t want a drink.”
He glances away, unfazed by my stellar display of logic. “Came here to talk to someone.”
“Lucky girl. Or guy,” I say with sarcasm.
Why am I even wasting my breath with this guy? I don’t wait for a reply before shoving away from the bar. I briefly debate circling around and going to the other end to get another drink, but my nerves are crawling with irritation. And not just because my arm is sticky. I need to get away from anti-Prince Charming before I go into total bitch mode. I’m here to have fun, and normally things like that bounce off of me and don’t leave any impression. But he got under my skin, and I don’t like that.
AUTHOR BIO:
Helen Boswell loved to get lost in the pages of a story from the time she could sound out the words. Originally from upstate New York, Helen spent much of her early adult life tromping around in Buffalo, NYC, Toronto, and Las Vegas, those cities now serving as inspiration for the dark and gritty urban backdrops of her stories. An author of both urban fantasy and contemporary romance, she loves to read and write characters that come to life with their beauty, flaws, and all.
Helen dedicates her time to raising her family of two boys, teaching college students, and of course, writing.
Find out more about Helen at www.helenboswell.com.
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