eBook Details


Bitten to the Core

Series: Sins in the City
By: Robin Slick | Other books by Robin Slick
Published By: Phaze Books
Published: Dec 06, 2009
ISBN # 9781606595312
Word Count: 71,000
Heat Index      
Eligible Price: $6.00

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket (.prc), Epub

Categories: Romance>Contemporary Romance>Romantic Comedy Romance>Erotic Romance


Bitten to the Core (Sins in the City) by Robin Slick - Romance>Contemporary eBook

In Three Days in New York City, she fled a stagnant marriage and a job she hated, looking for a temporary fix of passion. Instead she found the courage to be herself for the first time. In Another Bite of the Apple, she pursued her dream and pined for the man she loved, and won both. Or did she?

Yes, Elizabeth is back, and this time...she's in New Jersey.

Frustrated by the disintegration of her relationship with the absentee Rob, Elizabeth flees to the Jersey shore to paint and wallow in self-pity. A chance encounter with the handsome (and younger) writer Andrew spins her into a whirlwind of domestic and sexually-charged cougar bliss. Question is, will it last, and what becomes of Andrew when it's time to return to reality?

What is reality for Elizabeth, anyway? Find out in the long-awaited third novel of Robin's Slick's bestselling series!
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There are at least three things I should be doing right now.

If I were a normal person, that is.

For one, I should be painting. I spent two days setting up my studio in Tom Hunter’s screened-in porch and I have yet to do anything there besides stand in the middle of the room and admire my art supplies.

Or, I could be a really good person and go back to New York and run Rob’s restaurant, but I’ve been a really good person my entire life and look at where it got me.

Which brings me to my third and most important alternative. If I had half a brain, I’d be in Paris fighting for Rob, the alleged love of my life, but nope, I’m not doing that, either.

Instead, I ran away.

I packed my bags and rented a house with an open-ended lease in my favorite place in the entire world, a seaside town where I vacationed as a child—Ocean City, New Jersey. Long white beaches, deep blue water, an old fashioned boardwalk, and one hundred fifty miles from New York City. Of course, I had to pick the middle of winter when absolutely nothing is open except a library and a café swarming with candy freak church ladies, but what the hell, it made perfect sense.

Because as we have already established, I am not a normal person.

For me, going back to Ocean City was the equivalent of returning to my parents’ home and sleeping in my childhood bedroom while my mom stroked my forehead and told me everything was going to be all right. Except my mother died twenty years ago and my childhood home is now part of a strip mall housing a Denny’s and a Bed, Bath and Beyond but, oh well, this is the best I could come up with.

So, rather than take any kind of affirmative action, I pace the house like an over-caffeinated zombie until I run out of steam, plop down on the sofa, and turn on the television.

It seems that several weeks of unplanned celibacy have taken their toll. After only a few minutes of watching Ralph Fiennes on a syndicated talk show, I am sent into a total carnal frenzy.

Did I mention that I am a mess?

Not to use a cliché, but oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Two years ago, I was haughtily patting myself on the back, thinking I had somehow managed to successfully turn my life around. With my youngest son in college, I walked away from the roles of dutiful wife in a loveless marriage and cog in an unfulfilling corporate career. I packed my bags for New York City to pursue a career as an artist—something I had put on hold when my two boys were born.

But all did not turn out exactly as I planned.

For one thing, I fell in love. Apparently with the wrong person. And now I am minus one husband and one supposedly great boyfriend.

Alone again…naturally.

I sigh and turn my attention back to the television.

“So, Ralph, you were voted Sexiest Man Alive by People Magazine. What are your feelings on the subject?” the pretty young interviewer asks.

The enthusiastic audience cheers. I merely salivate.

“Sexiest Man Alive? You don’t say. I was not aware of that.” Ralph grins and leans back in the chair, crossing his legs in what he has to at least know is the Sexiest Man Alive position.

“You don’t read People?” she asks him in surprise.

“Afraid not, love.”

“Then I guess you don’t know that they also said you are a member of the Mile High Club.”

“Oh yes, that I did hear something about.”

“Care to spill the beans?”

He looks at her with a wicked glint in his eyes.

“I really can’t comment. The lady in question is in litigation with her employer.”

“She was a stewardess on the plane, according to People.”

“Well if it is printed in a magazine, then I suppose it must be true,” he says, clearing his throat for emphasis.

There’s a few seconds of dead air after that, but good old Ralph, smirk firmly in place, breaks the silence.

“Let’s move on, shall we? I have a new film to promote and I do believe you have a clip to show your viewers here and at home.”

No, no, your viewers at home want to hear about the Mile High Club! Come on, be a sport, Ralph. So you did it in the bathroom on the plane? You bad, bad boy.

That has to be hot as hell. I wonder if the lavatory in first class is different than the tiny metal closets used by us plebs in coach. Though really, the thought of being crammed up in such an enclosed and forbidden place with Ralph Fiennes makes my knees go weak.

There’s something just so nasty about that fantasy, between the motion of the plane, the idea that hundreds of people are just a few feet from the door—maybe someone is even standing directly on the other side, waiting for his or her turn and they can overhear everything…

Oh my.

I shiver while I rock back and forth on the sofa, both to keep warm and for devilish reasons I’d prefer to keep to myself.

“One more question before you give us a synopsis of the movie clip we are about to see, Ralph. Now I don’t want to go breaking any hearts here, but I also read you are no longer single. Care to comment?”

“I’m seeing one woman exclusively, yes.”

The audience and I groan simultaneously.

“Do you want to share her name with us?”

“Not particularly. She is an artist and isn’t in the business so you would most likely not know her, anyway.”

Oh, God. She’s an artist? I’m an artist, too! Come to me, Ralph. I’m here all by myself and available. You know you aren’t monogamous. No one in the “business” is.

“I understand that she turned down your sexual advances for two months before finally agreeing to sleep with you.”

Ralph stares at her like she is something he would normally scrape off his shoes, and I’m embarrassed to be even watching this program, but at the same time I am practically jumping up and down waiting for his answer.

“Was that in the magazine as well?” He arches an eyebrow and cocks his head. Between the British accent, his sweptback hair, and magnificent face, I am losing it.

“Yes it was, along with juicy side dish that you finally enticed her by doing impossible yoga positions while naked.”

“Good lord, did someone have a webcam in my room?” To his credit he laughs, but his host isn’t letting him off the hook just yet.

“So you are telling us this is something you do?”

What? What does he do? Use a webcam? Naked yoga? Naked yoga with a web cam and his artist girlfriend? Can I find it on the Internet? Is it on YouTube?

“Well, if one is to look at the actual definition of yoga, which is the conscious state of harmony of body, mind, emotions, and inner self, then it would make perfect sense that I practice it while nude.”

And then he slides off his chair and assumes the tree position while never taking his smoky, sensual eyes off the camera.

I run upstairs like a wild woman.

Bitten to the Core

By: Robin Slick