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 brother’s best friend rom-com from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
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?
Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
My Review
Seriously? I don't think that the super-duo of Max Monroe can write a book that I don't completely enjoy!
This one has everything you would expect - sexy and smart characters, shenanigans, and of course, because it's his sister in this book, Cap!
Lena and Theo meet while she's in Italy studying at design school. He's there and needs to let loose - you know, all work and no fun make Theo a grumpy boy who needs some sexy times. These two hit it off, and have a fling - one week of steamy times without exchanging names.
Now they are both back in New York, and Theo discovers that Lena is none other than his friend Cap's sister! Whoopsie.These two have to work through Cap, and of course, the Book Club chimes in with advice!
If you haven't read this series, I'm not sure what you're waiting for. These are not your usual billionaire-trope type books. They're hilarious. They're fun, and absolutely addictive.
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.”
About Max Monroe
A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
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