Cara Michal is hired by Dubois & Mellan, one of Manhattan's
most prestigious brokerage firms, for a four-year analyst
program. She is paid a six-figure salary for a job she
loves and is good at. She works over 70 hours a week, has
no life other than analyzing figures. She is working hard
in a mans world on Wall Street. She is independent, driven
and very ambitious. She takes care of her widowed mother,
who does not have a clue about paying bills, living within
the allowance paid to her by her daughter. Her brother,
Glenn, is in a residential treatment home for
schizophrenia. His hefty expenses are taken care of by his
sister. Making that kind of money would be sufficient, but
being single, living in Manhattan with huge family
responsibilities, has Cara concerned. Hopefully, D&M will
offer her a permanent position. Time to get a life and
love?
A work related function with an important announcement is
being held at a mansion on Long Island. It is mandatory
for her to attend. Although she does not care for him, she
accepted the invitation from colleague Greg Johnson to
attend as his date. Greg is attractive, young but very
cocky. She answers her BFF Iris's question about him by
saying, "Sexy body...not too sexy of a brain, and a self-
serving attitude." She was bored at the party. She lays down and wraps herself
in a cashmere throw and falls asleep. She is awakened by a hand caressing her
cheek. Immediately Cara knows he is the owner
of this fabulous showplace and host of the event. Soon she
discovers he is now the owner of D&M and her new boss, Branden Duke. Their
instant attraction sizzles with each page in a story about high finances, danger,
and
intrigue with lots of steamy sex. Cara and Branden are
hotter than hot.
FILTHY RICH is a steamy read with non-stop action. This is a riveting revenge
thriller, filled with colorful characters. When the past
threatens their present, they cling together, with a
smashing finale. Kamalame Cay, with its luxurious seaside
villas, each with it's own mile-long private beach, is breathtaking. A romantic
escape for Cara and Brenden.
Have they overcome the extraordinary circumstances they
faced to find love? I am hoping Virna DePaul
will delight us with their next chapter. Loved FILTHY RICH.
High finance and a sizzling office affair raise desire
and passion to the boiling point in Virna DePaul’s seductive
new contemporary romance—perfect for fans of Carly Phillips,
Lori Foster, and Molly O’Keefe.
Cara Michal has had to fight every step of the way to earn
her place in the glittering seven-figure world of Wall
Street. Years ago her hardworking father, a small-time
investment adviser, was wrongfully accused of fraud. Now
Cara is at the top of her game, supporting not only herself
but her mother and brother. The occasional night out dancing
soothes Cara’s soul, even as a bitter need for revenge
against the man who destroyed her father makes inner peace
elusive.
Then, in a moment of heat, Cara kisses a sexy stranger at a
party—only later to discover that the man is Branden Duke,
her new boss, an infamous operator with a wicked reputation
in bed and on the Street. Branden is a man who seemingly has
it all—except a woman who connects with him on a physical
and emotional level. Now that he’s found Cara, he’s not sure
he can let her go, even if he should.
In spite of herself, Cara is drawn to this charismatic guy.
He is a challenge like none she has ever faced in her life.
Their passion for each other is unquenchable, surprising
them both with its ferocity. Even as Cara wonders if she can
trust this man with her heart and soul, the ecstasy of their
love cannot be denied. But when the past threatens the
present, the two are faced with a truth from which they may
never recover.
Excerpt
Cara considered herself plenty experienced. There had been
times in her life she’d enjoyed the company of men. When
she’d had boyfriends. Sex. But her desire for men and their
bodies had always seemed, while probably quite normal,
nonetheless slightly unremarkable. Her girlfriends in high
school—including Iris—had burbled on and on about boys and
how wet they got when the boys walked by, but her? Yeah,
she’d thought Tony Spokane was hot, and had felt a little
flutter in her belly when she kissed her first boyfriend—had
even climaxed the very first time she’d had sex, losing her
virginity to her college boyfriend Alec—but somehow the
fantastic glittery experience her friends talked about had
bypassed her.
Until now.
As seconds stretched together, the man standing over her
focused on her mouth, her eyes, as if caressing her face
with his gaze. The intensity of her instant attraction to
this stranger was anything but unremarkable.
It was his eyes that really did it to her. The heat in their
depths was startling. The quivering in her belly radiated
out, lower, and she felt herself getting wet . . .
wetter than she’d ever been. Wet enough that if she weren’t
careful, it would show on her cream skirt. She fought
against the wild notion that he wanted to take what he saw:
her. Right now. Right here. Any way she wanted to be taken.
She fought even harder against the notion that that was
exactly what she wanted. And that she yearned for him to
show her ways to be taken she’d barely even heard of. Ways
Iris probably knew about.
But he stayed where he was. His hands were in his pockets.
He’d put them there after he’d touched her. Unless
she’d just dreamed that tender caress, of course.
“You weren’t enjoying the party?” His deep voice
reverberated in the room.
Conversation, she reminded herself. First step in meeting
someone new was to converse, not strip naked and jump their
bones. She hesitated, then said, “Everything was beautiful.
First class.” I’m just more an economy class kind of
girl, she thought, then mentally slapped herself upside
the head. Why even think that when a gorgeous man was
staring at her? When he’d obviously covered her up while she
slept? Watched her while she slept?
