Down and Dirty: Jag
Dirty Angels MC
Book Two
Jeanne St. James
Genre: Contemporary Romance /
MC Romance
Date of Publication: 11/11/17
ISBN: 978-1977950727
ASIN: B075H63XVY
Number of pages: 236
Word Count: 61k
Cover Artist: Susan Garwood
Book Description:
Welcome to Shadow Valley where the Dirty Angels MC rules. Get ready to get Down and Dirty because this is Jag’s story…
The only thing Jag, DAMC Road Captain, loves more than his custom bike is Ivy. He’s wanted her ever since he could remember. However, through the years, he’s had to watch her date anyone but him since she avoids dating bikers like the plague. Instead, she gravitates toward the complete opposite: geeks and nerds. Something Jag will never be.
Smart and independent, Ivy wants to be the property of no man. Growing up in the club, she knows firsthand how they treat women. She regrets the mistake she made by dragging Jag upstairs to his room at the club one drunken night. Ever since then, she’s been doing her best to keep him at arm’s length, though it’s proven difficult. Especially when she finds out his secret, which only endears her to him even more.
Between secrets, lies, and a violent tangle with a rival club, can these two passionate hot-heads find the love and solace they’re looking for in each other’s arms? Or will everything just tumble down around them?
Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, biker slang, cursing, some violence and, of course, an HEA. If you like alpha males who like to take charge, this book is for you.
Excerpt
1:
He was going to
kill the bitch.
Jag pounded on
the door. Again.
She was pushing
him to his limit. And that was not good.
For him.
For her.
For the human
race in general.
“Fuckin’ open
the door or I’ll bust the fuckin’ thing in, got me?”
He was going to
knock politely only one more time, then that was it.
He politely
kicked the door with his heavy biker boot. That was going to leave a mark.
“If you don’t
open this fuckin’ door right—”
The door jerked
open and something—or someone—tried to fly by him.
Jag reached out
a hand and snagged the fleeing body. With a grip around a skinny bicep, the guy
came to a screeching halt.
Jag flung him
around to face him. He scowled. “Who the fuck are you?”
The already pale
guy turned sheet white. With eyes wide, mouth open, he had a discarded shirt
bunched in his fist and his pants hung loosely around his hips, since he
apparently hadn’t taken the time to finish fastening them before the man
decided to jet.
Which was a
smart move. But then, Ivy tended to pick smart dudes. Though, they never hung
around long. Geeky dudes and a biker babe don’t mix no matter how many times
she tries.
And he got it,
he really did. Ivy was smart herself. Genius even. And she needed a challenge.
Other than
becoming a biker’s ol’ lady. Or his ol’ lady, more like it.
Jag looked down
at the guy’s bare feet. It seemed he forgot his fucking shoes in his haste.
Stupid fuck.
Maybe he wasn’t so smart after all.
“You touch Dirty
Angels property?”
The guy’s mouth
opened and closed like a guppy as he stared up at Jag, who towered over him by
at least five inches.
“Asked a damn
question. Did you—”
“Get gone, Jag.”
His eyes slid to
the woman now standing in the doorway, holding out a pair of loafers with socks
tucked into them. The one wearing a fucking robe and probably nothing else.
The guy’s eyes
dropped to his offered shoes, then he snagged them and clasped them to his
chest as if they were a lifeline.
“Get in the
house. Deal with you shortly.”
“The hell you
will. Get gone, Jag.”
His head twisted
in her direction and he took his time inspecting her from top to toe. That
fucking deep red hair of hers spilled around her shoulders, clearly messed up
from a fresh fuck, which he hoped he’d interrupted. Because if anyone should be
in her bed, it should be him.
Her lips were
swollen and pouty. Goddamn, if she had those lips around this nerd’s cock, his
brain would explode. Her green eyes snapped in anger.
Whatever. She
could be mad all she wanted. He was just as pissed. No, more.
“Who I fuck is
none of your damn business,” came out of that smart mouth.
He gritted his
teeth before answering. “The fuck it isn’t. Anything to do with DAMC property
is my business.”
Especially after
she climbed into his bed all those months ago.
“Well, I’m not
DAMC property. So GET GONE!”
Jag released the
now very scared guy with a shove. He stumbled, caught his balance on the
veranda railing, then ran down the metal stairs, taking two at a time. Like a
scared mouse, he sprinted toward a car parked on the street.
He should’ve
known the guy drove a fucking Prius. He should’ve slashed the geek-mobile’s
tires for dipping his dick in DAMC property.
“Fucker doesn’t
even ride a bike. You’ve got shit taste in lays, Ivy.”
“Don’t I know
it,” she muttered, making Jag’s jaw tighten.
“Don’t come back
here,” Jag yelled his warning through the dark to the guy scrambling into his
car like his ass was on fire. “If you know what’s good for ya,” he finished
under his breath. He turned back to face the pissed-off redhead dressed in
black silk that hugged all her damn curves. His balls tightened as hard as his
jaw. “Probably needs a dick extension to fuck you.”
“I don’t know if
that’s an insult to me or to him. Either way, you don’t belong here, Jag. So,
I’ll say it again, get gone.”
“Not leavin’.”
Ivy lifted a
shoulder. “Okay then. You’ll be standing out here all night while I’m sleeping
soundly in my bed. Thanks to you, alone. Normally, I’d say good night, but...
fuck you.”
The door slammed
shut and Jag heard the deadbolt click. He grimaced and stared at the door.
Little did she
know that her uncle, Ace, had given him the key.
He grinned,
turned on his heel and jogged down the steps to where his bike was parked at
the foot of the stairway in the pawn shop lot.
She may not let
him in, but his mission was accomplished. He chased away Ivy’s latest conquest.
And he’d keep
doing it until she got some sense and realized everything she needed has been
right in front of her all along.
He put his girl
between his legs, hit her starter and closed his eyes for a moment, surrounded
by the smooth rumble of his straight exhaust pipes.
His bike was
everything to him. The only thing he wanted more between his legs was Ivy.
The only thing
he loved more than his bike was... fucking Ivy.
And she was a
fucking bitch.
About the Author:
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing and her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.
Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
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