Title: He Wants Me
Series: He Wants Me #1-3
Author: Julia Swift
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: August 19, 2015
Series Blurb
He was supposed to be a one-night fling. Landon Blake: hot tech billionaire, and the wildest sex of my life. Until I find him standing over my boss’s dead body - with a bloody knife in his hand.
They say he’s dangerous. He swears he’s not to blame. Somebody’s setting him up, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.
I don’t know who I can trust. I should stay away.
But he wants me.
Links to Buy
99c
PART ONE
AMAZON US / UK
PART TWO
AMAZON US / UK
PART THREE
AMAZON US / UK
ADD PART TWO TO GOODREADS
ADD PART THREE TO GOODREADS
Excerpt
Excerpt
“Excuse me!” I wave a twenty-dollar bill in the air. I may be single and here with my drunk friend who is spewing ex-boyfriend-related vitriol, but at least I’ve got the money to do it. I work for one of the biggest biotech conglomerates in the world, although unfortunately, being the executive assistant of Harley Royce is basically being a glorified secretary to the world’s biggest douchebag. Let’s be honest—in the corporate world, “billionaire” equals “bastard.” The money’s great, but the work sucks. I’m surprised I’m not a bigger drinker after all.
“Hey!” I yell out again, but no dice. This is what I get for wearing work gear to the bar—what twenty-two-year-old do you know decides to rock a black blazer to happy hour? I feel like my mother. Or my grandmother. Or both.
“Let me see if I can help.”
I turn at the sound of the voice but, when our eyes meet, I’m rendered momentarily stunned. Like elephant-dart-to-the-brain stunned.
Hello, gorgeous.
The beefcake bartenders—sure, they’re hot in a conventional, Magic Mike sort of way. But this guy? He’s hot-hot. Universally hot. Ryan Gosling hot.
He’s wearing a dark suit—well-cut, grey wool, probably designer—and his dark-brown hair is neatly cropped, but he’s got a day or so of sexy scruff along his jawline. He looks like he just came in from a board meeting, but that he could have been rebuilding a carburetor yesterday. Put him in coveralls and he’d be your mechanic.
“Hey!” I yell out again, but no dice. This is what I get for wearing work gear to the bar—what twenty-two-year-old do you know decides to rock a black blazer to happy hour? I feel like my mother. Or my grandmother. Or both.
“Let me see if I can help.”
I turn at the sound of the voice but, when our eyes meet, I’m rendered momentarily stunned. Like elephant-dart-to-the-brain stunned.
Hello, gorgeous.
The beefcake bartenders—sure, they’re hot in a conventional, Magic Mike sort of way. But this guy? He’s hot-hot. Universally hot. Ryan Gosling hot.
He’s wearing a dark suit—well-cut, grey wool, probably designer—and his dark-brown hair is neatly cropped, but he’s got a day or so of sexy scruff along his jawline. He looks like he just came in from a board meeting, but that he could have been rebuilding a carburetor yesterday. Put him in coveralls and he’d be your mechanic.
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