He smiled slightly. “You weren’t enjoying it,” he said
decisively. His calm self-assurance was very different from
the young guys she worked with, although he didn’t look much
older than they did. He was probably thirty. Just. But he
had a tough, ruthless look about him, as if he’d literally
fought his way to the top of the world.
Oh, God, she suddenly realized, this had to be his house.
Everything about him lent credence to that fact. She’d
stumbled into his private sanctuary. But instead of seeking
confirmation, she asked, “What time is it?” Slowly, she
moved the cashmere throw down her body, touching the buttons
of her cream blouse first to make sure she wasn’t carelessly
revealing herself. Every button was in place. It was her
imagination working overtime that made it feel like they’d
jumped loose and given him a glimpse of her lacy bra before
she’d opened her eyes.
“After midnight.”
She rose from the sofa, straightening her rumpled clothes.
“I have to go.” Somewhat awkwardly, she slipped a foot into
one high heel, then the other, and stood tall. He was still
a whole lot taller.
“You can stay in here for a bit if you like,” he said
indifferently. “The party’s winding down.”
“I guess this must be your house.”
He inclined his dark head in a nod.
“Spectacular. Really nice.” Cara told herself not to babble.
“I’m sorry, we weren’t told who owned the place.”
“I’m Branden Duke.”
A nice name. A regal name. But this was no Prince Charming.
Too haunted. Too harsh. But gorgeous, nonetheless. “Nice to
meet you, and thanks for the offer to stay, but . . .” She
glanced beyond him and swallowed. The door was behind him.
Closed.
He’d opened it, seen her sleeping, and come in, closing it
behind him. Why?
As if he had picked up on the nervous question that buzzed
in her mind, he turned and strode to the door, opening it
again. But he came back.
Two things registered. First, she wasn’t being dismissed.
Second, he wasn’t blocking her way, and that appeared to be
deliberate on his part. He’d known she felt threatened and
had immediately reassured her. With actions, not words. In
her world, that immediately set him apart from most.
She stepped toward him, fully intending to make a swift
exit—and made the mistake of looking up. His dark, burning
gaze hypnotized her for a moment longer.
He raised a hand and ran his fingertips over her
sleep-flushed cheek as if he couldn’t help himself.
Again.
Cara was mesmerized. The unexpected contact was tender and
also erotic. Familiar.
Tempting.
This man in no way resembled Tony Spokane. He wasn’t a boy
playing at being bad. He was simply bad through and through.
In all the best ways possible.
“Don’t.” She was barely able to breathe out the single word.
She wasn’t angry or afraid—just wildly confused by his
daring and her own crazy reaction. He dropped his hand.
“Are you here alone? Do you work for—”
Frightened by the intensity of her attraction to him, she
blurted out, “I came with Greg Johnson. He must be wondering
where I am.”
Right. As if Greg looking for her would be some kind of
protection from this man. If Branden Duke wanted something,
wanted her, a little competition would hardly put
him off.
Besides, she didn’t want Greg to come looking for her.
At the top of the list of the Reasons Why Not, which were
coming back to her, was the inevitable watercooler talk
between the guys, discussing the party and instant replays
of their conquests. She didn’t want to become Topic Number
One during that bull session. But getting caught up here
with this man, who had some mysterious connection to her
company, wouldn’t do, either.
Branden’s gaze flickered. “Greg Johnson. The stockbroker
from Dubois & Mellan? He’s gone.”
Great. That meant Greg had taken her ride back to
Manhattan with him. Bastard, she thought, but
without much heat. After all, she’d contemplated doing that
very thing to him. “You know him?”
“We were introduced tonight.”
“Great. Well, I really should be going—”
Cara stepped back, nearly falling when her leg connected
with the low glass table. Branden reached out and held her
arms, the strength in his large hands flowing into her
somehow. She swallowed hard, reluctant to shrug him off.
The spell he’d cast didn’t break. Seconds passed. A minute.
He didn’t release her. Instead, his soft grip slowly turned
into caresses, with his hands smoothing over her arms and
then up her neck until his hands lightly framed her jaw.
She still didn’t pull away. All she wanted to do was give in
and see what happened.
“I’m thinking Greg Johnson doesn’t deserve you.”
“And you do?” The statement just popped out of her.
He smiled ever so slightly. Cocked a challenging brow.
Stared at her with eyes filled with a taunting dare.
So what if we’re strangers, it said. You want
to kiss me. So why not kiss me?
She could think of many reasons why not. But she didn’t want
to think. The lingering dreaminess of being caught unawares
and the intimate solitude of their chance encounter
dissolved her resistance. In a heartbeat.
She rose on her tiptoes to give him her mouth, loving the
ebony fire that blazed in his eyes just before she made
contact. The kiss was a brush of the lips at first, then a
searching, urgent opening of her mouth as his tongue met
hers. Branden Duke kissed with expert sensuality. The
strong body underneath the fine suit conveyed a rising heat
as she relaxed against it, not surrendering just yet, but
savoring the pleasure of a scorching kiss from a real man.
O.K. I've not read Virna DePaul before but see I must include her in my TBA/TBR list! Thank you for the intro! Wow! (Kathleen Bylsma 12:27pm January 3, 2016)
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