Two Week Turnaround By Geneva Lee
COSMOPOLITAN
RED-HOT READS FROM HARLEQUIN
Synopsis
Give Sofia King two weeks and she can turn any strung out star’s career and life around. She’s got it all—the career, the shoes, the glamour—and her plans don’t include a man unless he comes with a guaranteed toe-curling orgasm. But when her father, head of Maxximum Studios, calls in a favor, she’s forced to take on the one bad boy she has no interest in reforming.
Isaac Blue.
With box-office bankability and a new woman in his bed every night, Isaac seems to have it all. Except happiness. So when his latest antics threaten to shut down a summer blockbuster and his producers decide to send in Sofia King, Isaac may have a shot at getting what he really wants. The one woman who got away. Sofia’s icy attitude about their past only makes him want to turn up the heat. And Isaac isn't about to say no to Sofia's proposed plan of action, especially if it gets her back in his bed.
Sofia is sure a week with Isaac will get him out of her system and keep him in line until filming is over.
But as on-set supervision becomes in-trailer flirtation, and wild sex turns into sensual lovemaking, Sofia might just be the one whose life is turning around...
Excerpt
Sofia shook off the inauspicious start. Well, she shook off the random girl. The fact that Isaac obviously didn't recognize her was a little harder to dismiss. It wasn't the first time she'd been blindsided by a new client. She'd picked up strung-out, sixtysomething rockers from frat parties and bailed out drunk celebri-tantes under the radar of the paparazzi. She could handle a hungover, beat-up Isaac Blue.
So why did it feel as if she was barely hanging on to her composure?
Maybe because after six years he still looked incredible even with a newly acquired black eye. It hadn't been a surprise to Sofia that Isaac had taken his career so far in so little time. He'd evolved from a lean, good-looking teen heartthrob into a well-built, panty-melting sex symbol. The brown hair that had once hung shaggy past his ears was cropped into a sexy mess just long enough to hold on to, but his eyes and that sinful smirk were the same. He'd been repackaged into a star, and while Sofia found herself drinking in the view as he stalked toward the couch in his low-slung jeans, she couldn't help wondering just how much had changed on the inside.
Striding into the hotel room, she eyed the suite for signs of more life. Thankfully, it had been a one-night stand and not a double, triple or worse. Nobody liked to break up an orgy. Sofia dropped her purse on the table and crossed her arms over her chest as she rounded on him.
“I'm here on behalf of Maxximum Studios,” she informed him, careful to keep her tone measured and professional. This was the stage that an involuntary client was likely to bolt, so it was important to show him his options. Namely, that he had none.
“Apparently Christmas came early. Maxx has outdone himself this time,” Isaac drawled, the rich Southern accent he usually hid seeping through. He circled his finger in the air. “Spin for me, princess.”
Sofia's eyes narrowed as she planted her hands on her hips. She chose to ignore the fact that her father obviously thought strippers were appropriate holiday gifts, but she had to fight the irrational surge of rage that swelled in her at discovering that Isaac was still a ladies' man. He'd been a walking hard-on when they'd first met and nothing had changed after all. “I'm here to save your career.”
“I have to admit that I find that disappointing.” Isaac flashed her a dazzling smile. “Are you sure I can't persuade you to join me?” He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms behind his head as his eyes flickered to his lap.
“Put a shirt on,” she demanded, “and then we'll talk.”
“Okay,” he said with a shrug, “but I'm so much more open when I'm comfortable.”
Sofia paused to consider this. If a new client had said this she would have called his bluff, knowing the worst-case scenario was that she'd be treated to a glimpse of his birthday suit. But Isaac wasn't exactly a new client, and she'd been to that party before. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do to test a stranger, especially one in a skirt. How many women could resist the sight of a nude Isaac Blue? Sofia didn't have a spreadsheet, but she could guess the stats on her own.
The real question was: Could she resist seeing him like that? An hour ago, she would have said yes, but an hour ago, it had been six years since they'd been in the same room. An hour ago she’d thought the only thing she felt for him was the dull, ghostly pain of betrayal. Now she knew better. But maybe the only way to beat the player was to play by his rules. Never mind that her nipples felt like a set of pushpins just from his proximity and forget the fact that her blood had caught fire in his mere presence. She could totally handle the sight of Isaac's unbelievably perfect six-pack.
The only way to decide was to fall back on her proven methodology. They were still in the first twenty-four hours of the turnaround, which meant they were clearly in the forty-eight-hour assessment period. It was crucial that she spend this time getting to know who her client was, and as much as she thought she knew Isaac, her job was to approach this as a professional. Sofia only had one rule when it came to assessments: she always did them on the client's terms. If they wanted to go to a bar, she went. If their dealer showed up, she stayed out of it.
Knowing exactly what she had to do, she returned his shrug. “If that makes you comfortable, it's fine with me.”
She caught the surprise flicker in his eyes even as he stood and kicked off his designer boots, but by the time he tugged down his zipper, his cocky grin had returned. Isaac pushed his pants to the floor with a triumphant flourish, leaving him standing stark naked before her.
“Feel better?” she asked, gluing her eyes to his in what was likely to be the stare-off of the century.
“Much.” The word oozed with his slow, delicious Georgian accent. He winked at her, and Sofia felt heat flush across her skin.
Goddammit, he still knew how to press all her buttons. Although to be fair she doubted that any hot-blooded woman would have been able to handle the combination of his undeniable charisma and the stack of abs that narrowed into a chiseled V.
“I suddenly feel at a disadvantage, Miss…?”
The overly polite prompt for an introduction reminded Sofia exactly why it didn't matter that Isaac Blue was naked in front of her. Maybe it was the symptom of a bruised ego that she thought he should remember her, but memory problems were far from rare in her clients.
“Miss King. I mean, Ms. King.” Then again, maybe he wasn't the only one having trouble with his memory.
“It's a pleasure.” He closed the small distance between them and caught her hand, drawing it up to his lips. She knew his slow-as-honey words came from a mouth that didn't only draw out its sentences. Heat radiated off him, and her eyes felt heavy, as though his mere presence was a powerful opiate. Her own personal drug.
But as he released her hand, she caught sight of his ink-stained fingertips. Sofia snapped back to reality, stepping away from him and tugging at her blouse as she shook her body free of his intoxicating effects.
“We should get to work,” she informed him, switching into business mode. “You're expected on set tomorrow.”
Isaac frowned, running a hand through his tangled black hair. “I'm expected on set on Tuesday.”
“Tomorrow is Tuesday.”
“What the hell happened to Sunday?” He strode toward the bedroom, abandoning his flirtatious charade, and began ransacking the top of the dresser.
Sofia watched, mentally noting what she saw in his bedroom. No evidence of drugs. That was a good sign. Although there were some empty beer bottles. That wasn't so good. Other than that, there was the usual contents of a guy's pockets spilled across the bureau: loose coins, a wallet and a couple of condoms.
Intact condoms.
Still-wrapped condoms.
Unused condoms.
She hated herself for noticing.
“Lose something?” she asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorway.
“My phone,” he snapped, “my Sunday and, apparently, my mind.”
Sofia's mouth curved into a satisfied smile. She was right on track after all. “That's why I'm here.”
About Geneva Lee
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