Author: JA Huss
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Release Date: September 9, 2015
Fletcher Novak is Sexy.
Fletch has charm, Fletch has charisma, and Fletch has moves. He turns dreams into reality two nights a week, baring his body to lonely women, bored housewives, and bachelorettes looking for that one last good time. He’s into one-night stands, one-time things, and he never, ever gets serious.
Tiffy Preston is looking for commitment.
A billionaire’s daughter with the world at her fingertips, Tiffy’s in Lake Tahoe to take over her father’s hotel and clean up the Mountain Men Male Revue Show. She’s well-bred, polite, and hates everything Fletcher represents.
But Fletcher offers Tiffy something she can’t refuse—total satisfaction and the man of her dreams. All she has to do is… everything he tells her.
Because Sexy doesn’t sell… it’s for sale.
Sexy is a full-length, standalone novel by New York Times Bestselling author, JA Huss.
GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25774594-sexy
TRAILER (New Long Version)
Direct Link: https://www.youtube.com/embed/L4FNQr8QNwg
“Mr. Novak,” Amy, the resort manager, says in her businesslike tone, “there was a meeting this afternoon. I had it on your calendar and you missed it. I’m sure, as always, you have a good reason for that? I expect to hear it tomorrow at nine AM sharp.” She pauses for a moment to sigh. “And Fletcher, just so you know, it had better be monumental.”
There’s a click and the computer voice starts giving me options before I can disconnect the call.
Fucking management. I hate that corporate shit they do. And I hate these monthly meetings even more. But I have a show to do, so I push it away and head back downstairs. The ordinarily quick lift takes a few minutes and is filled with rich, drunk gamblers by the time it gets to my floor, so when I finally walk back through the stage door, Chandler is already calling my name.
“Fletcherrrrrrr…” he roars above the crowd of cheers.
“You’re late again, bro,” Bill says, walking by with his costume in his hand, sweat falling down his face after his dance routine. His hard body is rippled with muscles and his wet-look thong is stuffed with dollars.
But I’m a professional, remember?
I take the small set of stairs two at a time and push the curtain aside, just as Chandler says my name again. His expression is one of annoyance as he looks at the curtain, but then he realizes I’m here and it turns to relief. “Novakkkkkk…” he says, placing the mic in the stand and walking off stage on the opposite side.
I throw up my arms, allowing the tight white t-shirt to stretch across my chest and rise up from the waistband of my tattered jeans a little. The spotlight flashes directly overhead—just one brief tease of what’s to come—and the audience goes wild at that little bit of skin. But before they can do anything else, the stage goes dark again and the music starts bumping.
I don’t talk on stage. No one wants to hear what I’ve got to say. They only want to see what I can do with this body. Hardened from years of sports and diligent gym visits. Lean muscles accentuated with a grace that you only get with a decade or more of martial arts training. That’s all they want. That’s all they see. I’m just something to look at when I’m up here.
So I give them exactly what they expect. A show.
I start dancing, my hips moving to the beat of the song. Another flash of light from above. Another round of screams. And then silence as I freeze.
Whistles and catcalls start. But I hold my pose—fingertips on the back of my shirt, ready to oblige their insatiable need for the sight of bare flesh tonight. Then another flash. I drag the shirt up in that brief glimpse, and then darkness mimics my pause. The next flash they see my abs, the dream six-pack that’s mostly genetics, but I do my share of crunches. Then another flash and I give them the pecs, flexing the muscles and making them dance a little. And in that final flash, I rip the shirt over my head.
The front row stands, waving their dollar bills in the air, begging to shower me with money.
I twirl the shirt several times, taking in the throngs of women with their hands up, ready to catch the prize, and then throw it to a little redhead just as all the lights come on to the beat of the bass. I train my eyes on the crowd, ready to start the real show, and then the lights switch from me to them, lighting up their faces—red with the heat of five hundred woman jostling for position in the room. All of them there for me in this moment. It pans to the left side, and I use those three seconds to search for my star. Then down the middle. My eyes train on a woman in a light-colored suit sitting dead center before I lose her in the darkness and switch to the right side.
