by J. Kenner
She's what my mother would call a brassy broad--loud, large, opinionated, and self-confident. My mother would hate her. I think she's awesome.
She drops the unlit cigarette onto the tile and grinds it with the toe of her shoe. Then she signals to one of the catering staff, a girl dressed all in black and carrying a tray of champagne glasses.
The girl fumbles for a minute with the sliding door that opens onto the balcony, and I imagine those flutes tumbling off, breaking against the hard tile, the scattered shards glittering like a wash of diamonds.
I picture myself bending to snatch up a broken stem. I see the raw edge cutting into the soft flesh at the base of my thumb as I squeeze. I watch myself clutching it tighter, drawing strength from the pain, the way some people might try to extract luck from a rabbit's foot.
The fantasy blurs with memory, jarring me with its potency. It's fast and powerful, and a little disturbing because I haven't needed the pain in a long time, and I don't understand why I'm thinking about it now, when I feel steady and in control.
I am fine, I think. I am fine, I am fine, I am fine.
"Take one, honey," Evelyn says easily, holding a flute out to me.
I hesitate, searching her face for signs that my mask has slipped and she's caught a glimpse of my rawness. But her face is clear and genial.
"No, don't you argue," she adds, misinterpreting my hesitation. "I bought a dozen cases and I hate to see good alcohol go to waste. Hell no," she adds when the girl tries to hand her a flute. "I hate the stuff. Get me a vodka. Straight up. Chilled. Four olives. Hurry up, now. Do you want me to dry up like a leaf and float away?"
The girl shakes her head, looking a bit like a twitchy, frightened rabbit. Possibly one that had sacrificed his foot for someone else's good luck.
Evelyn's attention returns to me. "So how do you like LA? What have you seen? Where have you been? Have you bought a map of the stars yet? Dear God, tell me you're not getting sucked into all that tourist bullshit."
"Mostly I've seen miles of freeway and the inside of my apartment."
"Well, that's just sad. Makes me even more glad that Carl dragged your skinny ass all the way out here tonight."
I've put on fifteen welcome pounds since the years when my mother monitored every tiny thing that went in my mouth, and while I'm perfectly happy with my size-eight ass, I wouldn't describe it as skinny. I know Evelyn means it as a compliment, though, and so I smile. "I'm glad he brought me, too. The paintings really are amazing."
"Now don't do that--don't you go sliding into the polite-conversation routine. No, no," she says before I can protest. "I'm sure you mean it. Hell, the paintings are wonderful. But you're getting the flat-eyed look of a girl on her best behavior, and we can't have that. Not when I was getting to know the real you."
"Sorry," I say. "I swear I'm not fading away on you."
Because I genuinely like her, I don't tell her that she's wrong--she hasn't met the real Nikki Fairchild. She's met Social Nikki who, much like Malibu Barbie, comes with a complete set of accessories. In my case, it's not a bikini and a convertible. Instead, I have the Elizabeth Fairchild Guide for Social Gatherings.
My mother's big on rules. She claims it's her Southern upbringing. In my weaker moments, I agree. Mostly, I just think she's a controlling bitch. Since the first time she took me for tea at the Mansion at Turtle Creek in Dallas at age three, I have had the rules drilled into my head. How to walk, how to talk, how to dress. What to eat, how much to drink, what kinds of jokes to tell.
I have it all down, every trick, every nuance, and I wear my practiced pageant smile like armor against the world. The result being that I don't think I could truly be myself at a party even if my life depended on it.
This, however, is not something Evelyn needs to know.
"Where exactly are you living?" she asks.
"Studio City. I'm sharing a condo with my best friend from high school."
"Straight down the 101 for work and then back home again. No wonder you've only seen concrete. Didn't anyone tell you that you should have taken an apartment on the Westside?"
"Too pricey to go it alone," I admit, and I can tell that my admission surprises her. When I make the effort--like when I'm Social Nikki--I can't help but look like I come from money. Probably because I do. Come from it, that is. But that doesn't mean I brought it with me.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
Evelyn nods sagely, as if my age reveals some secret about me. "You'll be wanting a place of your own soon enough. You call me when you do and we'll find you someplace with a view. Not as good as this one, of course, but we can manage something better than a freeway on-ramp."
