Down and Dirty: Jag
Dirty Angels MC
Jeanne St. James
Genre: Contemporary Romance /
Date of Publication: 11/11/17
Number of pages: 236
Word Count: 61k
Cover Artist: Susan Garwood
Welcome to Shadow Valley where the Dirty Angels MC rules. Get ready to get Down and Dirty because this is Jag’s story…
The only thing Jag, DAMC Road Captain, loves more than his custom bike is Ivy. He’s wanted her ever since he could remember. However, through the years, he’s had to watch her date anyone but him since she avoids dating bikers like the plague. Instead, she gravitates toward the complete opposite: geeks and nerds. Something Jag will never be.
Smart and independent, Ivy wants to be the property of no man. Growing up in the club, she knows firsthand how they treat women. She regrets the mistake she made by dragging Jag upstairs to his room at the club one drunken night. Ever since then, she’s been doing her best to keep him at arm’s length, though it’s proven difficult. Especially when she finds out his secret, which only endears her to him even more.
Between secrets, lies, and a violent tangle with a rival club, can these two passionate hot-heads find the love and solace they’re looking for in each other’s arms? Or will everything just tumble down around them?
Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, biker slang, cursing, some violence and, of course, an HEA. If you like alpha males who like to take charge, this book is for you.
He was going to kill the bitch.
Jag pounded on the door. Again.
She was pushing him to his limit. And that was not good.
For the human race in general.
“Fuckin’ open the door or I’ll bust the fuckin’ thing in, got me?”
He was going to knock politely only one more time, then that was it.
He politely kicked the door with his heavy biker boot. That was going to leave a mark.
“If you don’t open this fuckin’ door right—”
The door jerked open and something—or someone—tried to fly by him.
Jag reached out a hand and snagged the fleeing body. With a grip around a skinny bicep, the guy came to a screeching halt.
Jag flung him around to face him. He scowled. “Who the fuck are you?”
The already pale guy turned sheet white. With eyes wide, mouth open, he had a discarded shirt bunched in his fist and his pants hung loosely around his hips, since he apparently hadn’t taken the time to finish fastening them before the man decided to jet.
Which was a smart move. But then, Ivy tended to pick smart dudes. Though, they never hung around long. Geeky dudes and a biker babe don’t mix no matter how many times she tries.
And he got it, he really did. Ivy was smart herself. Genius even. And she needed a challenge.
Other than becoming a biker’s ol’ lady. Or his ol’ lady, more like it.
Jag looked down at the guy’s bare feet. It seemed he forgot his fucking shoes in his haste.
Stupid fuck. Maybe he wasn’t so smart after all.
“You touch Dirty Angels property?”
The guy’s mouth opened and closed like a guppy as he stared up at Jag, who towered over him by at least five inches.
“Asked a damn question. Did you—”
“Get gone, Jag.”
His eyes slid to the woman now standing in the doorway, holding out a pair of loafers with socks tucked into them. The one wearing a fucking robe and probably nothing else.
The guy’s eyes dropped to his offered shoes, then he snagged them and clasped them to his chest as if they were a lifeline.
“Get in the house. Deal with you shortly.”
“The hell you will. Get gone, Jag.”
His head twisted in her direction and he took his time inspecting her from top to toe. That fucking deep red hair of hers spilled around her shoulders, clearly messed up from a fresh fuck, which he hoped he’d interrupted. Because if anyone should be in her bed, it should be him.
Her lips were swollen and pouty. Goddamn, if she had those lips around this nerd’s cock, his brain would explode. Her green eyes snapped in anger.
Whatever. She could be mad all she wanted. He was just as pissed. No, more.
“Who I fuck is none of your damn business,” came out of that smart mouth.
He gritted his teeth before answering. “The fuck it isn’t. Anything to do with DAMC property is my business.”
Especially after she climbed into his bed all those months ago.
“Well, I’m not DAMC property. So GET GONE!”
Jag released the now very scared guy with a shove. He stumbled, caught his balance on the veranda railing, then ran down the metal stairs, taking two at a time. Like a scared mouse, he sprinted toward a car parked on the street.
He should’ve known the guy drove a fucking Prius. He should’ve slashed the geek-mobile’s tires for dipping his dick in DAMC property.
“Fucker doesn’t even ride a bike. You’ve got shit taste in lays, Ivy.”
“Don’t I know it,” she muttered, making Jag’s jaw tighten.
“Don’t come back here,” Jag yelled his warning through the dark to the guy scrambling into his car like his ass was on fire. “If you know what’s good for ya,” he finished under his breath. He turned back to face the pissed-off redhead dressed in black silk that hugged all her damn curves. His balls tightened as hard as his jaw. “Probably needs a dick extension to fuck you.”
“I don’t know if that’s an insult to me or to him. Either way, you don’t belong here, Jag. So, I’ll say it again, get gone.”
Ivy lifted a shoulder. “Okay then. You’ll be standing out here all night while I’m sleeping soundly in my bed. Thanks to you, alone. Normally, I’d say good night, but... fuck you.”
The door slammed shut and Jag heard the deadbolt click. He grimaced and stared at the door.
Little did she know that her uncle, Ace, had given him the key.
He grinned, turned on his heel and jogged down the steps to where his bike was parked at the foot of the stairway in the pawn shop lot.
She may not let him in, but his mission was accomplished. He chased away Ivy’s latest conquest.
And he’d keep doing it until she got some sense and realized everything she needed has been right in front of her all along.
He put his girl between his legs, hit her starter and closed his eyes for a moment, surrounded by the smooth rumble of his straight exhaust pipes.
His bike was everything to him. The only thing he wanted more between his legs was Ivy.
The only thing he loved more than his bike was... fucking Ivy.
And she was a fucking bitch.
About the Author:
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing and her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.
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