Raphael's Fling
The Darcy Brothers
The Darcy Brothers
by Alix Nichols
Releasing November 17th 2016
Self-Published
Self-Published
From The Book Junkie Reads . . . Raphael’s
Fling (The Darcy Brothers, #2) . . .
A holiday
fling that encompassed much more than your average short term relationship. There
was a bit of drama, humor, mystery, and of course passion, lust, and then some.
Mia preached to her sister about life’s issues with lusting for your boss. Only
to find that her one night with a stranger would turn in to her boss and the
possibility of more. A fling was proposed and things just take off from there.
I found the focus to be on Mia. This was her story and the way she handled
life.
I found
the characters to be engaging. I felt there was more to Raphael than we could
see through the eyes of Mia. Her life was not a bed of rose and glasses of Champaign.
She has a lot going on and coming for her. I enjoyed what I read and felt that
it related to the feel of a read that I expect from Nichols.
The Darcy Brothers series:
Find You
in Paris – The Darcy Brothers, #1
Raphael’s
Fling – The Darcy Brothers, #2
Blurb
My name is Mia Stoll and I dream about publishing a monograph on medieval Paris. Problem is, I’m better qualified for writing a handbook on how to go from a budding scholar to a pregnant runaway in three easy steps.
- - -
My sister Eva carries a torch for the wrong man. Here’s the gist of my sermons to her: “Drooling over your hunky astronaut boss is a loser’s trek to Calamity with three stops along the way: Heartbreak, Job Loss, and Spinsterhood.”
The thing is, I’m in a terrible—you could even say impossible—position to lecture Eva.
I’m attracted to my own boss.
Raphael d’Arcy is funny, smart, and uber-rich. He’s also smoking hot. That alone should have scared me away, were I not such a dolt, my academic achievements notwithstanding.
But there’s more.
Raphael is France’s most notorious playboy who doesn’t do relationships. He does one-night stands. If sufficiently intrigued, he might do a fling. Which is the most I could ever hope to have with him—a short-lived fling.
So what, right? It’s not the end of the world.
But consider this: Getting my heart broken by Raphael d’Arcy is the least of my worries. Some very serious merde has been piling up in my life lately.
And it’s about to hit the fan.
RAPHAEL'S FLING is a sexy standalone romantic comedy. No cliffhangers. GUARANTEED: a swoony bad-boy hero, laugh-out-loud moments and a happily-ever-after.
My name is Mia Stoll and I dream about publishing a monograph on medieval Paris. Problem is, I’m better qualified for writing a handbook on how to go from a budding scholar to a pregnant runaway in three easy steps.
- - -
My sister Eva carries a torch for the wrong man. Here’s the gist of my sermons to her: “Drooling over your hunky astronaut boss is a loser’s trek to Calamity with three stops along the way: Heartbreak, Job Loss, and Spinsterhood.”
The thing is, I’m in a terrible—you could even say impossible—position to lecture Eva.
I’m attracted to my own boss.
Raphael d’Arcy is funny, smart, and uber-rich. He’s also smoking hot. That alone should have scared me away, were I not such a dolt, my academic achievements notwithstanding.
But there’s more.
Raphael is France’s most notorious playboy who doesn’t do relationships. He does one-night stands. If sufficiently intrigued, he might do a fling. Which is the most I could ever hope to have with him—a short-lived fling.
So what, right? It’s not the end of the world.
But consider this: Getting my heart broken by Raphael d’Arcy is the least of my worries. Some very serious merde has been piling up in my life lately.
And it’s about to hit the fan.
RAPHAEL'S FLING is a sexy standalone romantic comedy. No cliffhangers. GUARANTEED: a swoony bad-boy hero, laugh-out-loud moments and a happily-ever-after.
How did
I come to this?
I sigh,
smooth my clothes one last time, and head for the cream leather-padded door.
“Mia,
wait!” Raphael calls after me.
I halt
and turn around.
He
opens his chiseled mouth as if to say something, then shuts it, and gives me a
tight smile. The smile of a person having second thoughts on the advisability
of what he was going to say.
Well,
I’m not waiting around for the result of his inner deliberation.
There
are two bulky reports on my desk and a few dozen emails I need to go through
before I can leave tonight. Ergo, time is of the essence. Ergo, I resume my
hike across Raphael’s vast office until I reach the door. It unlocks smoothly
and without a sound, bless its high-tech heart. A sneak peek into the hall to
check if the coast is clear, and I slip away without saying good-bye to Raphael
or Anne-Marie, his faithful PA.
Just like a lawbreaker.
Well,
maybe not a lawbreaker, but definitely a reoffending violator of the Workplace
Code of Honor. In particular, of Rule #1 which says: “Workers shall not
have sexual intercourse with their hierarchical superiors, inferiors, or
posteriors.”
While
there’s some controversy over the exact meaning of “inferiors” and
“posteriors,” everyone knows that a “superior” is more than just your immediate
boss. The concept also covers your boss’s boss, your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss
and the Boss of Them All, the CEO.
It’s a
very sensible provision, by the way, and one which I totally approve of and
adhere to.
As I
rush down the hallway, my heels clicking on the marble floor, I realize I
should’ve put my observation in the past tense. As in “I used to adhere
to.”
Having
repeatedly broken the Code’s first rule since March makes me a rogue and a
hypocrite of the worst kind.
How did
I fall so low?
Here’s
a clue: it’s Rudolph the Reindeer’s fault.
God
knows, I hadn’t planned on this when I landed the world’s most unexceptional
job as assistant to the daily bulletin editor at DCA Paris. DCA stands for
“D’Arcy Consulting and Audit.” Yup, the “d’Arcy” that’s sandwiched between
“Raphael” and the rest of his fancy name on my lover’s official letterhead
paper.
