AN INNOCENT WOMAN IS ABOUT TO TAKE A RIDE ON THE WILD SIDE
BBW reporter Zoe Delacourte thinks she's found the perfect story to make her career when she stumbles across Jax Traeger and Hunter Ericksen — bad boys from the wrong side of the tracks, running the notorious motorcycle club, the Kings of Asphalt. Some might call them bad men. They have wicked rides and rap sheets but all Zoe sees is two incredibly hot men and she can't stop herself from falling head over heels.
Jax and Hunter they don't see a fat girl — they see a sexy woman they can't wait to have in their arms. But loving them might just get Zoe killed.
Motorcycle club hot romance - suitable age range: adult
Kings of Asphalt is a novella of approximately 41,000 words and the first book in the Club Chrome series.
The Club Chrome series by Alexx Andria:
Kings of Asphalt
All Dogs Bite
Up In Flames
“A brunette with curves…I like. It’s as if Dimas read my mind.”
Zoe whirled at the sound of the sultry voice at her back and she found herself staring at the most sinfully handsome man she’d ever seen. Lounging like a giant jungle cat on the worn black leather sofa, Jax Traeger’s stare burned two holes into her soul as he regarded her with open interest. Goodness, he was handsome…in a dirty, I-will-likely-break-your-heart-and-ruin-your-credit sort of way. She hadn’t expected that. Talk about being blindsided. There’d been precious few pictures of Jax on the Internet. It seemed the bad boy was camera shy, go figure. “I-I’m sorry…I think your guy got the wrong idea…”
One black slash of a brow went up in question and he leaned forward, saying, “Which would be?”
“The idea that I’m…oh, I don’t know…um, available for…” Shut up, you idiot! This was what deep cover was all about! Right. Inhaling a discreet, stabilizing breath, she straightened and braved a smile as she sauntered over to Jax, ignoring the flutters in her belly as his gaze darkened with interest. “Available for just anyone.”
“Oh? Isn’t that the whole idea behind being a whore?”
“A ww-hore? Excuse me? I’m not—“
“You’re not what?” His smile slowly faded. “Then you’re not from Dimas and if that’s the case…just who are you?”
Oh crap. Her damn mouth. “I-I just mean…well, of course, I’m from Dimas. I was just taken aback for a minute. I mean, well, I wasn’t sure I was in the right place.” Faster than she could react, he had her pressed up against the wood paneling, crowding her personal space and sending her heartrate through the roof. He smelled of leathers, a cool midnight ride, and the faint wisp of alcohol clinging to the edge as if as a reminder that his angelic face and body was simply a ruse to lure unsuspecting women to their doom. It should’ve repulsed her — truly, bad boys weren’t to her tastes — but she was oddly, and dangerously thrilled by the threat of caged violence she saw in his eyes and could see rippling through his biceps as he pressed forward. Was he going to ravage her right there like a modern day pirate or simply punt her outside the doors with a growled warning? Was she crazy for hoping — for a wild, irresponsible moment — that he would choose to grind those sensual lips across hers as punishment for daring to breach their inner sanctum? Yeah, don’t answer that. She already knew — it was lunancy.