Sexy Sunday Snippet: Rewritten by Bronwyn Green
It’s Sunday…and you can depend on Lady Smut to bring your something hot. This week we have a hot bit from Bronwyn Green’s Rewritten, part of the Bound series.
About the Bound series:
What’s hotter than sexy accents, BDSM, and a bit of rope? Not Much.
Betrayed and completely exposed, she’d sworn off kink. Hell, she’d sworn off men. But she hadn’t counted on him…
One of the hottest voices in Sci-Fi, Angus Domhnull is renowned not just for his sweeping sagas, but for his stupidly gorgeous looks—and the fact that he’s taken almost five years to finish his latest novel. Now, assistant editor, Eliza Burrows, is stuck minding him, and his brooding nature is pushing every sexually submissive button she has. But even if Angus wasn’t her publisher’s star author, he’d be off-limits—after a painful betrayal, Eliza doesn’t play anymore, and she’s not about to start again with him.
Unable to deliver his long-awaited manuscript, Angus is saddled with a keeper—and her creative input—that he never asked for. Despite the resentment and animosity brewing between them, he finds himself drawn to Eliza. As he learns more about the intriguing woman behind the prickly facade, he falls for her, hard and deep.
When the attraction between them ignites, Eliza lets Angus bring her to one place she swore she’d never go again—her knees. He wants more than just her submission, but her past and the secrets she’s hidden could destroy everything…
“I don’t need a minder.”
Eliza Burrows stared at the top of the man’s dark head as she waited for him to look up and acknowledge her presence. He continued to tap away at this laptop keys as if she’d already left the room. When it seemed no further response would be forthcoming, she cleared her throat. “I’m not here as a babysitter, Mr. Domhnull.”
“Didn’t ask for you. Don’t want you,” he muttered, never looking up.
“My publisher is a bunch of scabby bawbag sucking skivers.”
Her lips twitched, but she managed not to smile. Barely. It was nearly impossible not to be charmed by his heavy Scottish accent, not to mention amused by his word choice though. Not that he would have noticed as intent on ignoring her as he was.
“Well, that bunch of dirty testicle sucking idiots—or is it layabouts? Anyway, they hired me to do a job.”
He looked up at that, the intensity in his nearly black eyes almost stealing her breath. Or maybe it was just that he was so much more beautiful than she’d been prepared for. Sure, she’d seen his picture—who at Terra Ink Publishing hadn’t? But photographs had not done this man justice. Thick slashes of black brows sat above eyes so dark brown, it was almost impossible to discern the pupil from the iris. Long lashes framed those bright, dark eyes. Eyes that were currently assessing her. But she refused to let him see any weakness.
Instead, she smiled serenely and went on, “And that job is making sure you attend your panels on time and sober—”
He threw up his hands. “Show up guttered one time, and—”
“And,” she continued, “that you finish your book.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, pinning her with that inky gaze. “So, explain to me again how you’re not a minder?”
She refused to look away.
Angus Domhnull was basically the George R. R. Martin of the science fiction world. Well, the super-hot, sci-fi version of George R. R. Martin, anyway. Angus had been working on the final book in his blockbuster series, Dark Nebula Rising, for almost five years. He’d already blown deadline after deadline, and his fans were getting pissed. But not as pissed as his editor and the powers that be at Terra Ink.
So here she was—glorified babysitter—at least, for the duration of this tour. “Technically, my current job title is assistant editor, but I’ll be acting as your author assistant,” she said stiffly.
“Soooooooooo…” He drew out the word as he shoved his hand through his unruly curls.
“So, fine. I’m your minder.” She straightened her spine. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your hair while you’re working, and to make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there.”
He stared at her for a moment more then, obviously dismissing her, lowered his head and began typing again.
Stifling a sigh, she opened the file folder she’d been holding and laid several sheets of paper and one of her business cards on his desk. He continued working, pointedly ignoring her.
“That’s a copy of your schedule. There will be a car waiting at seven-thirty. If you need anything, my cell number is on the back of the business card.”
Turning on her heel, she walked toward the door of their adjoining rooms.
She looked back at him as he picked up the business card, clearly searching for her name.
“Close the door on your way out.”
Bronwyn Green is an author, blogger, and compulsive crafter. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two children and four somewhat psychotic cats. When not frantically writing, she can be found binge-watching Netflix while working on her latest craft project. Find and follow her on Facebook and Instagram.