"It's not that bad, I promise."
"Of course it's not," she says in a tone that says the exact opposite. "As for views," she continues, gesturing toward the now-dark ocean and the sky that's starting to bloom with stars, "you're welcome to come back anytime and share mine."
"I might take you up on that," I admit. "I'd love to bring a decent camera back here and take a shot or two."
"It's an open invitation. I'll provide the wine and you can provide the entertainment. A young woman loose in the city. Will it be a drama? A rom-com? Not a tragedy, I hope. I love a good cry as much as the next woman, but I like you. You need a happy ending."
I tense, but Evelyn doesn't know she's hit a nerve. That's why I moved to LA, after all. New life. New story. New Nikki.
I ramp up the Social Nikki smile and lift my champagne flute. "To happy endings. And to this amazing party. I think I've kept you from it long enough."
"Bullshit," she says. "I'm the one monopolizing you, and we both know it."
We slip back inside, the buzz of alcohol-fueled conversation replacing the soft calm of the ocean.
"The truth is, I'm a terrible hostess. I do what I want, talk to whoever I want, and if my guests feel slighted they can damn well deal with it."
I gape. I can almost hear my mother's cries of horror all the way from Dallas.
"Besides," she continues, "this party isn't supposed to be about me. I put together this little shindig to introduce Blaine and his art to the community. He's the one who should be doing the mingling, not me. I may be fucking him, but I'm not going to baby him."
Evelyn has completely destroyed my image of how a hostess for the not-to-be-missed social event of the weekend is supposed to behave, and I think I'm a little in love with her for that.
"I haven't met Blaine yet. That's him, right?" I point to a tall reed of a man. He is bald, but sports a red goatee. I'm pretty sure it's not his natural color. A small crowd hums around him, like bees drawing nectar from a flower. His outfit is certainly as bright as one.
"That's my little center of attention, all right," Evelyn says. "The man of the hour. Talented, isn't he?" Her hand sweeps out to indicate her massive living room. Every wall is covered with paintings. Except for a few benches, whatever furniture was once in the room has been removed and replaced with easels on which more paintings stand.
I suppose technically they are portraits. The models are nudes, but these aren't like anything you would see in a classical art book. There's something edgy about them. Something provocative and raw. I can tell that they are expertly conceived and carried out, and yet they disturb me, as if they reveal more about the person viewing the portrait than about the painter or the model.
As far as I can tell, I'm the only one with that reaction. Certainly the crowd around Blaine is glowing. I can hear the gushing praise from here.
"I picked a winner with that one," Evelyn says. "But let's see. Who do you want to meet? Rip Carrington and Lyle Tarpin? Those two are guaranteed drama, that's for damn sure, and your roommate will be jealous as hell if you chat them up."
"She will?"
Evelyn's brows arch up. "Rip and Lyle? They've been feuding for weeks." She narrows her eyes at me. "The fiasco about the new season of their sitcom? It's all over the Internet? You really don't
know them?"
"Sorry," I say, feeling the need to apologize. "My school schedule was pretty intense. And I'm sure you can imagine what working for Carl is like."
Speaking of ...
I glance around, but I don't see my boss anywhere.
"That is one serious gap in your education," Evelyn says. "Culture--and yes, pop culture counts--is just as important as--what did you say you studied?"
"I don't think I mentioned it. But I have a double major in electrical engineering and computer science."
"So you've got brains and beauty. See? That's something else we have in common. Gotta say, though, with an education like that, I don't see why you signed up to be Carl's secretary."
I laugh. "I'm not, I swear. Carl was looking for someone with tech experience to work with him on the business side of things, and I was looking for a job where I could learn the business side. Get my feet wet. I think he was a little hesitant to hire me at first--my skills definitely lean toward tech--but I convinced him I'm a fast learner."
She peers at me. "I smell ambition."
I lift a shoulder in a casual shrug. "It's Los Angeles. Isn't that what this town is all about?"
