Excerpt: The Daredevil - Vilma Iris | Lifestyle Blogger

“I dare you to let me watch…”

It was the wickedest of propositions, made by the most devilish of men.

It doesn’t matter that Tyson Wilde has got a killer smile, wears a suit like it’s his job,
and oozes spine-tingling sex appeal. I should say no.
Because beneath the surface of that cool, disinterested exterior,
lies passion hot enough to burn. I danced too close to it once and have the scars to prove it.

So, on any other night, in any other city, and if he’d been even a fraction less mouthwatering,
would have been able to resist.

But it’s my birthday, we’re in Paris, and it’s him.
I can’t say no.
I don’t want to say no.

And this time, no matter how right we feel together, I won’t let myself forget that when this weekend is over, we will be, too.
We’re only pretending to be lovers to land a deal.
Success will mean a promotion—one I want more than anything.
At least, that’s what I thought.

Falling in love was a danger neither Tyson or I saw coming.
And it will cost one of us everything.

Book Type:

Contemporary Romance

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Excerpt: The Daredevil
By Dylan Allen

Excerpt: The Daredevil

From Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Dylan Allen comes a new story in her Rivers Wilde series. THE DAREDEVIL is out tomorrow, but you can read a sneak peek below!

I’ve been dreading this moment all day. I even had my things delivered to the hotel instead of taking them over myself like I’d planned to avoid it.

But since I got in the car to head over here, I’ve been impatient and… excited for it.

I’ve been sitting in front of her hotel for five minutes. I called when we were a few minutes away to give her time to get downstairs. She said she was on her way, and we should have been on the road three minutes ago.

I glance at my watch again and curse under my breath. She knows I’m a stickler for time. She’s probably doing it on purpose.

I reach inside my blazer, fishing out my phone from the inside pocket, and call her again.

“Hey,” she answers a little breathlessly after the third ring.

“What’s the hold-up?”

“I’m on my way. I forgot my phone in my room and had to go back for it.”

There’s none of the telltale background noise you’d expect in a hotel lobby. “Are you at least downstairs yet?”

“Yes, Tyson. I’m downstairs. Jeez,” she snaps and then hangs up.

She’s going to make me crazy. I’m just about to call her again when the car door opens. “It’s about time, woman. We can’t be late to the first event of the weekend.”

“Don’t call me woman,” she says as she climbs into the back.

If I didn’t recognize her voice, I would have thought she was someone else climbing into the wrong car. “And what’s the rush? I thought we had plenty of time.”

Her question barely registers. Not that I wouldn’t have been able to answer because I think I swallowed my damn tongue. My mom made it sound like she was just getting a few outfits and her hair done.

She’s completely transformed herself. Her hair is pin straight and shimmers like black silk in the dimly lit dark interior of the car. The long fall of it creates a stark contrast to and heightens the bronze skin on her bare shoulders, arms, and chest.

Her outrageous curves are bound in a skin-tight leopard print dress that has little flaps at the hips and hugs her thighs like it was painted on.

I catch a glimpse of the black stiletto heel shoes with a toe so pointy she could use it as a weapon she’s wearing. I don’t have to try hard to imagine the things they do to her already long, muscular legs when she’s walking.

The loud blare of a car horn draws my eyes up to the still open door. The driver is so engrossed by her legs that he’s just standing there staring while she arranges her skirt and settles into her seat.

I clear my throat loudly. His eyes meet mine for a brief second, and I’m gratified by the flash of fear in them before he closes the door and scurries around the front to his seat.

When I was 15 I would use my fists to set a boy straight for treating a woman I cared about like a piece of meat. Now glowers and quiet but stern words in the men’s room are the tools of my trade. I curse my sister silently as I prepare myself for a night of using them.

“I see you went shopping at the same places Regan does,” I remark as I force my eyes out of my window.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”

“Because you’re half naked, like she usually is.”

“Thank God you’re not really my date, or else I might be upset that you managed to insult me less than two minutes into our conversation.”

“I didn’t insult you.”

She scoffs. “Well, that didn’t sound anything like ‘You look nice.’”

I glance in the general direction of her body and then look back at the road with a shrug. “Your dress is too damn tight. You’re supposed to be convincing people you’re my woman. Not trying to catch the eye of every man you walk by.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Tyson.” She spits my name like it’s a bad taste in her mouth. “And for your information, I don’t need to try to catch anyone’s eyes. If anything, it’s the exact opposite. I dress to disappear.”

Oh, I know that. Even though it’s been a long time, I know exactly what she’s hiding in that oversized, monochrome wardrobe of hers. “Well, hate to break it to you, but if that was your goal, you failed.”

“I didn’t pick these clothes. The people you trusted to dress me did. And clearly they think your friends would expect you to be with someone who dresses like this.”

“That’s not true. You could have worn something you wanted,” I protest.

“As if The Hunter’s wardrobe isn’t appropriate for a night out in Paris.”

“I’ve never called you that.”

“Well, then you must be the only person who doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry people are so childish.”

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