By Rissa Brahm
Men take from Jana. Her dad and brother: money. Stage-side gawkers: her dignity. Still, she finished nursing school, won a spot in Manhattan’s top ER—thanks to no man. But when her dad’s business and heart fails, ever-loyal Jana Park must return to the stripper’s pole. Now even her boss’s chauffeur ogles her in the rearview. Faux-kindness—and irrefutable heat—aside, she glares back.
Because screw ’em all.
Chauffeur Antonio Ruiz is done with his cheating wife, the city, the almighty buck. His seaside home in Mexico calls. One last gig for his biggest client, the city’s strip club king, then he’s out. Except that the sharp, exotic, petite powerhouse of a woman he’s been hired to drive—day in-day out, glaring at him with those deep, solemn eyes—takes him over. If he could pierce her shield of doubt, he’d bring her home, far from this hell.
But, no. Jana’s got to take the wheel and drive. Away from her family’s abuse, her boss’s clutches…and toward Antonio’s true brand of love.
The road’s rocky. Will they make it to paradise? Or will it all go south… in the city.
Tony, the driver, glanced up at her repeatedly through the small rectangular rearview mirror. Maybe he thought she sat there, smack in the middle of his back seat, on purpose, ready to chat. He looked nice enough, a clean-cut, seemingly professional and undeniably handsome man––a welcome change from the recent line of cab drivers she’d experienced over the last day and a half. But chatting with him or anyone for that matter was the last thing on her mind.
To keep her nausea at bay and her nerves from completely short-circuiting, she really only wanted, rather needed, to zero-in on the view ahead, his reflection not included, in silence. Not to be rude, but she was too tired. Too drained. Hopefully, he would intuit her exhaustion and understand.
Or maybe he didn’t care about her etiquette at all. Maybe he was a gawker, catching a glimpse at a semi-pretty face? Oh, and there they are again, those eyes. Takin’ a peek, then back to the road.
His eyes were gentle, kind.
God, she almost wished he was an asshole like her recent cabbies, offering no words, no smiles, no nothing. That might be way easier.
But he seemed nice. Mellow. Not an asshole, at least not on the surface. Maybe deserving a word or two, at minimum. But she couldn’t. She really was too beat to even utter a syllable. Because that would lead to words, then sentences, then potential backstory and explanation. And she couldn’t muster the strength to explain anything to anyone, including to herself.
After two decades of working in the rigid—and sometimes blurry—world of finance, she's taken hold of her truest dream, writing hot and heartfelt stories full time.
When not chained-by-choice to her MacBook, she is embarking on outdoor adventures with her husband and little girl, laughing to tears with a good rom com, eating amazing Indian food with something chocolate for dessert; reading good, hot scorchers in bed; biking, long walks, and yoga; zoning out to killer music from across the decades and the globe; and getting lost only to discover a new exciting route home again. You can connect with Rissa on Facebook, Twitter or by email anytime by heading to www.RissaBrahm.com.
Author Central: amazon.com/author/rissabrahm