**This can be read as a STANDALONE. The second book in the Lost series tells Jessica and Parker’s story.**
All Jessica wants -as a college graduate — is to be a good girl. She landed the job of her dreams at a museum and is trying to eliminate temptations. No more short skirts (when she can help it). No wild parties. And no men.
She particularly excels at that last thing. . .
Until her path crosses Parker’s. Again. Jessica remembers the last time their paths crossed very well. She was left with a seriously bruised ego. She knows it would be best to avoid him altogether. But the charming Brit makes it hard for her to elude his electrifying pull. He is as irresistible as he is captivating.
Because underneath the sleek Armani suit and the sweet British accent that makes her crave his touch, Parker isn’t the perfect gentleman everyone thinks he is.
He’s exactly what Jessica doesn’t want, but desperately needs.
A bad, bad boy.
"I can't make up my mind," Parker says.
"About what I want to do with you."
I gulp. "Don't I get a say in this?"
He snaps his head up, chuckling. "Not really."
"That's not frustrating at all, you know? What are you thinking right now?"
He tugs his lower lip with his teeth. "You really want to know?"
"Yeah, I really want to know."
He shifts his weight on the edge of the seat, and when he leans forward this time, I don't back off. "I'm thinking I would very much like to see you come," he says into my ear. My mind doesn't register the full impact of his words right away. But my body does. "Anything against that, Jessica?" he whispers, his hand trailing up and down my inner thigh.
"N-no," I say in a low voice. So low that I hope he hasn't heard me. But he has. There's no other explanation as to why his hand has already found its way under my dress.
"Turn around and spread your legs," he commands.
"Parker," I mumble, "not here . . ."
"No one can see us, and Dani won't come back soon. Turn around."
Despite knowing I shouldn't, I turn around. My body no longer seems to listen to any commands of mine. I lean my back against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder, my forehead touching the base of his neck. I look into the room, trying to gauge what those in the boxes opposite us can see. But I can barely see anything in the back row of the boxes directly in front of us. There's no reason to believe anyone could see us from there. Anyone looking from above won't have a clear view of the back row either.
"Spread your legs," he repeats, his tone more authoritative than before. It sends another wave of heat through me. Burying myself in his neck, I open up for him. He doesn't touch me right away. He takes his time, trailing his fingers on the inside of my thigh, inciting a deep hunger in my core that grows with each inch of my skin he touches until I drop any pretense of shame and beg him, "Parker . . ."
When his fingers touch my intimate spot over my panties, I stiffen against him.
"You're soaked," he says, and I take immense pleasure in the slight tremble in his voice. Then his fingers start rubbing me slowly, and I dig my own fingers in the cushion of the chair as a spasm wracks through me.
This man will make me come.
Here, surrounded by people and plush velvet-covered seats.
My name is Layla Hagen and I am a New Adult Contemporary Romance author. I fell in love with books when I was nine years old, and my love affair with stories continues even now, many years later. I write romantic stories and can’t wait to share them with the world. And I drink coffee. Lots of it, in case the photo didn’t make it obvious enough.