**This can be read as a STANDALONE. The second book in the Lost series tells Jessica and Parker’s story.**
All Jessica wants -as a college graduate — is to be a good girl. She landed the job of her dreams at a museum and is trying to eliminate temptations. No more short skirts (when she can help it). No wild parties. And no men.
She particularly excels at that last thing. . .
Until her path crosses Parker’s. Again. Jessica remembers the last time their paths crossed very well. She was left with a seriously bruised ego. She knows it would be best to avoid him altogether. But the charming Brit makes it hard for her to elude his electrifying pull. He is as irresistible as he is captivating.
Because underneath the sleek Armani suit and the sweet British accent that makes her crave his touch, Parker isn’t the perfect gentleman everyone thinks he is.
He’s exactly what Jessica doesn’t want, but desperately needs.
A bad, bad boy.
Found in Us by Layla Hagen
Publication date: July 24th 2014
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
I decide to use the dress as an excuse to leave early. To my dismay, Parker is leaning against the wall farther down the corridor, one or two turns away from the entrance to the bar. His eyes rest on the stain on my dress for a few seconds and my cheeks flare up instantly. I’m sure he can see the redness in them even in the dim light.
“I have to go,” I say. “My dress is soaked.”
“I’ll drive you home,” he says, walking toward me.
“No, you just got here. I’m sure you and Dani have lots to talk about.” I actually take a step back, only to hit the wall behind me.
“I’d just drop you off and return. Are you afraid of being alone with me, Jessica?”
“No . . . it’s just not necessary. I can take a cab.”
“What are you afraid of?” he insists, stepping right in front of me. “That I’ll try to seduce you and take you to bed? Do I really strike you like that kind of guy?”
Every inch of my body commands me to say yes. In my experience, men who don’t look even half as godlike as he does are after one thing only. But his humiliating rejection all those months ago proves he isn’t one of them. And nothing I’ve seen or heard about him indicated he’s a womanizer. But being so close to him makes it impossible to think rationally.
I push him away, but with one swing he grabs both my hands and pins them against the wall above me. His lips are inches away from mine, the fingers of his free hand tracing the contour of my lips, leaving a trail of fire behind them. He’s so close to me that I can feel every single hot breath against my lips. He locks eyes with me, and it’s the sight of his blue eyes boring into mine—more than his proximity and his touch—that sets me on fire, causing an almost unbearable pressure between my thighs.
He trails his fingers from my lips down to my chin and then slowly over my neck. I bite my lip when he presses gently with his thumb on the hollow of my neck, then proceeds with his torture farther down. His fingers peruse the hem of my neckline, at the exact point where the soaked fabric of the dress meets my skin, then slip under the fabric. Just a fraction of an inch.
Not enough to actually touch my breast.
But more than enough to send me over the edge.
“Damn you, Parker, kiss me,” I whisper. He doesn’t answer, the corner of his lips lifting in a delicious smile as he removes his hand from my neckline, letting it fall by his side. His eyes never leave mine. I wait, sucking in my breath, for him to lean forward and kiss me. After what feels like hours, he finally leans forward and kisses me.
On my goddamn forehead.