Woo hoo! Here’s everyone’s very first look at BLOND BOMBSHELL, the 2nd installment in my Hard Bodies series for Brazen by Entangled Publishing. Enjoy!
Marley Stringer crouched in front of the movie camera, checking it one last time, even though she’d already checked it twice. Everything was ready to go. But that didn’t keep her stomach from doing nervous flip-flops. This was her first movie shoot and nothing could go wrong.
What if the camera mount came loose? Or the filter came off and bugs splatted all over the lens and wrecked the shot? Or—
“Ever fly in one of these puppies?” a husky male voice asked from directly overhead. She lurched, startled, and promptly banged her head into the belly of the helicopter.
“Oww!” she exclaimed.
Big, tanned hands passed by the spots dancing in her eyes and lifted her to her feet. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay,” she snapped, embarrassed. “The damned helicopter whacked me on the head.”
A chest came into view, clad in black leather. An aviator’s jacket. “Bad, bad helicopter,” the laughing voice chided the offending aircraft.
Scowling, she looked up at the face to go with the jacket…and stared. Whoa. Rugged jaw, complete with sexy, dark, whisker stubble. Generous mouth and a dazzling smile. Lean, male model’s cheeks. Dark, slashing brows. And then her gaze met his. Hoo baby. His eyes were as black as midnight and so smoking hot she was fairly sure she felt her extremities threatening to catch on fire.
“Are you one of the actors in the movie?” she asked breathlessly. Lord. Where did all the oxygen in Northern California go all of a sudden?
He tapped the name patch over his right breast. “Wings. Pilot. It’s my bird that attacked you.”
She looked back and forth between him and the olive green helicopter. “You need to take that thing to obedience school before it really hurts somebody.”
His mouth curved up in a sinfully hot smile. “Once I’ve got my hands on her, she’s the soul of cooperation. She does whatever I want, whenever I want it.”
Her gaze riveted on his mouth as he formed the words. She’d bet all the girls did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it once he had his hands on them. She finally managed to tear her gaze away from his GQ face, and it slid downward past the broad-shouldered leather jacket to the black jeans cupping his family jewels…please God let there be truth in advertising behind that bulging zipper.
Holy crap, she was staring at the man’s crotch. Her face did catch on fire, then. She tore her gaze away from his fascinating anatomy, but not before she glimpsed long, powerful thighs and black leather cowboy boots.
“Any idea where I can find my cameraman?” he asked, his voice rich with amusement.
“I’m him. I mean, I’m her. I’m your cameraman. Woman. Camerawoman.” Dammit. Did she have to stutter like a thirteen-year-old talking to her first boy?
“Ready to take a wild ride with me?” he murmured low, his voice charged.
Trepidation rattled through her. She sincerely hoped not. Wild was not high on her list of favorite flavors. That was, not until she’d turned twenty-five and realized abruptly that she was becoming a boring old cat lady about to live the same tired routine for the next fifty years.
Hence the shift from morning local TV news crew to action-movie camera operator—a choice she was deeply reconsidering right about now. This pilot and all his raw sex appeal were scaring her to death.
That and his vicious attack helicopter.
On a movie set, she supposed she had to expect to be around sexy studs. She just hadn’t expected one of them to actually notice her. Good news was the stick jockey would lose interest in her soon enough. She would hide behind her camera until he hooked up with one of the hot, young starlets roaming around the set and forgot about her.
But part of her—the part that didn’t want to end up alone, eccentric, and smelling funny—wondered what it would be like to have his hands on her, and do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. If only she wasn’t completely jinxed when it came to men. If this poor guy even took a second look at her, no telling what horrible fate would befall him. Her last almost boyfriend had nearly died of food poisoning on their first real date. And then there was the guy who found out on a picnic with her that he was deathly allergic to bee stings–
“You didn’t answer my question. Ever been in one of these puppies?”
Startled back to the present, she risked a peek up at the sexy pilot. “No. Never.”
“Ah. A virgin. Excellent.”
Her jaw dropped. How did he know— Oh. A helicopter ride virgin.
His eyes widened for a shocked instant and then narrowed speculatively. Damn, damn, damn. Please let that be him planning how to scare her in his helicopter. Please let that not be him picking up on what she’d almost given away—