Excerpt: 'Manwhore' by Katy Evans

Katy Evans shares an excerpt from Manwhore (out Tuesday, March 24), book one in her Manwhore series.

First, here's the blurb about Manwhore (courtesy of Gallery Books):

Is it possible to expose Chicago's hottest player—without getting played?

This is the story I've been waiting for all my life, and its name is Malcolm Kyle Preston Logan Saint. Don't be fooled by that last name though. There's nothing holy about the man except the hell his parties raise. The hottest entrepreneur Chicago has ever known, he's a man's man with too much money to spend and too many women vying for his attention.

Mysterious. Privileged. Legendary. His entire life he's been surrounded by the press as they dig for tidbits to see if his fairytale life is for real or all mirrors and social media lies. Since he hit the scene, his secrets have been his and his alone to keep. And that's where I come in.

Assigned to investigate Saint and reveal his elusive personality, I'm determined to make him the story that will change my career.

But I never imagined he would change my life. Bit by bit, I start to wonder if I'm the one discovering him...or if he's uncovering me.

What happens when the man they call Saint, makes you want to sin?

Katy introduces the excerpt for us …

Katy: Today I'd love to share one of my favorite Manwhore scenes with you, here at Paste BN's HEA! This is one of the moments when the ruthless, elusive Malcolm Saint begins to truly unsettle Rachel … and when Rachel begins to try catch his attention. I hope you enjoy!

EXCERPT

The wind flaps my hair and I tie it into a bun at my nape as I turn to the top-deck sitting area. That's when I see him. He's sitting with his torso lightly stretching his shirt, the glow of his phone illuminating his profile. I didn't hear him approach. Why isn't he below? Why won't this stupid knot inside me ease?

"Taking over the world is a full-time job for you, I see," I whisper.

He slowly stands, the men's shirt he wears casually open, revealing his swim trunks and his smooth, hard abs and chest and neck. He seems taller and larger when he steps closer. The air shifts quickly in temperature, or maybe it's me, warming and blushing because he was here the whole time. And he is so beautiful. He's so beautiful and he's the first beautiful thing I've ever seen that actually hurts to look at.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break your concentration, I'll leave you to it," I whisper.

"Stay."

The abrupt command stops me from leaving. My blush seems to spread to the marrow of my bones because of the way he's staring at me now. His breath moves the hair at the top of my head as he whispers:

"I want to make you blush, from here," he touches my forehead, and briefly glances at the ground, "to the tips of your feet."

He's smiling down at me, his chest so close I can feel it warm me against the breeze. I feel like he's a hurricane and I'm the lake, calm on the outside, holding a thousand and one secrets within.

"Why couldn't you look at me down there?" he murmurs, his voice breaking with huskiness as he lifts his large hand and runs the back of his fingers down my cheek.

A hot ache grows inside me. "Saint. Don't."

He lifts his phone and shows me a picture on the screen. "I like this picture of you. You look soft and thoughtful, I can see your chin, one of your elfin ears sticking out of your hair."

"You took a picture of me!"

"I did." His thumb caresses down the picture on the screen and I tighten my spine because I can feel the touch almost.

"Erase it," I say, shocked.

"Ah. Bargaining again."

"Saint. Don't. Delete that picture, I'm not interested in you like that. In being in your phone."

He eases back, searching my face. "Come here, sit with me."

He heads to the couch and settles his large body right on the center. Wow. So he expects me to follow?

With a deep breath, I force myself to go there, to that couch he now so thoroughly occupies. I'm sitting at the edge while he continues taking up the center. We stare at each other, me scowling, him in amusement, and then our heads turn and we're staring at the last fireworks in the distance.…

"You're mad at me because I had my driver take you home?" he says, his eyes gleaming ruthlessly.

"You said that, not me," I return.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and male, distracting. As is his big body, somehow sucking up the space around him like a vortex.

"I might have let you come to the after-party if you'd accepted my gift." He drags his thumb thoughtfully along the raspy square of his jaw. "A man has his pride, Rachel. How do you think I feel when I see my shirt back in my office?"

"Aw, does he feel neglected by one girl out of his million girlfriends?"

His voice lowers, his handsome face etched in puzzlement. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why did you bring it back to me? I said keep it. Nobody gives my gifts back. Am I repulsive to you?"

My gaze fixes on the thick tendons of his throat because I don't want him to see that he's not repulsive—he's too attractive to let me think most of the time. "I'd rather not accept gifts from men or strangers." I lift my chin a fraction, narrowing my eyes and warning under my breath, "And if you keep teasing me, I'm going home."

He leans forward. "You know, Rosie didn't toss my gift back in my face. She called me a hero…and I liked it very much."

He's provoking me. I used to like banter so much better when he wasn't scrambling with my head.

"I suppose you've been given things your whole life," I say.

His smile turns rueful, and he leans forward. "Everything."

"Everything?"

He nods.

"I don't believe it."

"What could I have wanted that I don't have?" He laughs softly. "I have it all, Rachel. At least I used to." He reaches out and runs the back of one finger along my cheek, awakening every nerve ending in my body.

My throat feels tight all of a sudden. His stare turns dark and hungry, and no man who has everything could hunger like that.

As we grow quiet, the breeze shuffles past us, the air between us different. What game is he playing with me? The picture he took was taken while I was so vulnerable, my profile showing my confusion. I can't bear that he saw me like that.

Find out more about Katy and her books at www.katyevans.net.