Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Synopsis:I am not a slut, although I’ve been called one often enough. Yeah, I spent three months screwing one of my college professors, but I was crazy about the guy. Then he broke up with me.
I am not a bitch, although people like to say I am. I kept our relationship secret. I’m not responsible for telling the university administrators about it, but a lot of students still blame me for getting their favorite professor fired.
I am not a drama queen, although everyone thinks I am now. When I got a few nasty messages, I just deleted them. When I got the threat, I assumed it was someone being stupid. I still think that’s all it was. My parents worry, though, so they hired me a bodyguard. Now Jack follows me around, intimidating everyone who approaches me and looking obnoxiously hot.
This is what I am. I’m Chloe. I’m a twenty-year-old art history major. Kind of shy, although I pretend not to be. Stubborn enough to stay here for my senior year, even though everyone hates me.
And I’m stuck with Jack.
He calls me “Princess,” but I’m not a princess either.
Knowing Jack is a New Adult contemporary romance and includes adult content and language. The plot of the book is fully resolved at the end, but the last page includes a hanging teaser for the next book in the series.
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But now, for no good reason, he suddenly seems to simmer with some sort of intensity. He steps forward until I’m backed up against the wall, and I stare up at him with my lips parted. It’s like something is shuddering inside him, just begging to get out.
I have no idea what it is, but I like it. God help me, I like it.
“I mean you’ve got to toughen up eventually,” he murmurs, a thick note in his voice I’m not used to.
It makes me shiver. It makes my girly parts clench.
But the actual words make my spine stiffen again. “What do you mean I have to toughen up? I’m plenty tough.”
He plants a hand on the wall behind me, just to the right of my shoulder, and he leans into me, so there’s only a few inches between our faces. I see the dark curve of his eyelashes. I see the heavy stubble on his jaw. I see the fire in his eyes, and I just can’t look away from it.
I have to clench my hand to keep from touching him.
“You are not tough enough,” he says, his voice even more gravelly than before. “You’re tender. You’re vulnerable. You’re soft and sweet, and your heart is just as soft and sweet as your body. I can stop them from hurting your body, but I can’t stop them from hurting your heart. You’ve got to do that yourself.”
Oh, God, I ache. In my chest. Between my legs. I’m mesmerized by his eyes, his voice, the heat of his body just a breath away from mine. “I’m trying.” My voice is a little shaky, and I can’t help but tell him the truth. “I’m trying, but how the hell do I not let them hurt me?”
“You’ve got to stop caring about what they think. You’ve got to believe that they’re not important to you.”
“I do care. I care that people hate me so much. People have never hated me before.”
“I know they haven’t.” He reaches out and cups my face. His hand is really big and a little calloused, and it curves around my cheek and jaw—warm and strong and protective. His thumb moves in a little caress, stroking just to the side of my lips.
It feels so good I lean into the touch. One of my hands goes up to his chest, and I tighten my fingers in the fabric of his shirt.
I can’t remember ever being so turned on—flushed, weak in the knees, throbbing in all the goods spots—from something that isn’t sexual. Just Jack’s intense physicality and the gentle stroking of his thumb on my cheek.
There’s no way I can hide it. I let my head fall backward and arch my spine against the wall, pressing my breasts toward him without thinking. I let out a long, textured, embarrassing sigh. It’s almost--almost—a moan.
About the Author
Rachel is a writer, a teacher, a romance reader, and a dog-mom. She loves animals and art and hot men with soft hearts under a tough exterior. She tries to write love stories that feel real, even in unlikely circumstances.