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Authors: Skye Jordan


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Preview of Nice Guy to Love
Dear Reader...
About the Author
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by Skye Jordan

Copyright 2013 by
Skye Jordan

Cover art and design by
Skye Jordan


This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation with the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.


A huge shout out to Robin Malone of
Book Reads and Reviews
, reviewer and beta reader for REBEL. Thank you for your support and input throughout the difficult process of getting Rubi “right” in REBEL. Another thank you goes out to KittyKelly of
The Smutty Kitty
, another valuable beta reader! And to my editor, Linda Ingmanson, a fabulous editor who also keeps me seeing everything in perspective, as well as Toni, our proofreader who has the keenest eyes imaginable and catches everything we miss.

A special hug of gratitude to all my readers who loved Wes and Rubi from Reckless and rallied for their book in Rebel.


Rubi Russo whipped her brand-new Aston Martin onto the set of the new Bond film and into a parking spot reserved for the film crew. Even though Los Angeles traffic kept her from pushing the legendary sports coupe anywhere near its top speed of two-fifty-one, she’d enjoyed her first ride off the showroom floor.

She shut off the engine and grabbed her purse from the passenger’s seat. Through the window, her gaze halted on the charcoal four-wheel-drive Ford F150 parked nearby, and her mind veered toward its owner. He’d become a permanent fixture in her mind—those wide shoulders, that lazy stance, his cocky grin.

A giddy, tingling lust tightened her insides. Eye candy always enhanced a girl’s mood, and there was no better place to grab a little sugar than among the studs of Renegades. But she’d come to prefer the company of one stud in particular.

She smiled down at the collection of notes she kept in the ashtray—ones he’d started leaving on the windshield of her car at different times of the day, almost every day, for the last two months. Because they always made her smile, she’d transferred them from the Ferrari when she’d traded it in. Sometimes the note of the day was a cartoon or a joke. Often it was some funny reference to physics, something they talked about regularly since she’d started designing a series of stunt apps for the Renegades.

Today’s had read:



Which had been the first she’d heard of a stunt running today. Confirmation of a stunt had come from the owner of the Renegades in a phone call later that morning.

She grabbed her phone and notebook and stood from the car, turning her face up to the midday Southern California sun. Warmth bathed her skin, draining some of the morning’s tension from her shoulders. It felt good to be out of the house, away from all that computer code, like a real person with real friends. Which was one of the major benefits of creating these apps for Jax—she got to hang with this dynamic group of adrenaline junkies.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that she and Jax had agreed that in exchange for building the applications for use on devices such as iPads and iPhones, she would be free to sell them, as she did her other apps and programs. The power she planned to incorporate into these apps with detailed physics calculations and mathematical equations for every aspect of every type of stunt, no other apps out there could even compare. She’d make a decent chunk of change once she put them out on the open market.

The rumble of a motorcycle engine drew her attention down the long strip of concrete known as the Sixth Street Viaduct. The man-made cement canal guided the Los Angeles River through the heart of the city, but was now cluttered with all sorts of machinery, cameras and props.

She started toward the action, smoothing her hands over the filmy skirt that rode too high on her freakishly long legs. Tried to tug at her halter’s bottom edge exposing a bare inch of skin, but ultimately couldn’t hide the diamond stud at her belly button without exaggerating her cleavage. Oh well.

Finger-combing her hair off her forehead, she sauntered toward a group of tall, well-built men loitering near one of the cameras. She spotted Jax Chamberlin, the owner of Renegades and her best friend’s new love, gesturing as he spoke to Daniel Craig’s costar on the film, Jason Bolton, and the director. A couple of younger men Rubi knew as production assistants hung at the edge.

She passed one of the site’s security guards, who grinned and saluted. Rubi returned the gesture.

She approached the set and focused on Wes Lawson, Renegades’ top stunt driver, where he straddled a cherry-red Ducati—one of the world’s fastest motorcycles. There was no outward sign the man covered in black from helmet to boot tips was him. It could have been any of the other Renegades’ stunt men who rode motorcycles, which was, of course, all of them. But what gave Wes away completely—beyond the studly build she’d memorized—was his impatience. He navigated a slow, tight pattern around the group, like a circling shark. Occasionally, he revved the engine, smothering their conversation with the bike’s growl.

He maneuvered dangerously close to Jax on each pass, the action surely designed to either annoy Jax or hurry him up. Maybe both. Rubi grinned at his antsy behavior—ever the kid who couldn’t wait to reach the playground. Every last one of the Renegades she’d met was a kid at heart. A smart-ass, feisty, too-sharp-for-his-own-good kid inside a hot man’s body. But Wes was the most mischievous, most daring and, by far, the sexiest of them all.

The click of Rubi’s heels drew the director’s attention. The rest of the men followed his glance—all with the same stupefied expressions. All except Jax.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” His voice tilted toward resigned frustration, one Jax often used with Wes. “You can’t come out here dressed like…like…” One hand lifted, gesturing the length of her body. “Like…
. Guys are working here, Rubi. I can’t have them off in porn fantasy land while they’re running stunts.”

He swung one hand toward a pile of crumpled cars down the length of the viaduct, burned out and still smoking, huddled in a haphazard heap as if they’d recently crashed.

She stopped several yards away, crossed her arms, and smiled indulgently. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Jaxy-boy.” The irritated press of his lips made her grin. He hated the nickname she’d given him. “I’m taking your girl to lunch today, remember? And you didn’t tell me you were running a stunt or that I’d need to be here to watch? So I made other plans this morning—and dressed accordingly.”

She’d been negotiating a sale price for the Aston when he’d called, and estimated the outfit had saved her at least five grand.

The Ducati revved, and Wes shot the bike between the group and Rubi. She pulled up short with a gasp. Heat from the bike whooshed over her body.

The helmet hid his mouth, but those deep gray-blue eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile.

“Don’t listen to him.” His deep voice was muffled behind the gear. “You look perfect. And you’re just in time. We’re going to run the real thing.”

That giddy electricity in her belly intensified. She lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and worked up her easy, sexy grin. “Wes, if you run over Jax’s toes, he’s going to take away that pretty toy between your legs.”

He laughed, his head falling back. The sound was so rich, so damn happy it trilled through Rubi, leaving her body a sizzling mess of carbonation. Then he released the Ducati’s handles, letting the bike idle while he pulled off his helmet.

His hair fell all over the place as it came free. Light gold on top, wheat-colored underneath, it gleamed in the sunshine. Static electricity from the helmet’s padding grabbed a few strands and pulled them into the air.

Rubi reached up to finger them back into place. Only when the soft, warm, sweat-dampened strands slipped between her fingers did she realize the misstep. A wicked craving kicked deep in her body. Delicious, languid desire tightened her throat.

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