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.
Follow Tracy:
