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Storms in a Shot Glass

Decadent Publishing Company

Heat Rating: SWEET
Word Count: 80,000
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A little bump is about to make a lot of ripples...

The quiet, orderly life of personal assistant Jane Smithers takes a ninety-degree turn the day she finds out she accidentally got pregnant from a one-night stand. This is one complication she doesn't need, especially when one knows her world is peopled by lunatic Russian models, an immature boss posing as a CEO, and a mother who would make shark-infested waters look like a midsummer country pond.

The world of corporate lawyer and billionaire tycoon Michael Rinaldi is ruled by cold, hard logic, and straight-on facts. Until the day he meets Jane, and suddenly he has no idea why this insignificant-looking woman has the knack of plunging him head-first into the churning waters of tempestuous emotion and hot-headed impulse.

The last thing either needs is to get tangled in a tabloid frenzy.

Throw in a baby neither thought they wanted and add a dash of very gossipy scandal, and suddenly Jane and Michael realize that the world as they've known it so far will never be the same again.

But will they be able to live with this reality?


“What the hell were you thinking?”

An incensed Jane stomped out of the club, shooting the question at Michael as they hit the pavement.

“Jane, calm down.”

She stopped and whirled to face him. “Calm down? You have the balls to tell me to calm down? When you just told everyone I was expecting your baby?”

“Stop screaming. You want to alert the whole of Chelsea?”

She huffed. “No, mate. You took care of that already.”

What had been going on in that thick skull of his? She hadn’t been able to think while the others had fallen over her, overwhelming her with their congratulations. Ilyanka even wanted to ask the DJ to play a special song, though what techno song pertained to a pregnancy, she had no idea. Michael had received hearty thumps on the back, a smug smile on his lips as he accepted the accolades, as if for all intent he really was a proud, expectant father. She’d raced out of the club as soon as possible, pretending the onset of a headache, Michael right on her heels.

She started walking again, long strides that would take her back to her flat. The more distance she put between her and that loon, the better. The cheek of him! How could he just waltz in as if he owned the place and proclaim in front of everyone that she was carrying his child? Did the bully in him never let up?

The thought made her blood accelerate in her veins, pulsing with the repressed violence of outright anger. The fiery feeling obliterated whatever remaining sense she still possessed. “I never thought you were a few slabs short of a patio, Michael. What got into you? And for your information, there was not a drop of alcohol in my glass. I usually have fizzy water with a slice—”

His hand closed on her upper arm, interrupting her tirade, his grip gentle yet firm at the same time. Not a good thing. The gesture was too controlled. She closed her mouth despite the string of curses she wanted to hurl at him. Something told her it wouldn’t be a good idea to goad him with further provocation. She never backed down in front of bullies, but even she knew when she shouldn’t throw oil on fire.

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