Having sexual intercourse with Raphael d’Arcy du Grand-Thouars de Saint-Maurice, a
gentleman and a libertine, was the last thing on my mind when I started at DCA.
In fact, it was nowhere near my mind.
Despite
my murky past, that’s not who I am. Nor does my life need more complications
right now.
Trust
me.
Pauline
Cordier’s familiar silhouette takes shape at the end of the hallway just as I
reach the elevator and push the button. My heart skips a beat. If my direct
supervisor sees me on this floor, she’ll assume one of the following two
things: A. My presence here is work-related, meaning I’m going over her head;
B. My presence here has nothing to do with work, meaning I’m sleeping with one
of the senior managers.
Needless
to say, both alternatives are equally conducive to me getting sidelined,
ostracized, and ultimately fired.
I take
a deep breath and give the approaching figure a furtive glance.
It
isn’t Pauline.
The
woman doesn’t even look like her at this distance.
Phew.
You may
not believe me, but I wasn’t sure what Raphael d’Arcy looked like when DCA
hired me. Having scanned his official bio in preparation for my job interview,
I had formed a vague image which boiled down to “young, well-born and
well-dressed.” The specifics of the Founding CEO’s background and appearance
hadn’t lingered in my mind. I doubt they’d even entered it.
Because
they were not important.
All I
wanted from Monsieur d’Arcy was a job at his firm that gave me a monthly
paycheck to complement the pittance my school calls a scholarship. That way, I
could finish my doctoral program without having to sleep under bridges or
borrow money.
Parisian
bridges can be drafty, you see. And damp. As for the stench courtesy of
well-groomed dogs and ill-groomed humans, don’t even get me started! On top of
all that, bridges offer no suitable storage space for research notes,
photocopies, and books.
In
short, they suck as accommodations.
As for
the borrowing, my parents taught Eva and me that debt must be avoided at all
costs. Their “debt is bad” precept proved stronger than the knowledge that
everyone lives on credit in Western societies today.
Except
my parents, that is.
Then
again, they live in rural Alsace. Life’s a lot cheaper there than in la
capitale, so they were able to make it into their fifties without a single
loan to cloud their horizon.
My
phone rings as I step off the elevator on the second floor, relieved that no
one saw me in Top Management’s heavenly quarters. Considering that I’ve been
sneaking out like this for two months already, the probability that someone will
see me and that it’ll reach Pauline’s ears is growing by the day.
And it
freaks me out more than I care to admit.
As I
answer the phone, Raphael’s deep, sexy timbre breaks me from my worries.
“You
left your panties here,” he says, sounding amused and smug at the same time. In
short, his usual self.
“No, I
didn’t—”
Oh
crap. I did.
“I got
five minutes before the managerial,” he says, “so if you want to come back and
collect—”
“No!” I
look around and lower my voice, “It’s OK. I’m sure I can make it through the
afternoon without them.”
“Oh, I
don’t doubt that. The question is whether I can make it through the
afternoon with the knowledge you’re without them.” He pauses, as
if pondering the question and then adds, “And with them in my pocket.”
My
stomach flips.
Something
achingly—yet delightfully—heavy gathers in my low abdomen, reminding me of what
Raphael and I were up to a mere half hour ago. Suddenly, every step I take
makes me aware of my pantyless condition. The friction of my skirt’s silky
lining against my bare skin makes it prickle. My breathing becomes strained,
and my heart thumps in my chest.
As I
struggle to calm myself before entering the office I share with two other
assistants, I picture myself in Strasbourg in our family physician’s immaculate
office.
“What’s
my diagnosis, doctor?” I’d ask after he’s examined me.
“Not to
worry, mon petit! You’ll live.” He’d push his regular glasses to his
forehead and put on his reading glasses. “You have a textbook case of lustium
irresistiblum.”
“Please,
can you make it go away?”
He’d
smile and shake his head, updating my file on his computer. “It’s like a viral cold, mon petit.
It’ll clear up on it’s own, eventually.”
And
that, my friends, is the second clue to the mystery of how I got here.
It
appears I have caught a virulent strain of lustium irresistiblum for
lady-killer Raphael d’Arcy. And with my luck, we’ll likely get caught before it
clears.
“Got to
go,” I whisper into the phone and hang up.
I take
a few long breaths to chase my arousal away before I enter the office.
Easier
said than done.
The
things Raphael says, the things he does to me… They don’t just excite—they
break into my brain and muddle it up on a deep, molecular level. Throwing
ethical norms against that kind of invasion has been as effective as attempting
to shoot down the Death Star with foam darts.
But
I’ll keep on trying.
Till
the bitter end.
Author Info
Alix
Nichols is an unapologetic caffeine addict and a longtime
fan of Mr. Darcy, especially in his Colin Firth incarnation. She is a Kindle
Scout and Dante Rossetti Award winning author of critically acclaimed romantic
comedies.
At the age of six, she released her first rom com. It featured highly creative spelling on a dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper.
Decades later, she still loves the romance genre. Her spelling has improved (somewhat), and her books have made Amazon bestseller lists, climbing as high as #1. She lives in France with her family and their almost-human dog.
For exclusive content, giveaways and special offers, including a bonus book, subscribe to the monthly newsletter on her author website: www.alixnichols.com
At the age of six, she released her first rom com. It featured highly creative spelling on a dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper.
Decades later, she still loves the romance genre. Her spelling has improved (somewhat), and her books have made Amazon bestseller lists, climbing as high as #1. She lives in France with her family and their almost-human dog.
For exclusive content, giveaways and special offers, including a bonus book, subscribe to the monthly newsletter on her author website: www.alixnichols.com
Author Links:
Hosted by
Presented by
No comments:
Post a Comment