But she’s the one. She’s my star tonight. And she has no idea how hard I’m about to rock her world.
“Have you thought about me?” I ask. “Since last night at the show? Because I’ve thought about you.”
“What did you think about me? That I’m your next victim?”
“No, actually.” I smooth down the blanket on the ground of the shed and then step towards her, taking her face in my hands and pulling her tight against my chest. “I’ve thought about your hot breath as you panted against my cock when I was standing on your chair. I thought about your upturned eyes, looking at me if I ever got the chance to get you on your knees.”
She gulps air.
“Now tell me what you’ve been thinking about. Because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be.”
“We’re locked in,” she whispers as my mouth moves in closer.
I kiss her softly. No tongue, just a small, tender kiss that makes girls melt. “You have a phone, Tiffy. One call to your BFF, Claudio, and you’re free.”
She stares at me.
“But even though I might be the biggest prick you ever met, you want me, don’t you.”
She swallows hard.
“And I want you. That’s why we’re here. I want you. So if you don’t feel the same way, now’s your chance to say so.”
“I want…” She stops. There was a word on her lips, but I’m almost certain it was not my name. Jealousy heats me up in a millisecond. What kind of girl has another man’s name on her tongue when she’s gazing up into my eyes?
“What?” I say sharply. “What were you gonna say?”
“I want to be irresistible. Like you.”
“What?” I have to admit, I’m surprised. And then I laugh. “Are you a virgin?”
“I’m twenty-six, asshole. I’m not a fucking virgin.”
“Then what do you mean? I’m confused.”
“You’re just…” She sighs. “So good at this stuff. Seduction, right? I’m bad at it.”
“Who do you want to seduce?” My jealous rage is back.
“No one. Not specifically. But you’re so confident. And I’m so… not. I feel like I should take notes.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “What, you want me to teach you how to seduce someone?” The irony is not lost.
“Well, look. I hate you. I really do. You had me grabbing your cock last night and then I got accused of sexually harassing you. You made me feel like an idiot in that meeting with your plans and proposals. And now I’m up in your sex den, and I’m not sure what’s happening.” She looks at me with pleading eyes. “Tell me how you get all this control. How do you do it?”
I think about this for a few seconds, and then take a calculated risk. “How many blowjobs have you given in your life, Tiffy?”
“What?” She laughs, putting her hand over her heart like the word ‘blowjob’ is an assault on her virtue.
“I’ve given… one,” she admits, and then averts her eyes.
I’m turned on again. “One? One is not enough. If you want to know how to control a man, you don’t need to look any further than your own mouth. Men are drawn to lips. Every girl they ever think about sexually starts with an image of their cock in that girl’s mouth. So if you want control, you gotta lead a guy to your mouth.”
She takes a deep breath. “Go on.”
God, why am I so annoyed that she’s asking me for pointers? I can make her do anything I want right now. I should be celebrating.
“Please,” she begs. “Tell me.”
I place a hand on her shoulder and push. “Get on your knees.”
I sit there and enjoy the view, the bustle of the casino out past all the tables, and the—
Wait a minute. Is that…?
Aw, fuck. Tiffy Preston is heading my direction and she’s got a huge smile on her face. Jesus Christ, didn’t she get my note? I mean, how much clearer could I have made it? One time only, Tiff. One time only!
Double fuck. She’s waving. I give her a sheepish smile and sink into my chair. Do I wave back? I mean, she’s the big boss’ daughter. Do I have to be polite and shit? Why the hell did I bang the boss’ daughter? She’s an employee. Just like Sis and Britt. Why the fuck didn’t I realize that before my cock got the best of me?
I know why. She kept me up all night working on that proposal. And she got me so fucking hard at the show last night. Add in the exchange at the door when I was ready to jump her and she ambushed me. Well, it was sorta well played on her part. She got me. And that business suit is so not my type.
I have no clue what I was thinking.
I slump down a little more in my chair and give her a wave, hoping this convo won’t get ugly. “Hey,” I say weakly as she beams another smile, still making a beeline for my table.
“Tiffy,” a voice booms from off to my right. The guy from her room last night. Cole. “I was starting to think you were standing me up.”
