on Jan 17, 2014
Published by Self Pub Genres: New Adult, Romance
I am not a slut, although I’ve been called one often enough. Yeah, I spent three months screwing one of my college professors, but I was crazy about the guy. Then he broke up with me.I am not a bitch, although people like to say I am. I kept our relationship secret. I’m not responsible for telling the university administrators about it, but a lot of students still blame me for getting their favorite professor fired.I am not a drama queen, although everyone thinks I am now. When I got a few nasty messages, I just deleted them. When I got the threat, I assumed it was someone being stupid. I still think that’s all it was. My parents worry, though, so they hired me a bodyguard. Now Jack follows me around, intimidating everyone who approaches me and looking obnoxiously hot.This is what I am. I’m Chloe. I’m a twenty-year-old art history major. Kind of shy, although I pretend not to be. Stubborn enough to stay here for my senior year, even though everyone hates me.
And I’m stuck with Jack.
He calls me “Princess,” but I’m not a princess either.
Knowing Jack is a New Adult contemporary romance and includes adult content and language. The plot of the book is fully resolved at the end, but the last page includes a hanging teaser for the next book in the series.
I put down my coffee cup so I can bristle at this comment instead of laugh—which is what I really want to do. “That wouldn’t be very bad-ass. And I’ve got to say you don’t have much leeway on that account. You don’t have any cool fighting skills. You haven’t been a SEAL. You haven’t been in jail. You don’t have a tattoo. Not very bad-ass, are you?”
He starts to laugh but then his expression changes strangely. He reaches over and pulls my blanket up over my shoulders.
“Why did you do that?” I let the blanket drop, mostly to defy him.
He lets out a breath as his eyes lower to my chest and then jerk away abruptly. I glance down to where he was looking and discover that I’m not exactly proper. One of my straps has fallen off my shoulder and the neckline of my tank is drooping dramatically, revealing more cleavage than is entirely appropriate. Plus, my nipples are super-tight and poking out through the fabric.
I jerk the blanket up over my shoulders again. My body doesn’t have such standards, though, and it’s getting all excited about the idea of Jack seeing me like that. Okay, we were having a conversation. Think about that. Think about that—and not about the way the tension in Jack’s body makes me want to run my hands up and down him.
I have no idea what the conversation is even about. I can’t think about anything except Jack and his big body and his strong hands and his rough jaw and that deep, hot, knowing look in his eyes. And now I’m jumping off the couch to put up my coffee mug. Better to do that than to do what I’m really wanting to do. He’s standing up when I return to the living area.
“Where are you going?” I ask, stopping abruptly.
“I was going home. Bill is outside, and you’re perfectly safe.”
“Oh.” I don’t really want him to go, but that’s kind of hard to admit. “I thought you might show
me some bad-ass moves.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t a bad-ass.”
“Well, you’re more bad-ass than I am. You could show me how to protect myself.”
His eyes are focused on my face with a strange intensity, as if he’s having to fight to keep them there. “If someone comes after you, princess, then your best move is to run.”
“But isn’t there some special way martial arts way of me knocking them out?”
“You’ve been watching too many movies. The best way to protect yourself is inflict the most
damage with the least amount of effort.”
“So how do I do that?”
“Go for his balls.”
I frown. “Oh.”
“I’m serious. His balls or his eyes or his nose. Wherever he’s vulnerable. Wherever you can get
to with a hard part of your body.”
“I don’t have hard parts to my body.” Yeah, I know that sounds stupid, but this guy really throws me off and I can’t make my mind work the right way. He smiles in that knowing way he has and steps over closer to me. “You don’t have many,” he murmurs, that delicious rasp in his voice again.