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  • Format: Trade Paper
  • Copyright: 2009-06-23
  • Publisher: One World/Ballantine
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The fun and sexy story of a gorgeous budding soap opera starlet who learns why the most intense cravings are often the most forbidden pleasures When Kennedy Sun Lee awakes for her first day at a new job she's shocked to find a very,verynaked man next to her. He's incredibly gorgeous and unwilling to offer any clarification about their wild night (except to say what incredible potential she has in the sack). When she arrives at the New York set of television's newest daytime soap sensation,America's Next Sweetheart,she finds a photo of herselfdancing on tables and linked to a hunky basketball starplastered all over the city's most widely read gossip column. While only part of the rumors are true, they form everybody's first impression of her, as she walks into a den of wolves whose alpha male is none other than Jesse James, her co-star on the show and her recent romp! As Kennedy learns the true price of fame, her best friend (and former cheerleader) Hannah, and her dynamic twin sister, Brittany, keep her grounded. As she navigates this new and intense world, they help her cope with all the backstabbing and ulterior motives, and urge her to find balance between the meals of life and its best desserts. From the Trade Paperback edition.

Author Biography

ERIKA J. KENDRICK, a Chicago native with an MBA in marketing and international business, has worked for Island Def Jam, Clive Davis’s J Records, at the legendary Apollo Theater, and as a Luvabull, a Chicago Bulls cheerleader. She now hosts GIRLTALK: Where Divas Dish, a weekly online radio show, as well as a monthly music showcase in New York City. She lives in Manhattan.


Chapter One

My right nipple stands at attention. In my stupor I feel myself trace my fingers over my barely-there breast, stopping just shy of my left nipple, now erect and saluting me. I hack through cobwebbed lungs. Cotton mouth. Damn Capri ciggies. I force my eyelids open; a thunderous Biz Markie bass line pounding between my ears had been holding my thoughts captive. I squint through the blurs in the distance. Dangling from the edge of the leather lounger across the room, the middle hook on a lace bra catches a ray from the sunlight pouring through, drowning out the bay window. It flickers. Slowly I reach beneath the damp sheet and touch my bare breast again, confirming that it is, indeed, my bra. Shit!

Realizing that the jigsaw puzzle that is last night is missing a few key pieces, I whip my achy nakedness around to the crescendo of a bellowing snore. Yikes! A strange man is stretched out on the floor beside me entwined in half my sheet—clearly one of the puzzle pieces misplaced somewhere between the first Bacardi Mojito and last call’s obligatory double shot of Patrón. Triple shit!

Immediately, I snatch the other half of the sheet away from him to shield myself (from what, exactly, I dunno). I am totally stuck as I watch him roll a tumble and a half toward me—naked and tanned—very nicely tanned! He slowly shifts his body, his muscles flex, and I feel my mouth drop as he adjusts himself. It is beyond evident that at least one part of his randy body is already wide awake. Wow. I sigh.

My thoughts begin to race. I try to rewind my mind while blinking away the foggy film on my contacts. With each clarifying blink, Stranger clears into focus and before I can catch myself I reach toward his thick blond hair and nudge it away from his temples. He stops in mid-snore. I’m staring under his arched man-brows, willing his eyes to stay shut, when I sneak a peek at his round ass and strong long defined legs. Six foot three, I guesstimate, and I finally remember to breathe.

The last thing I can recall is toasting with my girls at Marquee and my BFF Hannah ordering me to “throw it back,” and right along with my head went the evil that was my fourth Patrón shot. Now I’m in hangover hell without the slightest idea of who this wildly arousing hottie is stretched out on my parquet floor. I can’t seem to help myself so, while clutching the sheet to my neck as if it were Grandma’s heirloom pearls, I lightly touch his shoulder and decide that he is, in fact, real. I touch him again and images flicker before me and I’m breathlessly, carelessly being carried to my couch between sloppy, deeply sensual, kisses. I blink hard. A moan slips from between my lips and the back of my neck stings from a power surge of sexy.

“Hey there,” Stranger mumbles raspily through a sly smile. He reaches out to comfortably settle his hand on my inner thigh and squeeze softly. “Coffee?” he casually inquires as he blinks his way into morning.

Dumbfounded, I scoot away, sliding on the floor and riding the sheet, continuing to shake my head in disbelief. Who are you? How did you get here? I practice asking, still unable to spit the questions out. Another image flickers before me: my legs stretched over his shoulders . . . deep penetration . . . moments of ecstasy accentuated by heavy breathing and textured moans. This time the power surge extends up my neck and straight down to my uterus. I shake it off just as Stranger is beginning a far too indulgent stretch. Immediately, I toss the sheet at him. It flies from my body onto his. With the realization that I’m now the one on the floor vulnerable and exposed, I jump up and run to my room to grab something—ANYTHING!

“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t get your name,” I hear myself uncomfortably scream from my bedroom as I get grann

Excerpted from Appetites by Erika J. Kendrick
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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