Title: The Tempest
Author: Brit Constantine
Genre: Romantic Comedy
They call him “The Tempest.”
England’s most feared heavyweight-boxing champion.
He despises the fame and glory, but it’s nothing compared to the hate he inflicts on himself. All he wants is to be left alone to live on his boat in misery.
When I line up for his autograph, it’s instant fireworks. But not the beautiful stars-shine-bright kind. He’s rude. Heartless. A ticking time bomb of rage.
Luckily, I’m not afraid to put a lit match to his fuse.
I upload his private video to my one-million-subscribers channel. The video goes viral.
The ex-Royal Marine nearly breaks down my studio door to flag me inappropriate…
…while I’m in the middle of a live streaming event.
I don’t tell him. I don’t switch off the camera. I keep recording, secretly playing to my audience. He should have checked if the camera was rolling, right?
It should be a shipwreck from the moment the tempest hits.
And then … it isn’t.
Our attraction is painful, undeniable, and it’s like I am Eve and his lips are the apple, and damn if his tongue isn’t the snake.
I am the only girl who can put this broken man back together again.
But he knows the secret he is keeping will tear us apart. He knows it’ll force my hand to break ties with the only family I have left in this world.
But once The Tempest, the man with the iron heart, falls in love … he’ll crush anyone who dares to take me away from him.
I have no choice but to go down with his big ship.
Hook, line, and goddamned sinker.
The Tempest is a contemporary romance story of love, comedy and treachery.
No cheating. No OW/OM. Standalone. HEA. 18+
“Quit denying it, Hazelnut.”
“You’ve got a thing for me, real bad, huh?” His words are slow, almost teasing, smug in his certainty. “Could it be you’re the one who’s lonely and miserable? Is that why you want my attention?” He looks at me as if I’m his deepest, darkest sexual fantasy.
I don’t like this. I can’t read him and I sure as hell don’t know all his motivations. I do know I’m being watched by thousands of viewers so I force myself to keep eye contact, force myself to school my face and keep it blank. But his relentless eye fucking makes me drop the ball.
“That’s … not why I, uh, uploaded it,” I manage. He moves closer and places a hand caressingly on my arm. I shiver, unprepared for the charge passing through me at the slightest touch.
“I think it was.”
Lenic is damn tall, and this is something he is using in this situation. I don’t like the fact I have to look up to him — in the literal sense. I want to look down at him.
I step back and knock my shoulder against the camera tripod. He studies me with a contemplative look that borders on illicit. It’s that look a man gives a woman — the one you either slap them for or go home with them.
I am already home with him.
He steps forward confrontationally, and I feel his hand brush slowly down my waist. Those fingers drag over my skin, so hot, and it feels like they leave abrasions.
“I’ll let you into a little secret…” He grips me by the hips. “That arse of yours … noticed it the day you moved in and … I haven’t been able to stop … thinking … about it.”
I don’t think he is suggesting he’s been thinking with his brain. I feel a rush of heat between my legs. Love isn’t on the cards for us, but I am falling in love with the idea of Lenic lying in his bed thinking to fantasies about my arse.
I watch his mouth lean in towards mine … and then I catch the movement. Oh, such a tiny movement. Compulsive. The slightest twitch of his mouth. It is so quick, I almost miss it.
Something about Lenic Reevus needs to hold all the power. He is a man who has to be in control. He wants me to shy away and feel embarrassed because I embarrassed him. This might have worked on other girls. But I am not like other girls. I am armed with a functioning bullshit metre. And we are live on air. If someone is going to be humiliated, it will be him—
He yanks off his belt, flinging it to God knows where. “I’ve got no problem with nudity, Felicity,” he says confidently. I freeze on the spot when he starts to unbutton his jeans. He wouldn’t dare. His dark eyes dance with amusement.
Oh God, he would.
He shoves his jeans down and…
O. M. Lenic.
My hand leaps to my mouth as I let out a shocked gasp. I’ve always wondered if it was true about Royal Marine Commandos going commando. OK, that answers my query. I’ve only seen it through a viewfinder or a computer screen, but nothing compares to the live version.
Trying to keep my breathing even, he wraps his arms around my waist, his mouth inching closer, and closer, to mine.
“This. Is. Me,” he says in a husky, dominating tone. He curls a piece of my hair around his finger, then pulls on it, hard. My head arches back and I gasp. The pleasure is almost on the cusp of pain, and he looks down at me, like he knows he has control on just how far to take it.
More, I want to scream. I want more.
“You can’t take me down, Felicity. Because if anyone is doing the taking…” He pulls me close to his body and I let out another small gasp. “…it will be me.”
Brit Constantine is a twenty-something author of The Tempest, her first published novel. Writing and ballet are the two things she lives for … next to cheesecake and firemen. When she’s not writing, or randomly bidding for useless items on the Web, she’s either earning bruises at her boyfriend’s mixed martial arts club or sipping on a perfect glass of Pimm’s with her girlfriends. She lives in London with her ever-growing collection of shoes. It’s a woman’s right to shoes.