Question:
What do you do when you fall for your best friend’s little sister?
More
important question: How long can you keep it a secret before it all
goes up in flames?
The
Billionaire’s Forbidden Little Sister, an all-new hot and hilarious
brother’s best friend rom-com from New
York Times
bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
SYNOPSIS
Theo Cruz, a New York man known for his family’s billion-dollar
empire, Cruz Enterprises, has been indicted this afternoon in the Court
of Public Opinion on charges of Bro-Code Conspiracy.
Chief
counsel for the prosecution, Caplin Hawkins, spoke candidly about the
accusation. “Once thought of as a best friend to many—including
myself—Theo Cruz has officially turned his back on human decency. He’s
conniving and dishonest, and a habitual offender of Bro-Code Law 676.
He’ll rue the day he forgot that you never—under any circumstances—get
involved with your best friend’s little sister.”
Fact: I haven’t actually been arrested or indicted.
More important fact: I inadvertently messed up—big-time.
Two strangers in a foreign country, we said hello.
Hello turned into a kiss.
A kiss turned into a rendezvous.
And a rendezvous turned into more than I’d ever imagined.
But her unruly golden curls and beautiful body hid an important detail—She’s my mouthiest billionaire best friend’s forbidden little sister.
Fact: I knew not of my crimes.
More important fact: I know now, but even though I know I’m playing with fire, there’s no way I’m stopping. I can’t leave her alone.
Question: What do you do when you fall for your best friend’s little sister?
More important question: How long can you keep it a secret before it all goes up in flames?
Oh my...I really really loved this book so much! Not only was the chemistry between the hero and the heroine amazing and sparkling hot but I laughed so much and so hard throughout the book that I almost cried. About six chapters in I felt as if I was dying of laughter (is there a better way to go?) and I knew that I needed a little rapper in my life, even a discounted one.
We met old friends and new ones and I loved to meet all those guys of the Book Club again (even though Thatch and his "fluffing" got a bit on my nerves, a teeny tiny bit because, well, ...fluffing...*sigh*) and - don't forget Pippa. She is so cute!
Okay, back to the really important stuff, right? Lena and Theo meet under very special circumstances and everything considered, they should be thrilled when they meet again because, yeah, you remember that chemistry and those sparks? Right. If there wasn't the very inconvenient realization that Lena is not just the woman Theo fell for that one memorable night far far away in Italy but his -very very protective- best friend's sister. Oops.
How to choose between love and loyalty? Do you have to? Oh, I mean, apart from the fact that your best friend might want to rearrange your face and other bodyparts a bit....well, yep. That fact.
Tough luck.
This series is so much fun and laughter with amazing and unforgettable characters that you just have to love! I simply can't wait to read the next book in this series, they are hilarious and great!
★★★★★
EXCERPT
Lena
Two
hours and another two shots for Pippa later and she’s in full-on
dance mode. Shaking her hips and tits like she owns the joint. It
only took one intense shimmy during “Gonna Make You Sweat” to
understand what she meant—her boobs, left braless, would absolutely
be a lethal weapon. I’m pretty sure the sweat between them even
vaporized into a misty Mel Gibson mirage, they shook so hard.
And
not once has she wanted to stop for a break.
She’s
in the running to be the next Energizer bunny, but my bladder is
full, and I’m dehydrated. For the love of God, I need something to
drink other than Mel-flavored sweat mist and gasoline.
Thankfully,
when Pip spots Sophie and Frederick on the other side of the dance
floor, she does some weird version of the robot, spins in their
direction, and makes like the wind through the crowd while letting
her arms trail behind her.
It’s
so fucking strange, it’s hilarious, and I can’t help but laugh.
Sophie
feels the same, covering her mouth comically as she spots Pippa. I
wave my hand, hoping to get her attention, and by some miracle, she
spots me through the strobing lights and writhing bodies.
I
jerk my chin and swipe a hand across my chest before tapping the skin
next to my eye and doing the walking symbol with my fingers. Sophie
nods, interpreting my baseball-esque code, regardless of its
lackluster delivery. If I were on the other end of things, I’d be
waffling between second and third base right now, trying to figure
out what to do.
“I’ve
got her!” she whisper-yells toward me, and the weight of
drunken-friend-motherhood lifts off me in a flash. I’m sure my
friends with kids would tell me this is how they always feel when
they actually make it to the bathroom.
I
didn’t think it was a possibility for a female living on planet
Earth, but when I make it to the toilets—as
the Italians call them—the
line is short and speedy. I’m standing at the bar again, waiting on
a bartender to take my order in under five minutes.
Of
course, the bar takes so long, I have to sit down on one of the
stools to bide my time. And just like that, the timetable of the
universe has been righted.
While
I wait, I glance back toward the dance floor to check on Pip, the
dancing queen—who is now showing off her twerking skills to a cute
twentysomething guy. If I had to guess based on his appearance, I’d
peg him as one of the locals. But for all I really know, he hails
from the Jersey Shore.
Thankfully,
Sophie and Frederick are sticking close to Pip’s side, and her
dance partner of unknown origin isn’t getting too handsy.
All
is well.
I breathe a sigh of relief and turn back toward the bar to resume my
quest for a drink and, like magic, lock eyes directly with a
bartender.
Thank
God!
He
jerks his chin up to head my way, and I climb to stand on the rung of
my barstool with glee.
But
when he’s five steps away, his attention swings back to a point
down the bar, and immediately, he diverts.
What
the hell?
I
glance down at my perky, tight-nippled breasts and frown. How
in the hell did he see these fuckers and not come in for the landing?
