Kind of Famous - Mary Ann Marlowe Page 0,115

inside me, I bent forward and lay a kiss on his pretty lips.

“Mmm. There.” He thrust upward, hitting me in that spot that shattered planets. “Yes, yes, Shane.”

His eyes lit up. “When?”

How could I resist him? If I said now, I was afraid he’d toss me over and start making calls. “Christmas?”

He flipped me onto my back and pulled out far enough to make me sigh. “Next week.”

With him inside me, I’d agree to nearly anything. “Mmm.” He hit the place that made me think of sugar. “Keep going.”

“Saturday.”

My back arched, and he picked up the pace, bringing me closer and closer. I rasped out, “Anything you want.”

“Today.”

I crashed around him. “Yes. Yes.”

He exploded in me and all I saw were stars.

Acknowledgments

This series of book owes its existence to fan forums. Back in the day, I was working on a doctorate in French lit when I heard the siren call of computer programming and made a complete U-turn. Even after I changed careers and started working in development, I couldn’t stop tinkering with my own websites. I’d been involved in forum communities when I found myself with a domain and some software and asked, “Hey, would anyone want to join my little fan site?” To my great surprise, that community grew fast and furious. I built another. I spun up fan sites so fast, people used to joke every time I’d find a new musician I loved, “Hey username, when can we expect the fan site?” And while I loved hanging out and chatting with other like-minded fans, I got a huge kick out of writing blogs, especially when I had a partner in crime to share the load.

So thanks to sidekicks like McLovin and dozens of other usernames I could rattle off—friends I’ve never met and people I’ve traveled the world with.

I am indebted to my writing circle for all the support and encouragement they give me every single day. This book had fallen off my radar when I picked it back up, dusted it off, and started working on it again. I wouldn’t be anywhere without Kelli Newby, Elly Blake, and Kristin Wright, who generously read all my words, sometimes multiple times, and courageously offer up improvements. They make my books a little better with every suggestion. As always, I have to thank my cheer section: Jen Hawkins, Summer Spense, Kelly Siskind, and Ron Walters. You guys make the writing world go ‘round.

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving feedback on goodreads or on whichever ebook retailer you buy books from. Reviews help authors reach readers.

And check out my other books:

Some Kind of Magic

A Crazy Kind of Love

Dating by the Book

Find out more at maryannmarlowe.com

Do not miss Eden and Adam’s story in

SOME KIND OF MAGIC

by Mary Ann Marlowe

Now available in bookstores and online!

In this sparkling novel, Mary Ann Marlowe introduces a hapless scientist who’s swept off her feet by a rock star--but is it love or just a chemical reaction . . . ?

Biochemist Eden Sinclair has no idea that the scent she spritzed on herself before leaving the lab is designed ot enhance pheromones. Or that the cute, grungy-looking guy she meets at a gig that evening is Adam Copeand. As in the Adam Copeland—international rock god and object of lust for a million women. Make that a million and one. By the time she learns the truth, she’s already spent the (amazing, incredible) night in his bed . . .

Suddenly Eden, who’s more accustomed to being set up on disastrous dates by her mom, is going out with a gorgeous celebrity who loves how down-to-earth and honest she is. But for once, Eden isn’t being honest. She can’t bear to reveal that this overpowering attraction could be nothing more than seduction by science. And the only way to know how Adam truly feels is to ditch the perfume—and risk being ditched in turn . . .

Smart, witty, and sexy, Some Kind of Magic is an irresistably engaging look at modern relationship—why we fall, how we connect, and the courage it takes to trust in something as mysterious and unpredictable as love.

Read on for a preview. . . .

Chapter One

My pen tapped out the drum beat to the earworm on the radio. I glanced around to make sure I was alone, then grabbed an Erlenmeyer flask and belted out the chorus into my makeshift microphone.

“I’m beeeegging you...”

With the countertop centrifuge spinning out a white noise, I could imagine a stadium crowd

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