"Ha! Carl's lucky he's got you. It'll be interesting to see how long he keeps you. But let's see ... who here would intrigue you ...?"
She casts about the room, finally pointing to a fifty-something man holding court in a corner. "That's Charles Maynard," she says. "I've known Charlie for years. Intimidating as hell until you get to know him. But it's worth it. His clients are either celebrities with name recognition or power brokers with more money than God. Either way, he's got all the best stories."
"He's a lawyer?"
"With Bender, Twain & McGuire. Very prestigious firm."
"I know," I say, happy to show that I'm not entirely ignorant, despite not knowing Rip or Lyle. "One of my closest friends works for the firm. He started here but he's in their New York office now."
"Well, come on, then, Texas. I'll introduce you." We take one step in that direction, but then Evelyn stops me. Maynard has pulled out his phone, and is shouting instructions at someone. I catch a few well-placed curses and eye Evelyn sideways. She looks unconcerned "He's a pussycat at heart. Trust me, I've worked with him before. Back in my agenting days, we put together more celebrity biopic deals for our clients than I can count. And we fought to keep a few tell-alls off the screen, too." She shakes her head, as if reliving those glory days, then pats my arm. "Still, we'll wait 'til he calms down a bit. In the meantime, though ..."
She trails off, and the corners of her mouth turn down in a frown as she scans the room again. "I don't think he's here yet, but--oh! Yes! Now there's someone you should meet. And if you want to talk views, the house he's building has one that makes my view look like, well, like yours." She points toward the entrance hall, but all I see are bobbing heads and haute couture. "He hardly ever accepts invitations, but we go way back," she says.
I still can't see who she's talking about, but then the crowd parts and I see the man in profile. Goose bumps rise on my arms, but I'm not cold. In fact, I'm suddenly very, very warm.
He's tall and so handsome that the word is almost an insult. But it's more than that. It's not his looks, it's his presence. He commands the room simply by being in it, and I realize that Evelyn and I aren't the only ones looking at him. The entire crowd has noticed his arrival. He must feel the weight of all those eyes, and yet the attention doesn't faze him at all. He smiles at the girl with the champagne, takes a glass, and begins to chat casually with a woman who approaches him, a simpering smile stretched across her face.
"Damn that girl," Evelyn says. "She never did bring me my vodka."
But I barely hear her. "Damien Stark," I say. My voice surprises me. It's little more than breath.
Evelyn's brows rise so high I notice the movement in my peripheral vision. "Well, how about that?" she says knowingly. "Looks like I guessed right."
"You did," I admit. "Mr. Stark is just the man I want to see."
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt! Grab your own copy of Release Me ... or any of the books in the series now!
The Original Trilogy
Release Me
Claim Me
Complete Me
And Beyond...
Anchor Me
Lost With Me
Reviews
Some rave reviews for J. Kenner's sizzling romances...