Annoyed,
I follow him with my gaze to what I’m sure must be a woman with
three tits and an exposed pussy.
I
pause. Stop. Go
completely still.
Wow.
That is definitely
not
a woman with freakish anatomy. In fact, that’s no woman at all.
Midnight-blue
eyes, a little scruff on his strong jaw, and the kind of lips that I
instinctually
know
will be good at kissing, the man who stole my bartender warrants more
than a double take.
Hot
damn.
He’s
clad in a smart suit but no tie, and his collared shirt is loose at
the neck but perfectly fitted around the tight, firm muscles of his
chest. The suit is obviously tailored and screams of money, but I
have a feeling not even gold-plating would be able to disguise the
spectacular body he’s got underneath.
His
face is serious—but God, even serious, he is handsome as fuck.
The
urge to find out what he looks like when he smiles is both
overwhelming and terrifying. I mean, how would I even quantify
anything beyond perfection?
A
shiver runs up my spine. I really
want to see what this guy is all about.
I
imagine if I could remember Pippa existed at this point, I’d try to
thank her for insisting I celebrate our accomplishments by lifting
the man ban for the night.
As it
is, I’m not sure anyone but me and the hottie with the sparkling
eyes are left on the planet.
When
he finishes talking to what I can only assume is the bartender who
abandoned me, he turns back toward the dance floor and rests his hip
against the bar.
His
still-serious eyes scan the joint, moving from the dance floor to the
VIP section to the intimate booths scattered along the walls and then
back to the line of the bar, all the way back to me.
My
breath catches in my throat when he meets my curious gaze and pauses.
Yes,
please.
Drink
forgotten, I mouth the word “Hi” toward him, and the slight hint
of a smile threatens to quirk up just one corner of his lips.
God,
I want to see him smile.
He
mouths “Hi” back before pulling the center of his bottom lip
between his teeth and dragging it back out. One perfect dimple pokes
out from his cheek.
Hell’s
bells, that’s one dangerously sexy look…
Unconsciously,
I lick my bottom lip, and without hesitation, he shoves away from his
spot at the bar and closes the distance between us.
“Hi,”
I repeat when he stops within hearing distance—and in this club,
with this crowd and noise, that’s pretty fucking close.
With
full lips, white teeth, and two dimples, he smiles the sexiest smile
I’ve seen in my life at the single-syllable word. And as a bonus, I
can see now that his sparkling eyes are midnight blue, like the
deepest part of the ocean.
“Hi,”
he responds, rounding out our freak cycle of hellos, and it’s
instantly evident he’s an American like me.
“You
should do that more.”
He
raises a questioning brow, leaning just one hand into the lighted
marble bar top behind me. It makes his size feel impressive, makes me
feel enveloped. My whole body spasms, and I take a deep breath to
control it. “Do what more?”
“Smile,”
I clarify.
A
soft but deep and raspy chuckle leaves his perfect, kissable mouth.
“Who says I don’t?”
I
reach up toward the skin between his brows and his gaze follows my
hand skeptically, but he doesn’t back away. “This little, almost
nonexistent line right here,” I say softly, running a finger across
it.
His
eyes search mine in the kind of hot and sexy way that makes me wonder
if my panties are still there, but I do my best to keep my voice even
as I explain further. “I bet you furrow your brow all the time.”
He
leans closer to me, and my fingers slide into the lush, dark locks of
his hair on accident. “Is that right?”
“Uh-huh,”
I answer simply, unable to form words until my hand finds its way
back to the safe space of my lap. It’s purely circumstantial that
my fingers graze his cheek and then his neck along the way. I clear
my throat and look up to meet his eyes again. “I mean, here you
are, in a club, at a bar with beautiful women all around you, and
until you came over here, I couldn’t tell if you were having a good
time at all.”
He
laughs a little and then asks, “You know what’s funny?”
Completely
oblivious to the answer but equally eager to find out, I shake my
head.
“Neither
could I.”
“And
now?” I challenge with one inquisitive eyebrow.
“Now,
I definitely am.”
I
smile then, allowing a cascade of goose bumps to cover my arms from
my shoulders to my fingertips.
Goddamn.
He’s trouble, and I like it. In fact, I like it way
too much.
“Well,
in that case…” I pause and bite down on my bottom lip. “Since
you stole my bartender, I think it’s only fair that you buy me a
drink.”
He
searches my eyes, a small smile once again lighting his own. “Stole
your bartender?”
“Yep.
Plucked him right from my braless grasp.”
He
laughs again, shaking his head and fighting like hell not to look
down. I’m immediately impressed by his level of self-control. Nine
out of ten of the men I’ve been with in the past would have focused
in on my buzzword and failed to look away from it for the rest of the
night.
But
not this guy. He’s interested—I can tell by the way his pupils
have dilated—but for now, he’s content to focus on my eyes.
Irony
at its finest, as that simple behavior actually increases his chances
of seeing my nipples later.
“Okay,
then. I guess I owe you one. What’s your poison?” That handsome
grin of his grows wider, and I swear to God, I can feel it all the
way to my damn toes.
Tell
him gin and tonic because it will taste good when you get him to kiss
you later,
my horny, sex-deprived subconscious instructs.
The
other side of my brain—the rational
side—suggests something low in alcohol content—something that
promotes good decisions.
I
think it over for a brief moment, scanning the features of his
too-handsome face and landing on his luscious smirking lips once
again.
The
answer pours out of me like a benediction. “Gin and tonic, please.”