Published by Loveswept on June 7th 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Mystery, Suspense, Erotica
Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, The Book Depository
Hailed by J. Kenner as an author who “knows how to steam up the pages,” Tracy Wolff delivers a darkly addictive novel of seduction and psychological obsession. The stakes are high in Lovegame, when a movie star with a shattered past meets a man who can either break her or make her whole. True Crime novelist Ian Sharpe has spent his career writing about serial killers for very personal reasons. For his latest exposé, he is taking on the sadistic madman known as the Red Ribbon Strangler, and when his research leads him to Hollywood’s most private and provocative actress, he will break every rule to uncover her truth. The daughter of one of Hollywood’s golden couples, chased by paparazzi and treated as a commodity her entire life, Veronica Romero wields her sex appeal like a weapon. She expects Ian to be as easy to control as every other man she’s ever known. But from the beginning, he refuses to fall into line. Mysterious and cool, challenging and just a little bit dangerous, Ian somehow makes her feel safe—even as he digs into the deepest secrets of her life and pushes her to the breaking point. As raw ecstasy gives way to agonized truths, their dark obsession exposes secrets that have been buried for far too long. Ian wants to tear down her walls and heal the sensual woman underneath. But if Veronica’s learned anything, it’s that the line between pleasure and pain is a narrow one—and when caught between them the only thing that matters is how you play the game.Lovegame is intended for mature audiences. This ebook includes a special message from the editor, as well as an excerpt from another Loveswept title.
Praise for the novels of Tracy Wolff “Tracy Wolff knows how to steam up the pages.”—New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner “Fall in love under the spell of a master. Tracy Wolff knows how to keep you panting for more and utterly satisfied all at once.”—New York Times bestselling author Beth Kery, on Ruined “Tracy Wolff had me turning pages way past my bedtime. The suspense kept me on the edge of my seat, and the steamy love scenes had my pulse racing.”—New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo, on Exposed
Message from Tracy
I’m so glad to be here today talking about Lovegame, my June 7th release. This book is a little different than my others—it’s a little darker, a little more psychological, a little more twisted than what I usually write. But every once in a while, for every author, an idea comes along that you just HAVE to write. It’s different, it’s harder, it’s scarier than anything else you’ve ever done, but it just won’t go away no matter how many other books you write before it. For me, Lovegame is that story. I ran from it for a long time because I was scared of it, not to mention desperately afraid that I wouldn’t do it justice. But now that it’s finished and ready to be launched into the world, I have to admit that I’m very, very proud of how it turned out and am thrilled to be able to share an exclusive excerpt with you. Thanks so much for hanging out with me today and I can’t wait to hear what everyone thinks! Have a great day!!!!!
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.
And for all of those who want the unedited version:
Tracy Wolff lives with four men, teaches writing to local college students and spends as much time as she can manage immersed in worlds of her own creation. Married to the alpha hero of her dreams for twelve years, she is the mother of three young sons who spend most of their time trying to make her as crazy as possible.
“When are you going to stop deflecting and actually answer what I ask you?”
She freezes. “Excuse me?”
“I’m here to interview you and the last few questions I’ve asked, you’ve thrown back in my lap. I already know what I think—I’d like your thoughts or this article is going to end being an autobiography.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I’d read your autobiography in a heartbeat.”
“Yeah, well, you’d be the only one.” I take a bite of my burger, give her a minute to figure out that she’s not going to be able to charm her way out of this one. Then I ask again, “So, what it like?”
Her shoulders tense, and suddenly it’s like a switch flips inside of her. Gone is the friendliness of the last fifteen minutes and in its place . . . in its place is something else entirely. “Being attractive?”
I shoot her a look that tells her to knock off the bullshit. “Being ’s sexiest woman alive seven of the last ten years. Topping magazine’s sexiest list. Making ’s Most Beautiful list every year for the last decade. Being number one on IMDB’s top one hundred sexiest actresses of all time.” I pause, take a very deliberate sip of my water. “Should I keep going?”
“No. I think I get it.” Her voice is about ten degrees cooler than it was and as she purses her lips, narrows her eyes, I’m reminded of a children’s fairy tale. . “It feels exactly like you’d expect it to feel.”
The whole thing is very definitely a warning to lay off this line of questioning, but all it does is intrigue me. And solidify my belief that Veronica Romero would play the hell out of the big, bad wolf.
Too bad I’m not cut out for the role of Little Red.
“Gratifying?” I ask. “Claustrophobic? Unsafe?”
This time when she laughs, it sounds nothing like tinkling bells and everything like high-end sex. I try not to respond, but it’s pretty hard not to notice the way the sound goes straight to my cock like it was designed specifically to get me hard.
“Nothing about this business is safe,” she tells me. “I thought you’d be the last person I’d have to explain that to.”
“All that money, all those bodyguards, and you still don’t feel secure?” It’s a direct salvo, one that hits the mark judging from the way her shoulders tense and the dimple disappears completely. For a moment I mourn its loss, but then I’m too caught up in her transformation to think about anything else.
“Silly, Ian,” she all but purrs as she lightly traces one dark purple fingernail across the back of my hand. She’s dripping sensuality now, wearing her sex appeal like Perrault’s wolf wears its teeth and claws. “In this town, it’s not bodyguards that keep you safe.”
Her fingertip is gliding over the inside of my wrist now, stroking back and forth in a rhythm that takes my dick from semi-aroused to fully hard in seconds. Then again, maybe that’s the way she’s looking at me, eyes hooded, lips wet and parted, cheeks just a little bit flushed.
“So, what does?” I have to clear my throat twice before I can get the question out.
It’s her turn to lift a brow. “I would think that was obvious.” Then she’s sucking her lower lip between her teeth, biting down oh-so gently. Her breath hitches just a little and—fuck—so does mine, though I know exactly what she’s doing. Turns out being forewarned doesn’t always mean forearmed. “I keep myself safe.”
“Touché.” I make a concerted effort to keep my voice—and my hand—steady, even as
desire—pure, unadulterated lust—sweeps through me. I ignore it, concentrating instead on the list of questions that I have memorized. “Before we were sidetracked, we were talking about your tendency toward improvisation—”
“But you already got your question,” she tells me, cutting me off. “Several questions, in fact. Now it’s my turn.”
I could push, considering she’s given me a non-answer to pretty much everything I’ve asked her so far. But she’s not the only one who knows how to play games at this table. “Ask away,” I answer, smiling broadly. “I’m an open book.”
“Why do people always say that like it’s a good thing?” she asks, and if possible, her voice is even huskier—even sexier—than it was just a few minutes ago. “An open book only shows you two random pages in the middle of the action. How is that supposed to tell you everything you want to know?”
“I guess that depends on the pages, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps it does at that.” She looks me over, her eyes lingering on my mouth, my chest, my hands. “What two pages are you going to use to portray me?”
“Whichever two you show me.”
She smiles at that and this time it the man-slayer she’s so famous for. Her hand is at her throat, her fingers deliberately toying with the amethyst pendant that rests just between her breasts.
“That is exactly what I hoped you’d say.”
I try to ignore the sudden sensation of bite marks on my ass, but it’s not easy. Especially when it hits me that I’ve just lost the first battle of whatever game we’re playing.