HIS by Brenda Rothert
A contemporary romance, standalone title
Quinn
I’d say I’m down on my luck, but that’s an understatement. I’m flat on my ass. Homeless, hungry and in hiding with my little sister at the age of twenty-one, I’ve never been so desperate. I’ve hit rock bottom when I get an offer I can’t refuse. Sell my body to save my sister? There’s nothing I won’t do to keep her safe. I make the rules and I’m not afraid to defend myself if this rich guy crosses the line. But once I see beneath his cold, calculating façade, the lines aren’t so clear anymore.
Andrew
She’s an intoxicating mix of tough and vulnerable I’ve never known before. This homeless woman who fits right into my upper-class world is running from someone powerful, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. But Quinn isn’t meant to be controlled, so I’m forced to choose between owning her and loving her. I’ve finally met my match, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make her truly mine.
A cloud of breath forms in front of my face as I step out of my car in my underground garage. Winter is setting in fast, and in typical New York style, it refuses to be ignored.
I press my thumb to the keypad beside the elevator in my garage and step on, arriving at the main level of my warehouse home and hearing the thunk of the automated deadbolt opening. When I step inside, I take in the scent of roasting beef. Damn, that smells good. It’s a little after six thirty, and I’m ready for dinner.
But not because of the food. I’m sure I’ll enjoy whatever delicacy my chef and housekeeper, Turner, has cooking right now, but mostly I’m eager to spend an evening with Dawson’s latest find. For a gay man, he really does have incredible taste in women.
I can’t be seen trying to pick up women I intend to pay for sex. And I don’t have time to screw with it, anyway. That’s why I have Dawson. He earns every penny of the six figures I pay him to be my personal assistant. I trust him implicitly, which is no small thing for me.
Last weekend he brought me Olivia, who nearly swallowed my cock as she worked to prove how deep she could take it. She screamed my name like a porn star when she came, and I knew her performance was an effort to get a return invitation.
But I don’t give return invitations.
I shrug off my suit jacket and lay it over the back of a chair. Everything looks to be in order as I glance around the open rooms of my home. A faint lemon scent and a shine on my hardwood floors tell me Turner was hard at work here today.
After a long day of negotiations to purchase a new technology app, I need to unwind. I made a fair offer, but the snotty college kid I’m trying to buy from is greedy. And as much as I want that app, I refuse to pay more for it, even if it means losing it to someone else.
I pull off my navy blue tie and unfasten the top button of my shirt. I’m heading to my bedroom with the tie when a knock at the front door makes me turn. After tossing the tie on my leather sofa, I walk to the wide, solid wood door and press my thumb to a keypad beside it to open it. The deadbolt slides free, and I open the door.
For a split second, I make out Dawson. But my attention is quickly and entirely focused on the woman beside him.
Fuck yes. She’s exactly what I need. Average height, with a slim frame and blond, shoulder-length hair. Her creamy complexion is tinged pink from the cold, matching her beautiful, full lips. She studies me back with huge hazel eyes, and I pick up on her discomfort.
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