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Dirty Filthy Rich Love (Dirty Duet #2) by Laurelin Paige

Dirty Filthy Rich Love Book Cover Dirty Filthy Rich Love
Dirty Duet #2
Laurelin Paige
Fiction, Contemporary Romance
September 11th 2017


The Conclusion to the Dirty Duet.

I’ve discovered Donovan Kincaid’s secret.

It’s dirty and filthy and rich – as dirty and filthy and rich as he is – and it haunts me as much as he ever did.

Even after knowing what I know now, I still want to talk to him, to touch him. But there’s an ocean between us, and I’m not sure it can be crossed with something as easy as a phone call or a plane ride.

Yet I’m willing to try.

He doesn’t know this yet, but this time I’m the one with the power. And maybe – just maybe – if the air were cleared and all our secrets bared, there could still be a chance for us.

And this dirty, filthy thing between us might end up being love after all.

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Dirty Duet #0.5
Prequel
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Dirty Duet #1
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Dirty Duet #2
Part of a Duet

Maria’s Review


➦I’m very pleased with this conclusion of the Dirty Duet. It was fast paced, captivating and deliciously sexy. I appreciated the fact that this wasn’t drawn out and I could keep my entire focus on this book from start to finish. I also plowed through it in one day. Because that’s what you do when you realize the book is to be released the next day. 

➦Even though I didn’t find this second installment as steamy as the first one, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed these two main characters together. I won’t lie and admit that I’ve enjoyed the hero more thoroughly. lol

➦What? Anyways, so as I was saying, the hero continues to –you can stop watching that top gif now, btw– show his super controlling and overprotective alpha side. If you love yourself a tortured and possessive hero, then you will definitely enjoy the one in this duet. Plus a bit of kink never hurt anyone. 


Prologue:

I brought the tumbler of scotch to my lips, taking another sip as the Frou Frou song playing from the Spotify app on my phone started up again. How many times could a song be listened to on repeat? If there was a limit, I was approaching mine.

I pressed my cheek against my bedroom window and watched the lonely street below. The glass was cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the liquor burning in my chest. Winter had set in just in time for the Thanksgiving holiday. The few people still out this late were well bundled in gloves and scarves, and hats pulled down over their ears.

I still didn’t have enough winter wear. There’d been no need for warm gloves in L.A., and I’d only been in New York since September. My sister had already given me a hard time about it when she’d arrived earlier in the evening, and a shopping trip was on the agenda for the next day.

My wardrobe would soon be remedied. Audrey would make sure of that. In one night, she’d already rearranged my living room furniture and put up the rest of the framed photographs and knickknacks I hadn’t bothered to unpack.

If only she could fix the inside of me as easily as she addressed the outside.

No, I had to be the one to fix this mess.

I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Audrey before she’d slipped off to bed in my guest room.

“Will you press charges?” she’d asked.

“I don’t want to press charges.” I wanted explanations. I wanted theories confirmed. I didn’t want more distance between us.

I didn’t want any distance at all.

She’d smiled as though she got it, and because she was my sister, maybe she did, even without me explaining. “So you’ll go to France, then. Make him tell you what’s up.”

“He doesn’t deserve that either. He can run all he wants. I’m not chasing. I have more respect for myself than that.”

“Good. I respect you too.” She’d laughed then. “Probably not the best idea to chase someone who’s obviously been stalking you for ten years anyway.”

“Probably not.” Though I wasn’t really worried about him. He was dangerous, yes. Dangerous to me. But he wouldn’t hurt me. Not like that. Not the kind of hurt that anyone else could see.

“You’ll figure it out,” she’d said in the end. “You always do.”

I knew what I had to do already. Just…being bold enough to do it.

Another sip of scotch. Another full listen to the old song on repeat.

This time when the silent pause came at the end, I put down my glass and reached over for the phone instead. I turned off the music, pulled up my contacts and only shivered slightly when I found his name.

Two weeks had passed. I didn’t have to do this now.

But it might as well be now.

I hit the CALL button and waited.

It rang once. Twice. It was after midnight here. He’d just be waking up. Another ring. Was he alone? One more ring.

Then his voice.

His voicemail, actually. I hadn’t exactly expected him to answer, and it was easier leaving a message.

Still, somehow it was disappointing. As though a small part of me had hoped he’d see my name and rush to hear my voice. Wouldn’t I rush to answer if he’d been the one to call?

Maybe not.

Probably not.

The beep sounded and caught me off guard. But I was ready with what I wanted to say.

“Donovan. It’s me. I know about the file you have on me. We should talk.”


About the Author:


USA Today and New York Times Bestselling Author Laurelin Paige is a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones or The Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She’s also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn’t do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio. She is represented by Rebecca Friedman.


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