But --- I'm really, really happy with how Nick and Lilac is doing on Amazon! It's finally made it to the Top 5xx and I promised myself that if Nick and Lilac made it that far, I'm going to give you readers a present - and here it is: the final sneak peek of When Fangirls Cry!
Thank you for supporting Nick & Lilac!!!
Enjoooooooooooooooooy the excerpt and let me know what you think!
Saffi stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the trio of Pussketeers waiting outside, lounging against a stretch limousine parked directly in front of the venue’s main gate.
The man laughing out loud was Constantijin Kastein, the media tycoon and Netherlands’ #1 Playboy, golden-copper hair glinting under the moonlight. The man standing next to him spoke, and he looked up, his silver eyes glinting with knowing amusement as he looked at Saffi.
At that moment, Saffi could definitely understand why Yanna Everleigh, Constantijin’s fiancée, and millions of other women were so in love with him.
The man who had spoken to Constantijin was the one she had just recently met. But of course Saffi knew of Rathe Wellesley, and it wasn’t just because he was Staffan’s friend. Tall, with chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes, Rathe was said to be the epitome of the Iron Duke, who was his great-great-great-something-grandfather. He was also England’s #1 Heartthrob, a title that the coolly analytical Rathe had always despised.
Rathe raised a brow at her, but his blue eyes were smirking, as if knowing something she didn’t.
If she hadn’t been nervous earlier, Saffi was beyond nervous now. She took several deep breaths before allowing herself to meet the gaze of the last Pussketeer.
Staffan Aehrenthal was leaning against the passenger door of the limo. He was freshly showered and wore a long-sleeved striped cotton sweater, slacks, and stylish-looking loafers. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.
Saffi had curled her long dark hair for the occasion, and she matched the sexy-wild hairstyle with dark mascara on her eyes. She was wearing a cropped shirt that would have exposed her black bra if she raised her hand even an inch above her waist, and denim shorts so short that it had Staffan gritting his teeth while his cock immediately reacted in response to the sight, growing engorged beneath his pants.
Ah fuck, only Saffi made him hot with fury and arousal at the same time.
Saffi’s mind became a blank when she found all three Pussketeers gazing at her.
Oh my God, how could she resist that?
Staffan cursed, surprising his friends. But he had seen where Saffi’s hand was going and he knew exactly what she was planning. “Saffi,” he growled. “Don’t you dare---”
She took out her iPhone, pressed the shortcut for camera, and took a snapshot of them. Then she quickly opened the photo using a social media app, the one that was linked to all her accounts. Pinterest, Tumblr, Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook –it made it easy to blast the message to the entire universe with a single click.
OMG. Staffan Aehrenthal with the two other Pussketeers in the house! #definelucky
Saffi pressed the SEND button.
“---post a photo.”
A clicking sound confirmed her post’s successful upload to the various social media accounts she managed as StarryEyed4SA, mere seconds before someone swiftly retrieved the iPhone from her hand. Saffi looked up and found herself locked in a circle of billionaires.
Two were grinning, one was scowling.
“Saffi.” Staffan’s voice was quietly menacing.
Saffi cringed. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry. The world needed to see---”
“---anything except another goddamn photo of any of us.” Staffan growled the last word out, his fuck-me eyes blazing.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down. She heard Staffan sigh over her head, but no one else spoke. After a moment, Saffi was unable to bear the silence any longer. She cleared her throat. “Umm…what’s…the plan?”
Rathe sighed before taking off his pinstriped blazer. “Here you go, Saffi.” His voice was clear and dulcet, very duke-like if Saffi said so herself. Not that, she thought, she had met any other duke aside from Rathe.
Looking inquiringly at Staffan and getting his nod of approval, she gingerly took the blazer from Rathe and put it on. She supposed Staffan didn’t want anyone to catch sight of her bare belly, which wasn’t really sexy at all. But – Saffi had no choice. She had promised Brittany that they’d dress like twins, and Brittany had unfortunately chosen to crop her I’m A Celsius Fan shirt ala Britney Spears during her teen years.
“Sorry, Saffi, I lost the bet.”
It was all the warning she had before Rathe bent and swept Saffi up to heft her over one broad shoulder.
Camera bulbs flashed amidst hundreds of clicking sounds as Rathe started to walk towards the limousine, flanked by Constantijin and Staffan at each side. He said apologetically under his breath, “Constantijin cheated. He really should be the one doing this.”
Constantijin retorted, “I did not cheat, Your Grace. You just suck at poker. You always did.”
Ignoring that, Rathe told Saffi, “You two should just admit to your relationship.”
“Not just yet,” Saffi protested. “The other fangirls would be crushed.”
“Saffi, my dear,” the duke murmured as he bent down to deposit her inside his limousine, “Can’t you see that Staffan’s already crushed every other woman’s heart since he met you?”
Startled, she looked at Rathe. Then she looked over her shoulder and saw Staffan gazing at her. His eyes burned with a desire that was only for her, and beyond him were his fans, heartbreak written all over their faces.Once upon a time,Staffan Aehrenthal had not just been Sweden’s #1 Sex God. He had also been Mr. Fucktastic, a rockstar who had been famous for doing it with a different fangirl, groupie, or just about any hot chick he fancied after every concert. There were rumors that he could even please multiple women all at the same time, and Saffi knew from painful experience that it was true.
That it had been true.
Staffan was the last to get inside the limousine, and the moment the door was shut closed, he growled, “Come here.” He was almost rough in his need to get to Saffi, and the moment he had her on his lap, he took a fistful of her beautiful silky hair and pulled her head down to kiss her.
Saffi’s arms went around his neck, kissing him back just as hungrily. There would never ever be a day she would tire of it, Saffi was sure, not even when she was eighty and unable to scream his name whenever his song would play on the radio.
When Staffan lifted his head, she smiled up at him dreamily.
He smiled back. “So, koukla mou, another lie?”
“Was sick Aunt Brittany’s last dying wish to watch Celsius and wear a shirt that could pass as underwear?” He suddenly looked like he wanted to strangle her. “Did you fucking forget one of your beloved fangirls almost got away with throwing acid on your face? Did you fucking forget that the last time you held a mini fan convention, those fucking Celsius fans went on attack like rabid dogs and almost beat you up? Did you FUCKING forget any of those?”
Her normally agile mind failed to come up with an answer that would appease Staffan’s temper. “Umm, I fucking didn’t?” She whispered the words, hoping to make Staffan smile.
A muscle started ticking near Staffan’s tightly clenched jaw.
Constantijin and Rathe were coughing.
She said in a weaker voice, “Super oh-my-god I-can’t-believe-I-lied I’m sorry?”