With Kenner's heartfelt and beautiful writing, she captures the true raw emotions of her characters as they battle with their feelings.--Michelle from Four Chicks Flipping Books on Hold On Tight
An unexpectedly gritty and raw second chance romance that's hot, sexy and full of surprises--MammieBabbie on Hold On Tight
Holy sexual tension, Batman! Being inside the heads of these two lust-struck characters had me turning on the fan in winter!--iScream Books Blog on Down On Me
Sexy. Sassy. Fun. Down On Me is the perfect start to The Man of the Month series and I'm already jonesing for more!!--Heather from White Hot Reads on Down On Me
I just get sucked into these books and can not get enough of this series. They are so well written and as satisfying as each book is they leave you greedy for more. -- Goodreads reviewer on Wicked Torture
A sizzling, intoxicating, sexy read!!!! J. Kenner had me devouring Wicked Dirty, the second installment of Stark World Series in one sitting. I loved everything about this book from the opening pages to the raw and vulnerable characters. With her sophisticated prose, Kenner created a love story that had the perfect blend of lust, passion, sexual tension, raw emotions and love. - Michelle, Four Chicks Flipping Pages
Wicked Dirty CLAIMED and CONSUMED every ounce of me from the very first page. Mind racing. Pulse pounding. Breaths bated. Feels flowing. Eyes wide in anticipation. Heart beating out of my chest. I felt the current of Wicked Dirty flow through me. I was DRUNK on this book that was my fine whiskey, so smooth and spectacular, and could not get enough of this Wicked Dirty drink. - Karen Bookalicious Babes Blog
"Sinfully sexy and full of heart. Kenner shines in this second chance, slow burn of a romance. Wicked Grind is the perfect book to kick off your summer."- K. Bromberg, New York Times bestselling author (on Wicked Grind)
"J. Kenner never disappoints~her books just get better and better." - Mom's Guilty Pleasure (on Wicked Grind)
"I don't think J. Kenner could write a bad story if she tried. ... Wicked Grind is a great beginning to what I'm positive will be a very successful series. ... The line forms here." iScream Books (On Wicked Grind)
"Scorching, sweet, and soul-searing, Anchor Me is the ultimate love story that stands the test of time and tribulation. THE TRUEST LOVE!" Bookalicious Babes Blog (on Anchor Me)
"J. Kenner has brought this couple to life and the character connection that I have to these two holds no bounds and that is testament to J. Kenner's writing ability." The Romance Cover (on Anchor Me)
"J. Kenner writes an emotional and personal story line. ... The premise will captivate your imagination; the characters will break your heart; the romance continues to push the envelope." The Reading Cafe (on Anchor Me)
"Kenner may very well have cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them . . ." Romantic Times
"Wanted is another J. Kenner masterpiece . . . This was an intriguing look at self-discovery and forbidden love all wrapped into a neat little action-suspense package. There was plenty of sexual tension and eventually action. Evan was hot, hot, hot! Together, they were combustible. But can we expect anything less from J. Kenner?" Reading Haven
"Wanted by J. Kenner is the whole package! A toe-curling smokin' hot read, full of incredible characters and a brilliant storyline that you won't be able to get enough of. I can't wait for the next book in this series . . . I'm hooked!" Flirty & Dirty Book Blog
"J. Kenner's evocative writing thrillingly captures the power of physical attraction, the pull of longing, the universe-altering ef
fect one person can have on another. . . . Claim Me has the emotional depth to back up the sex . . . Every scene is infused with both erotic tension, and the tension of wondering what lies beneath Damien's veneer - and how and when it will be revealed." Heroes and Heartbreakers
"Claim Me by J. Kenner is an erotic, sexy and exciting ride. The story between Damien and Nikki is amazing and written beautifully. The intimate and detailed sex scenes will leave you fanning yourself to cool down. With the writing style of Ms. Kenner you almost feel like you are there in the story riding along the emotional rollercoaster with Damien and Nikki." Fresh Fiction
"PERFECT for fans of Fifty Shades of Grey and Bared to You. Release Me is a powerful and erotic romance novel that is sure to make adult romance readers sweat, sigh and swoon." Reading, Eating & Dreaming Blog
"I will admit, I am in the 'I loved Fifty Shades' camp, but after reading Release Me, Mr. Grey only scratches the surface compared to Damien Stark." Cocktails and Books Blog
"It is not often when a book is so amazingly well-written that I find it hard to even begin to accurately describe it . . . I recommend this book to everyone who is interested in a passionate love story." Romancebookworm's Reviews
"The story is one that will rank up with the Fifty Shades and Cross Fire trilogies." Incubus Publishing Blog
"The plot is complex, the characters engaging, and J. Kenner's passionate writing brings it all perfectly together." Harlequin Junkie
Also by J. Kenner
Click here for a printable booklist
The Stark Saga Novels:
Only his passion could set her free...
Meet Damien Stark
The Original Trilogy
Release Me
Claim Me
Complete Me
And Beyond...
Anchor Me
Lost With Me
Stark Ever After
(Stark Saga novellas):
Happily ever after is just the beginning.
The passion between Damien & Nikki continues.
Take Me
Have Me
Play My Game
Seduce Me
Unwrap Me
Deepest Kiss
Entice Me
