The cover of
How To Reprimand Your Rock Star
Summary:
In this fun and saucy romance novel, all-star
college basketball player Thea dominates on the courts—and off—with a rock star
who is determined to win her over.
Thea is a star basketball player at UConn on
track to be Rookie of the Year. That is, if she can stay focused on the game.
Lately that hasn’t been going so well, as her knee has been bothering her. But
that’s not the only thing on her mind…
Ever since rock star Keaton Lowe surprised her
in the girl’s locker room, Thea can’t stop thinking about him. On top of his
status and enticing ways, he seems to know everything about her. But some of
his actions cross the line, and Keaton needs to be punished. Will Thea keep her
head in the game, or get distracted by her other favorite pastime—reprimanding
her rock star?
Excerpt:
Set
up: College basketball star Thea is surprised in her locker room after a
shower.
The tall, gorgeous man stared at me with
a smirk. Some fucking punk, sitting under my name and number and pulling a
cigarette out of his thick leather jacket. He looked bad, dangerous, and
delicious and my body reacted to seeing him with a jolt of fear and euphoria. I
skittered back and covered my nakedness, hoping he hadn’t seen me fully naked.
I peeked around the corner to get another look at him. I couldn’t help myself.
His blue eyes twinkled at me and he
grinned. A lopsided, roguish grin that begged you to join him in sharing the
mirth. But I wasn’t about to smile at this fool who was taking up residence in
front of my locker. Especially while I was naked. He didn’t look like a
student—a few years too old and a few drinks too seasoned, and from the
rebellious appearance of his black-polished fingers and calloused hands. His
hair, a mess of black roots and blue spikes arranged into a halo of sharp
peaks, didn’t look very UConn at all. He looked as if he belonged in a tattoo
parlor, not here in my locker room. For a moment, I imagined shoving him
against the tile wall and punishing him for transgressing into my domain.
“It’s all right, love, I have your towel
right here,” I heard him tease in a smoky, tempting voice.
My heart raced. All I had to do was
scream loud enough and Matt would be down here in a flash. I didn’t want to,
but it was an option. Just keep it together.
Keeping my nude form out of his sight, I
shouted to the intruder. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
A white towel sailed my way and I stuck
my wet arm out to grab it. I wiped myself off and discreetly examined the very
bad boy who was about to stink up my precious domain.
“I needed a butt,” he said, placing a
cigarette between his mocking lips. His sexy, curvy lips that went so well with
his stubbly jaw and sharp features. Shit, what was wrong with me? He was
invading my turf. He was also unashamedly checking me out from head to toe.
“Take your butt and get out of my locker room,” I growled.
With a flick of his fingers, the unlit
cigarette disappeared. I assumed up his leather jacket’s sleeve, but I couldn’t
be sure. His leather pants were far too tight to hide a cigarette, and I caught
myself staring. Under his leather jacket was a threadbare tee that hugged his
lean muscles tightly. I wanted him to take the jacket off. Hell, all of it.
“Whatever you say, Goddess,” he replied.
I noted a slight accent, but couldn’t place it. Possibly British. “Is this seat
taken?” he asked, looking behind him at the name on the nameplate and the name
embroidered on my jacket.
I emerged, pretending to be unfettered
by the whole bizarre situation, and nodded. “That’s my locker.”
“Is it now?” he asked, British accent
coming through clearly now.
“Thea Papastathopoulos, future Rookie of
the Year, and I need my clothes. And my lucky tape.”
His eyebrow quirked up. “Tape, eh?
What’s a nice girl like you need something like that for?”
I hugged the towel closer to me and
tried not to join in his contagious grin. He was such a scamp, this carefree
weirdo sitting in the women’s locker room, about to light up. “What’s wrong
with tape?”
I didn’t notice his hand reaching around
to my supply, but within seconds he was holding my lucky roll in his right
hand. “This stuff is far too naughty for a good girl like you. A goddess of war
and wisdom.”