Tiffy laughs and allows him to give her a polite hug as he puts his hand in the small of her back and leads her away from the bar towards a table on the other side of the restaurant.
Fuck. I sit there, a little embarrassed, then a little relieved that I didn’t have to have that awkward conversation with her.
Dodged another bullet, Novak, I tell myself.
“I heard she tried to fire you this morning,” Sis says, opening another beer and taking away my empty. “And you gave her a run for her money.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, remembering the meeting. “It was fun. I got her all flustered.”
“You usually do, Fletch.” Another customer calls for Sis and she skips off down the bar to fill his order.
I got Tiffy flustered upstairs as well. She’s quite pretty, if you’re into those career women. Her dress this morning was sophisticated business attire. White, sleeveless, hit just below the knee, and absolutely no cleavage. Even her little white shoes were office-approved two-inch heels.
But now she looks… different. Her pink dress isn’t exactly casual, but not professional either. It’s flirty. It’s short. And very low-cut. Her shoes have some little sparkly things on them and that is definitely a four-inch heel.
Damn. Tiffy Preston doesn’t look as buttoned up as I first thought.
I picture her legs spread open before me. Her soft mewling as I licked her pussy. Her manicured fingertips digging into my hair.
Fuck. I’m hard again.
I watch her as that Cole guy pulls out her chair and then scoots it in as she sits. She’s facing me, so I see her smile a little as he walks around to take his seat.
Hmmmm. What’s going on here?
I study her face, waiting for her to notice me as they chat. But she only has eyes for him. Did she see me earlier? Is she trying to make me jealous by having lunch with another guy after fucking me? After I gave her three goddamned orgasms not three hours ago? Really?
“Pfft,” I mutter under my breath. Gonna take more than that to make me look twice.
But then she licks her lips.
Wait. Did I just imagine that?
Nope. She’s chewing on them too. And then her fingertip sweeps up and traces her plump lower lip as she casually pretends to wipe away a drop of the pink champagne Mr. Fancy-Pants greeted her with. Pink champagne? Who the fuck drinks pink alcohol?
Britt comes to their table with plates of lobster tail and a new bottle of champagne. She laughs with them and I get a little pissed off.
Is Tiffy practicing my seduction tips on that guy? That guy? Really? He’s like ten years older than her. He’s huge. Like six foot four at least. And he’s got to weigh two-twenty. I bet he shops at Big & Tall. She cannot be serious. No way is she interested in him.
And that just pisses me off more. Because, oh, hell the fuck no. I do not dish out trade secrets to a one-night stand only to have her go use them on a worthless prospect. Anyone can see he’s all wrong for her. He is not a possibility. Not at all.
I sit there at my table, sipping my beer as I process what’s happening and how I feel about it. I’m not jealous. I’m not. I’m pissed off. Why the fuck did I give her tips? I charge good money for that shit. Hell, I made Katie sign a six-week contract and I haven’t even given her one tip yet.
And yet Miss My Father Owns This Town is practically giving them away to every wandering eye in the whole place.
And that’s a lot of wandering eyes. All the employees know who she is by now. Britt is chatting them up like they are old friends, probably taking notes.
There it is again. Holy fuck, Tiffy just licked her lips and practically winked at that guy. And Britt saw the whole thing as she set down a dainty cup of chocolate mousse in front of two-timing Preston.
Hell the fuck no. I never let my clients work my magic here at the casino. Otherwise I might lose business. Hell, I’ve helped more than one cocktail waitress hook a rich dude over the past nine months. They paid dearly for it. And signed a NDA. Trade secrets are trade secrets. And I have spent years coming up with my methods. I’m not gonna let her get away with practicing them on this asshole for everyone to see.
I push away from the barstool, straighten my t-shirt, and walk over to ask her just what the fuck she thinks she’s doing.
ROOK & RONIN IS ON SALE
GET THE ENTIRE SEVEN BOOK SERIES for $4.99 (one week only)
JA Huss is the USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
There is a giveaway for a $100 Amazon gift card, signed copy of Sexy and a swag pack