From the New York Times
bestselling author of such “racy, sizzling Stark novels” (RT Book
Reviews) as Release Me and Say My Name comes the
provocative first Stark International Novel—the beginning of the
S.I.N. series.
It was wrong for us to be
together, but it was even harder to be apart.
The memory of Dallas Sykes burns inside
of me.
Everyone knows him as a notorious
playboy, a man for whom women and money are no object. But to me,
he’s still the one man I desperately crave—yet the one I can
never have.
Dallas knows me better than anyone
else. We bear the same scars, the same darkness in our past. I
thought I could move on by staying away, but now that we’re drawn
together once more, I can’t fight the force of our attraction or
the temptation to make him mine.
We’ve tried to maintain control, not
letting ourselves give in to desire. And for so long we’ve told
ourselves no—but now it’s finally time to say yes.
Dirtiest Secret is intended for
mature audiences.
Dirtiest
Secret
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ABOUT
THE AUTHOR:
J. Kenner (aka Julie Kenner) is the New
York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and #1
International bestselling author of over seventy novels, novellas and
short stories in a variety of genres.
Though known primarily for her
award-winning and internationally bestselling erotic romances
(including the Stark and Most Wanted series) that have reached as
high as #2 on the New York Times bestseller list and #1
internationally, JK has been writing full time for over a decade in a
variety of genres including paranormal and contemporary romance,
"chicklit" suspense, urban fantasy, and paranormal mommy
lit.
JK has been praised by Publishers
Weekly as an author with a "flair for dialogue and eccentric
characterizations" and by RT Bookclub for having "cornered
the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women
who swopn for him." A four time finalist for Romance Writers of
America's prestigious RITA award, JK took home the first RITA trophy
awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel,
Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy).
WEBSITE: http://juliekenner.com/
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/juliekenner
Instagram:
https://instagram.com/juliekenner/
Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/J.-Kenner/e/B00TUBLRHA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1444314245&sr=1-2
EXCERPT
Even by Southampton
standards, the party at the nine-thousand-square-foot mansion on
Meadow Lane reeked of extravagance.
Grammy
Award–winning artists performed on an outdoor stage that had been
set up on the lush lawn that flowed from the main house to the tennis
courts. Celebrities hobnobbed with models who flirted with Wall
Street tycoons who discussed stock prices with tech gurus and
old-money academics, all while sampling fine scotch and the season’s
chicest gin. Colored lights illuminated the grotto style pool, upon
which nude models floated lazily on air mattresses, their bodies used
by artisan sushi chefs as presentation platters for epicurean
delights.
Each
female guest received a Hermès Birkin bag and each male received a
limited edition Hublot watch, and the exclamations of delight—from
both the men and the women—rivaled the boom of the fireworks that
exploded over Shinnecock Bay at precisely ten p.m., perfectly timed
to distract the guests from the bustle of the staff switching out the
dinner buffet for the spread of desserts, coffee, and liqueurs.
No
expense had been spared, no desire or craving or indulgence
overlooked. Nothing had been left to chance, and every person in
attendance agreed that the party was the Must Attend event of the
season, if not of the year. Hell, if not of the decade.
Everyone
who was anyone was there, under the stars on the four acre lot on
Billionaires’ Row.
Everyone,
that is, except the billionaire who was actually hosting the party.
And speculation as to where he was, what he was doing, and who he was
doing it with ripped through the well-liquored and gossip-hungry
crowd like wildfire in a windstorm.
“No
idea where he could have disappeared off to, but I’d bet good money
he’s not pining away in solitude,” said a reed-thin man with
salt-and-pepper hair and an expression that suggested disapproval but
was most likely envy.
“I
swear I came five times,” a perky blonde announced to her best
friend in the kind of stage whisper designed to attract attention.
“The man’s a master in bed.”
“He’s
got a shrewd head for business, that one,” said a Wall Street
trader, “but no sense of propriety where his cock is concerned.”
“Oh,
honey, no. He’s not relationship material.” A brunette
celebrating a recently inked modeling contract shivered as if
reliving a moment of ecstasy. “He’s like fine chocolate. Meant to
be savored in very limited quantities. But so damn good when you have
it.”
“More
power to him if he can grab that much pussy.” A hipster with beard
stubble and a man-bun wiped his wire-rimmed glasses clean with his
shirttail. “But why the fuck does he have to be so blatant about
it?”
“All
of my friends have had him.” The petite redhead who pulled in a six
figure wife bonus smiled slowly, and the flash of her green eyes
suggested that she was the cat and he was the delicious cream. “But
I’m the only one of us to enjoy a second helping.”
“All
your friends?”
“How
much pussy?”
“At
least half the women here tonight. Maybe more.”
“Man,
don’t even ask that. Just trust me. Dallas Sykes is the King of
Fuck. You and me? Mere mortals like us can’t even compare.”
