Three sizzling cops, one lucky woman.
Growing up in foster care, Britt’s dream was to be an artist.
For now, she’s waiting tables and dodging her sleazy boss.
One night, she’s attacked after work and three irresistible cops come to her rescue.
Wyatt’s the artistic playboy.
Kingston’s the joker getting over a rotten ex-wife.
Bradley is the strong, silent type whose fianc"e cheated on him.
With all three vying for her attention, tough girl Britt isn’t lonely any more.
From private rooftop pools to edible body paint, these guys pull out all the stops to seduce Britt and drive her wild..
When one of them protects her from her disgusting boss, though, can Britt face the fact that this is more than reckless fun"
Could they each overcome past hurts and make their own rules–finding a romance that could be something real"
This could be nothing but heartbreak–or it could be a beautiful, filthy happily ever after.Books by Author:Victoria Belle Books
"You going to be ok"" Simone"s spacey blue eyes were all concern.
"Seriously" You"re the one who needs protecting, little Miss Simone from Paris, remember"" I told her.
"Still, though." She lingered, looking over the chrome of the back-kitchen top and sink, as if willing another crumb on the spotless, just-scrubbed surface. "I could stay an extra thirty to help you finish up."
"What " and not get paid for it"" I shook my head. "Don"t bother. Besides, Walter hasn"t been that bad lately."
As she frowned at me, I mustered up a valiant smile. "Worse comes to worst, I can always make more whale of about him."
Simone giggled. "I swear, you really could sell those. You should" " she grabbed my hand, squeezed it " "Come with me to Artist"s and Flea"s Chelsea market; set up a little table."
"When is it again""
"This Saturday. So you"ll go""
"I"ll see. I don"t know if I really have anything ready."
"C"mon Britt!" Simone"s tone was exasperated, but her French accent made it more cute than convincing. "Stop waiting on tomorrows!"
"Speaking of"" " I took a pointed glance at the clock " "If you want to make your bus, you have about three minutes to leave."
Simone glared at me, staying put, crossing her thin arms over her bony chest.
"Simone honey," Walter"s low crooning voice came over from the front. "You know I"m whaley not paying you a cent if you stick around past your shift to gossip with Britt."
"Whaley," Simone muttered.
I shook my head darkly. "And to think, I"d thought we"d actually had a day where Walter wasn"t cracking lame whale puns."
Simone glided to the back door, her apron still on. "Good luck. And if any bullshit goes down " text me."
"Got it," I told her.
Though we both knew I was merely humoring her. I"d been on my own for years now, growing up in the wild merry-go-round of the foster care system. Working under a pervy whale-joke obsessed boss was nothing I couldn"t handle.
"Looks like it"s just us now."
At the hot feel of his breath on my neck, I steeled myself. I turned to give him a "fuck-you" smile and strode to the front. "And then there were two."
The thing with Walter, and most pervy guys who pushed the envelope, was that they were piranhas, plain and simple. You just couldn"t show them the slightest cut.
In the front, I busied myself with the last of cleaning up " dumping the coffee grounds, scrubbing down the whale-carved counter. As I worked, my gaze strayed irresistibly to the walls. Nestled amidst whale sculptures, whale clocks, whale paintings and whale figurines, was the art.
Sweeping greens and yellows played into a tree-sitting finch while brushes of red and purple formed a fox. Then, over to the left, was where my art should be.
"So, Walter, I was thinking," I said, instead of, Walter, I"ve been painstakingly planning this out for the past two months since you hired me, and this is, really, the only reason I wanted this job in the first place and stayed here amidst your creepiness.
He moved with a pantherlike grace, lounging with his arm on the countertop. His eyebrows raised. "What a coincidence, I"ve been thinking too."
"About my sketches " do you think I could bring some in and show you, maybe have a spot for next month""
Walter pursed his mouth, ran a finger over his moustache, nodding. "Alright, okay, we could see about that."
His gaze was an actual stroke, his smile a warning he never intended. "Yeah."
As the whale cuckoo-clock chimed, I burst into the back. Past the empty half-lit kitchen, away from Walter"s "Hey, what"s the rush""
I grabbed my purse, ripped it open so I could shove in my tip envelope. Whirling around, I run straight into Walter, who was wearing a look like he"s actually expecting an answer.
"What," he said in an unconvincing jokey tone. "Running off to your boyfriend, is that it""
"The bus actually," I said, rushing past him.
Outside, in the fresh air, he called something after me, but I didn"t hear him.
Out, thank God, I was out. Away from that creepy asswipe. Although"
Looking around, I groaned. Seriously Britt"
By the looks of it, in my haste to leave, I"d sped-walked straight out the sketchy way " down the alley that I didn"t even dare venture down in the brightest hour of a Manhattan noon sun.
"Shit," I muttered, grabbing my zipper.
Yep, that 12-hour shift was really taking its toll on my brain cells. I"d wandered into the sketchy alley with my purse actually open. Why don"t I wear a "mug me, I don"t have pepper spray" sign while I"m at it"
As if conjured by my thoughts, someone stepped in behind me.
"Don"t scream," the twiggish man said, pressing me to the wall. I tasted brick, inhaled unfamiliar sweat.
"I have money," I said immediately, forcing the tremble out of my voice.