I felt my mouth dry up at the oddly
accurate yet strange observation. I am a classics major, and Thea is short for
Athena. “I need it for my knee,” I said, holding out my hand, keeping my towel
pinned with my armpit. “I have some big games coming up. We made it to the
tournament.” I nearly clutched my head with embarrassment. How would a punk
like this know what the tournament was, or the significance of it? I was making
myself out to be an idiot, but I didn’t care. I didn’t go for his type, the
gothic, pierced, tattooed kind of guy.
Normally.
“I like games,” he said, tossing the
roll into the air and catching it behind him with a flourish.
“And yet you clearly don’t respect
rules, given that you were about to smoke in our locker room.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “You
going to show me how you use this tape, Goddess? Although I admit I’d rather
see it binding my wrists rather than wrapped around your pretty knee.”
I reached forward and attempted to take
the roll, but he just tossed it in the air again and caught it in his other
hand before I could take a swipe. He shrugged off his leather jacket and
exposed his muscular arms, which were ensleeved in tattoos. Not wanting to
stare, but unable to stop myself, I admired the artwork. Swirling waves up his
left arm, words spiraling his right.
I had no idea what to make of him, other
than the fact that he annoyed me with his don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and absurd
hotness I wanted so badly to ignore. Maybe it was just my nakedness that was
making my body think this way. And by that I meant slamming him against the
tiles under the water’s spray and relieving him of his leather. I felt my heart
pound and I rejected the fantasy. He was an intruder. How did this guy get past
security if they stopped me?
I leaned toward him. “My friend
upstairs, Matt, is a security guard. All I have to do is call up to him and
he’ll be hauling your punk ass out of here. But I won’t do that if you just
give me my goddamn tape so I can fix my bum knee and get home to watch the
game.” I wasn’t about to ask him about my clothes, so I pretended I was totally
cool with being in a towel and waited for his response.
He studied me for a moment, all sexy
grin and naughty blue eyes. Baby blue, like the color of clothes you buy a
newborn. Powder blue, impossibly clear. Ringed with a smudge of black liner,
the color popped even more. And his face, despite being in his twenties or
maybe even thirties, had a youthful, almost kiddish quality when he smiled that
softened the harsh angles of his nose, cheeks, and jaw. He tossed me the tape.
“What’s your name?” I asked, curiosity
overtaking my anger.
“Keaton Lowe,” he said, dipping his
voice an octave as he said his last name.
He looked at me expectantly.
I stared back, hot breath flooding in
and out of my nostrils.
“Well,” he said, stretching his toned
arms and lacing them behind his head, “this tape isn’t going to bind itself.”
I wanted to wring his neck but kiss the
smile off his mouth. “What are you talking about?!”
“I might as well do it myself,” he said,
and turned away from me. He spun and showed me his handiwork—his wrists were
taped together behind his head. My body reacted with a flood of tingles from my
hairline down to my panty line. Had I been wearing any, that is.
I looked down. My tape was no longer in
my hands. My body took over my mind and I stood over him, looking down at him
through a cascade of damp brown curls.
“Have a seat,” he rasped.
Some primal part of me wanted to sit my
bare legs down on his lanky, leather-clad body. I wanted to get rough with him,
pin him down, and have my way with him. Another part of me didn’t want him
bossing me around. It should be the other way.
“No, you
stand,” I replied.
His blue eyes sparked and he met my
request with a smile that left me dazed and breathless. I felt the towel slide
incrementally down.
“I’m glad you want to call the shots,
darling.”
I placed my hand on his chest. “Don’t
call me darling.”
“Goddess, then.”
Bio:
Kink
with a wink! Mina Vaughn is an international woman of mystery and a shoe whore
with a heart of gold. When she's not writing her unique brand of fun smut,
she's plundering Sephora for any pin up girl makeup she can find. Mina's debut
novel, an erotic comedy entitled How to
Discipline Your Vampire is about a punishment-seeking vampire who meets a
quirky Domme with a serious role play fetish, available now from Simon and
Schuster's Pocket Star. How to Reprimand
Your Rock Star, a sexy New Adult contemporary romance about a basketball
phenom and a world-famous rocker, arrives Summer 2014. How to
Punish Your Playboy arrives Spring 2015.
Author Links:
@minavaughn
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Giveaway:
You don't choose when.
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