Home > Spectacular Rascal

Spectacular Rascal
Author: Lili Valente

 

About the Book

 

 

When you've been screwed over by Mr. Wrong, let a Spectacular Rascal show you how good it feels to be bad.

 

You know the smooth, successful New York businessman type? Well, I'm the other guy-the one you don't bring home to mama. The tattooed, rough-around-the-edges, 100% primal badass.

 

As the resident bad boy of Magnificent Bastard Consulting, I've got what it takes to make sure your dangerous dick of an ex thinks twice before he knocks on your door again.

 

Or I thought I did, until I meet my latest client…

 

Now my wild, sexy, one-that-got-away is looking up at me with her big green eyes, daring me to take on an ex as dick-ish and dangerous as hers. But all I want to do is take her-again and again.

 

Soon Cat and I are setting sex marathon records and medaling in the orgasm Olympics, all while staying one step ahead of her former Mr. Wrong. Everything is golden, except for the fact that I'm falling hard for this woman and all she wants is more of Curved for her Pleasure (trust me, the nickname fits).

 

Now I have to prove to Cat that I'm nothing like the dangerous man she's left behind, and do it all before our time runs out. Considering her ex is with the mob, if we're not careful, that could be sooner than either one of us thinks…

 

Warning: SPECTACULAR RASCAL is a sexy, standalone romantic comedy told from the hero's point of view. No cliffhanger. Lots of dirty talk.

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Dedicated to NYC, thanks for an amazing summer.

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

 

Hey there, princess.

Yes, you. The one with the copy of Leaning In, Buckling Down, and Having it All! clutched to your chest.

The one with the tasteful pink lipstick, Spanx squeezing you in half beneath your knee-length pencil skirt, and the “This can’t be happening to me, not to me,” look in your eye. You’ve spent your entire life bending over backwards to be all the things you’re supposed to be—intelligent, well-mannered, ladylike, refined; a rule follower who never leaves an “i” un-dotted or a “t” un-crossed—and look where it’s gotten you.

In trouble. On the run. Watching your back and wondering how the hell you’re going to get through this, because all the cotillion classes and Ivy League degrees in the world can’t protect you when you end up on the wrong side of Dr. Perfect’s alter ego, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Psycho.

Going to the police isn’t good enough, and you know it.

You’re not only well educated, you’re well informed. You keep up with current events and are aware of the depressing statistics on domestic violence. You know that every nine seconds a woman in the U.S. is beaten by her partner. You know that three or more women are killed by their husbands or boyfriends every day, and that a restraining order isn’t going to stop a man who’s determined to prove that no one walks away from him.

At least, not without a few scars to remember him by…

I’m not going to sugarcoat it, sweetheart. You were right to be afraid, but you don’t have to be. Not anymore. You’ve come to the right place, to a man who understands how to fight fire with fire.

Together, we’re going to convince your dangerous dick of an ex that you’ve got a new man, a bigger, tougher, meaner man, who fucks you so often and so well that you don’t have any energy left to worry about Douchebag’s threats. In reality, our relationship will never go further than a kiss, but he won’t know that. He’ll assume that you’ve been claimed by an alpha male with a black belt in kicking ex-boyfriend ass and biceps the size of those spiral cut hams his mama buys for Easter dinner, and realize his best bet is to start walking and never look back.

I was signed on to Magnificent Bastard Consulting for cases just like yours, for exes who need more than a hefty injection of jealousy into their lives. For the guy who needs a reminder that there are more savage creatures prowling the jungle, and that terrorizing a woman half his size is a shitty idea.

But this is going to take more than me escorting you around town on my tattooed arm, or kissing you like I own your sweet pussy every night. I can do Big, Bad, and Possessive with the best of them, but you have your part to play, too. A part so important that there’s no way I can do this without you.

So go ahead and close your eyes, princess.

That’s right. Close them.

Lie back. Relax. Unzip your pencil skirt, slip out of those Spanx, and let your breath come slow and deep while I take you to a place I like to call No Fucks Left To Give-ville.

Now, now, don’t tense up. Hear me out.

I know what you’re thinking—But Aidan, I’m all about giving a fuck.

I give big fucks, all the fucks.

I give so many fucks that sometimes, at the end of the day, I feel like I’m unraveling in all the places where I’ve cared so much, tried so hard, given all I could give to be the best I could be. To be the change I want to see in the world, to inspire and lead by example, and lift up my fellow man, and all those other platitudes I post on social media during my lunch hour to avoid talking to the jerk in the next cubicle over…

Yeah, I hear you. I get it. You care.

But when is the last time all that “caring” got you somewhere? When’s the last time the world changed because you were giving so many fucks?

Probably never, I’m guessing. And that’s because giving a fuck is different than caring. Caring is something you do without worrying about the end game. Caring makes the world a better place while costing you nothing.

Fuck-giving is a whole other kettle of rotten crabs.

Here’s how it goes: you’re so afraid of being out of control of your life, or your destiny, or whatever it is that you’re stressed about, that you freak out over things that don’t matter, spreading your fucks around like chicken feed to be gobbled up and shit out by the empty-headed flightless birds of the world. You fight to control and persuade, but in the end the fight controls you. You give your power away to the people who enrage you or misunderstand you, people that you’re never going to change no matter how many fucks you give.

And sooner or later, you’ll have given so many effs about so many stupid things that you’ll have no energy left for the stuff that really matters.

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