Title: Easy Virtue
Author: Mia Sheridan
Genre: Contemporary, Romance
Publication Date: December 3, 2014
Add to: Goodreads
Synopsis
Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?
My Review
EEEEEKKKK!! Well let me start out that this is a fast pace
book, however it’s written very well and I was able to connect to the
characters.
You meet Blaire, a gold digger who doesn’t believe in love
and rather have an expensive purse or clothes instead of having a true
connection with any man or fall in love. It’s very sad how she portrays herself
and I must admit I did feel sorry for her at times. But there are also times
I’m like what a heartless B*(%$!!
Blaire meets Ronan. I down to earth guy, who has a normal
job and sees so much when he looks at Blaire. I loved Ronan! He is a truly
genuine guy and I love how he is with Blaire. Of course Blaire dumps him when
she begins to feel something stronger for him.
She then runs to Lawrence. I multi- millionaire who wants to
give her everything she wants, no strings attached for as long as he needs her.
This is Blaire’s dream come true. Rich Man, drop dead gorgeous, fancy clothes
and apartment and a hefty month salary. What more could she ask for???
Blaire finds herself being torn between a 2 men. Her
thoughts keep drifting back to Ronan and how he made her feel. She tries to
erase him from her mind but it’s not that easy or going to be that easy!:)
What will Blaire do??? Team Ronan or Team Lawrence???
For me I was Team Ronan but by the end of the book I was
left thinking huh? I was confused and I need more!! I can’t wait for the next
book because I need to find out what’s going to happen.
★★☆ 5 Stars ☆★★
Review By Ashley Lenderman
Buy it
Read it
Love it
Excerpt
With champagne and caviar inundating my
every sense, I slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend
to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer
whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my
left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows
of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space
between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets
gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the über rich
mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit
and derision for one another in the air.
This is Walker’s world, and I
love it.
Standing across the room, where
the crowd is thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the
corner of the room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He
looks polished and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black
tuxedo, perfectly starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair
parted to the side shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.
I smile because it’s hard to
picture that this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he
fucks me while hardcore porn plays in the background. He looks untouchable and
so cool, but his searching eyes, scanning the crowd for me give him up. He’s
wondering where I am. He did tell me not to go too far, after all. Soon after
we arrived at the party, I gave him some space to talk to his friends and do
his thing while I did mine. I hate clingy people, so I avoid being one.
I grab a third flute of champagne
from a passing waiter, and try to decide which of the different displays to
check out first when my eyes land on a spectacular piece of jewelry. On a bed
of black silk, similar to my hair color, lies an extravagant necklace made of
diamonds and rubies—a small heaven within one’s reach as long as you can afford
the price.
I bridge the space between the
glass protecting the necklace and me until it’s within my reach, fighting the
urge to touch the cool surface. As if under a spell, I observe how the rows of
diamonds embedded in platinum form leaves and thorns. At its center is a rose
made out of red diamonds almost as big as my palm.
I feel someone walk up and stand
next to me, but I don’t give him or her a second thought as I continue to
admire the way the light hits the gems, making them shine.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His voice is smooth and
commanding, dripping absolute power. I keep my eyes locked on the display. Call
it sixth sense, but somehow I know that under no circumstance should I make eye
contact with the stranger who speaks like the ruler of the world.
“Yes,” I say simply.
“I wonder how much it is?” the
man asks.
“I don’t think it matters … I
highly doubt anyone can afford it.”
He chuckles, and the sound is
more delicious than his voice. Lusher. “Oh, but I can.”
I smile at his self-assurance. I
love cocky assholes. “I still doubt it.”
“You shouldn’t. I only speak the
truth,” he retorts coolly. His voice is nonchalant yet his words leave no room
for disbelief—a demand and a statement all in one.
Suddenly, the noises of the room
become distant. People talking and laughing amongst friends and the orchestra
playing all fade away until all I hear is him speaking.
And at this moment, that is all
that matters.
“The truth is very subjective,
sir.”
“The truth may be subjective but
money isn’t. Money can buy anything.”
His answer is like an
electroshock, jumpstarting my brain from a champagne-induced haze. My pulse
begins to accelerate, excitement making it hard to take a deep breath. Don’t
look at him … don’t.
“Oh really,” I say, my voice
dripping with sarcasm. He’s right, though.
“Of course. I believe
everything,” he pauses, “and everyone has a price.”
Curiosity winning the battle
against curiosity, I turn to face him, and what a fucking big mistake that is.
When our eyes meet, I feel incapacitated of all sense and movement. The sight
of him takes my breath away. This man gives the term “lust at first sight” a
whole new meaning.
In my short twenty-three years, I’ve been with
extremely handsome men, perfect even, but to classify the man standing next to
me in any kind of category would be a disservice to him, and not really fair to
the others. Longish, light brown hair wildly framing his face, vacant eyes the
color of dollar bills, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouth that begs to be
buried deep within your thighs. His beauty is as harsh as it is stunningly
perfect. Dressed in a simple black tuxedo and unbuttoned white shirt, the man exudes
innate virility and grace, reminding me of a black panther stalking his prey.
And just like a panther, it’s the pure raw and powerful energy emanating from
within him that I find most attractive. Because just by standing next to him, I
get the sense that his word is always the last spoken and his wishes the first
ones to be fulfilled. He doesn’t ask, he demands. He doesn’t hope, he expects.
He’s quiet for a moment; his uncanny eyes hold
me captive as though they are baring my soul to him and I hate it. I tighten my
hold on the crystal flute. I want to look away, but I can’t. The way he’s
staring at me makes me want to squirm.
“I wonder … do you have one?” he
asks softly before turning to examine the piece of jewelry once more.
“A
what?” I ask, momentarily stunned.
He smiles. “A price.”
“For the right amount … I just
might,” I say quietly, my heart beating so fast it feels as though it wants out
of my chest. As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s no shock coursing
down my body, no rolling waves of shame pulling me down for having said that to
a complete stranger—nothing.
And why should there be? I am who
I am.
I’m staring at his profile,
waiting for him to acknowledge my answer, when a breeze of cool air floats past
us, making me shiver. About to chase the goose bumps on my arm with my hand, I
watch as he slowly turns to look at me, catching me staring at him. Time stands
still as I watch him raise his large tanned hand and touch my bare shoulder,
his fingertips lightly grazing the temporary small bumps covering it. Then he
smiles as if he knows that my skin is tingling from his scalding touch, and
looks away.
“I thought so.”
We remain standing next to each
other for another minute or so, the distance between us almost nonexistent. It
would be so easy to reach out and hold his hand. The sound of an incoming call
breaks the silence, bringing us back to reality.
He takes his cell phone out of
the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and ignores the call after noting the
name of the caller. He lifts his gaze to meet my own.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I should go … I’m
here with someone,” I reply, not really wanting to leave him just yet.
“Yes, that’s probably a good
idea.”
I frown. He didn’t have to be
quite so blunt. The stranger extends a hand toward me, holding something in his
fingers.
“Here … ”
I open my hand as I feel the
edges of what I assume is his business card poke the skin of my palm. “What’s
this?” I ask stupidly.
“My business card, of course.”
“Obviously … but why?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach
his eyes. “Let’s just say that I’m an interested buyer.”
And then he’s gone.
He turns and walks away from me,
disappearing into a sea of colorful gowns and black suits. As the sounds of the
party infiltrate my ears once more, I lower my gaze to stare at the simple
cream-colored card in my hand. Its simplistic and elegant design draws
attention to the name printed in bold black letters on the paper.
Lawrence Rothschild.
I smile and let my fingertips
trail his name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.
Mia Asher .....not Sheridan...
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