Today, Tracy Wolff is so excited to offer a first look at her brand new
erotic serial, plus reveal the super sexy, new covers, for Tracy Wolff's Play
Me. Play Me's Aria has more than a few complicated feelings when it
comes to her sexy boss—and rescuer—Sebastian. See all the covers and
learn more about the serial!
In Play Me 1: Wild the
seductive first installment of an eBook original serial from Tracy Wolff, the
New York Times bestselling author of Ruined and Addicted, a woman
running from her past has finally found a bit of control . . . until her
powerful new boss makes her go wild.
My name is Aria Winston. I’ve
fought desperately to make my own life, away from the seedy underbelly of Las
Vegas. Now I’m on my own, in control of my own life and my own destiny . . .
just the way I like it. Until Sebastian Caine changes everything.
Working as a cocktail waitress at
one of Vegas’s hottest five-star casinos means putting up with a ton of bad
behavior from the big spenders. But it pays the bills—and that’s all that
matters to Aria as she needs every last dollar to escape from her father’s
destructive grasp and the brutal man he expects her to marry. But when she
lashes out against a billionaire who won’t take no for an answer, she nearly
loses everything—until Sebastian steps in. The owner’s son and handpicked
successor, Sebastian is dark, sexy and kinder than any rich, powerful man
should be. And when he apologizes and offers to keep her job safe, Aria can’t
help the way her body reacts to his. But if the way her body instantly responds
to his touch is any indication, what Aria really wants is Sebastian. Suddenly
her job, and the security it brings her, isn’t all that Aria wants ...
Play Me is an erotic serial
intended for mature audiences. Aria and Sebastian’s story continues in Play
Me 2: Hot, Play Me 3: Hard, Play Me 4: Real ,Play Me 5: Right.
All five books will be releasing
on December 2, 2014.
Learn more about, or pre-order
each book in the serial before they're all released on December 2, 2014:
Here is an excerpt from Play Me 1: Wild
Whales belong in the ocean, not in a casino.
But in my experience, more often than not, that’s exactly where you find them.
Cozied up to a poker table or a craps table or a roulette wheel, sucking down
Lagavulin and hassling every pretty girl that walks by.
Then again, I live in Vegas and I work at the
Atlantis, currently the hottest casino on the Strip. Where the hell else am I
going to see a whale other than right here in my own backyard?
Tonight the place is crawling with them, rich
men throwing around thousand dollar chips like confetti and tossing back
thousands of dollars’ worth of free liquor the same way. I want to say that
it’s an unusual occurrence, but the truth is, this is my life. Has been for a
while now.
It’s a different view on this side of the
casino from your typical Vegas experience, one filled with ten thousand dollar
suits and ten million dollar bets. The air fairly crackles with the sound, the
scent, the feel of money. Which translates into much higher tips than working
the regular floor does, tips I desperately need. All I have to do to earn them
is ignore the fact that the whales on this side of the velvet ropes have much
grabbier hands. And an overdeveloped sense of entitlement.
“I need two fingers of Lagavulin, a Belvedere
and cranberry, another Nolet’s Reserve and tonic and a shot of Patron Silver,”
I tell Michael, tonight’s bartender, as I pick up a dirty martini and a couple
of mojitos made with top shelf booze.
He nods, never breaking rhythm as he shakes a
margarita in one hand and squirts Coke on top of rum in another.
And then I’m off again, teetering back toward
the high roller tables in the four inch stilettos my boss insists all the
cocktail waitresses wear. I don’t mind them so much—learning to walk in
Louboutins and Manolos was pretty much a required course growing up in my
house—but after seven hours straight on my feet, even my steel arches are
beginning to whimper.
Which is probably why I’m not at my most
patient when Whale Number One, a Japanese businessman who just flew in from
Tokyo, rubs a suggestive hand over my ass and down my scantily clad thigh.
I turn around and shoot him a look, and he
holds his hands up in a pretend gesture of surrender. “Can I get you anything
else?” I ask him, keeping my voice sweet and my eyes steady. It’s my experience
that guys like this have trouble keeping up the letch act when they’re looking
straight into your eyes. It’s a lesson I learned from my mother years ago: rich
men will only give you respect if you demand it.
About the Author:
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has
been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great
novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a
prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her
first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and
classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her
on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d
found her life-long love. Now an English professor at her local community
college, she writes romances that run the gamut from contemporary to paranormal
to erotic suspense.
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Tracy:
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