on September 4th 2013
Genres: Adult, Erotica, Romance
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A full-length book from the miniseries readers RAVED about!
Lust is a dangerous thing. It can make you believe things that are not real. It can seduce your mind and lead it blindfolded to the cliff that will be its demise.
What would you do if you could leave your life? Wake up one day and be someone else?
I signed the contract. I left Candace Tapers and her slutty, strip club life behind, abandoned every part of that life with one hesitant swipe of my pen.
The contract was clear:
2. Public Appearances
3. No romance
“I need a wife. I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. I will not love you. I will have no use for you other than sex and photo ops.”
Sex with Nathan was easy. More than easy. Panty-melting, can-never-get-
enough HOT. I had begun to think that I could live this new life, showered in luxuries, orgasms, and diamonds.
Then, I started tripping over secrets.
Disclaimer: The Dumont Diaries contains a strong alpha male, super hot explicit sex, and twists and turns that might cause unnatural heart palpitations. This book does not contain BDSM elements.
*The Dumont Diaries was originally released, and is still available as a four-part miniseries. This book combines the four pieces of the miniseries into one, full-length novel.
“Jennifer?” I look at my new ID dubiously.
Is there a problem? Drew asks dryly.
I frown, trying to decide upon an answer to his question. “I don’t know. I just never really pictured myself as a Jennifer.” Jennifers play tennis, like pink, and draw hearts in notebooks. I have already spent twenty-six years straddled with the girly disaster that was Candy. If I am going to get a new name, I want it to be strong, with a backbone. Like Alexis. Or Jinx. Shit. I’ve obviously spent too much time in a strip club. “Do I get a choice?”
“No.” He smiles thinly, his grin all sharp teeth, no humor in its grimace.
I sigh. “Then Jennifer it is.”
“Nathan has already decided that you will be referred to as Jenny.”
Jenny. I puff out my cheeks in exasperation. Even worse.
My name is only part of the problem. I stare at the racks of designer clothes, designed for someone other than young vixens with a body worth showing off. According to my new workout regime, delivered by an energetic ball of annoyance named Beth, I will be having my ass kicked for two hours a day, twice a week. Following that schedule, and my new diet (also delivered in irritating cheerful fashion), I will be down a dress size within thirty days. What is the point of all of that hell if it is going to be hidden by three layers of couture?
I flip through the racks, every hanger holding some variation of the same thing. Classic colors. High necklines. Low hemlines. Cardigans—a whole freaking shelf of them. Lace. Panty Hose. I shudder, grabbing the panty hose packages and tossing them in the general direction of a trashcan. My wardrobe has been cheerfully delivered by Rosit Fenton—a forty-ish bald, round, gay man—whose outfit contains more color than this entire wardrobe combined. He also supplies me with a book.
“When you flip through the book you will see the outfit selections,” he drones in a nasally tone that reeks of dignity and culture. “Each outfit has a number, shown here.” He points to a giant number, placed to the side of a blouse, so big and clear it looks like it was created for a six-year-old. “The numbers correspond to a hanger. So all you need to do is pull the hangers and you will have your outfit!” He closes the book with a sharp crack, smiling at me in a way that is typically reserved for those of a lesser intellect.
I don’t need a book that matches blah with blah; I can master that disaster all on my own. I force a smile, trying to present an exterior that is gracious and refined. “Thank you.”
And so begins my first day as Jenny—polite, reserved, Jenny. I grit my teeth at the name.
Alessandra lives in the Southern United States and is married, with one young child. She enjoys reading, spending time with her family, and playing with her dogs. Her favorite authors include Lisa Gardner, Gillian Flynn, and Jennifer Crusie.
(1) signed paperback copy of The Dumont Diaries. Open internationally.
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