Series: Virtue #1
Release Date: December 2, 2014
Publisher: Mia Asher
Genre: Contemporary Erotica Romance
Source: From Author for Review
Rating: ★★★★ 1/2
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 one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?
There's three things you need to know about Mia Asher's writing 1) she doesn't write the kind of romance that leaves you feeling like you've been laying on a cloud of marshmallows, 2) she writes flawed and not always the easiest to love characters, 3) Asher is a puppeteer of emotions and a master storyteller that leaves you gasping for more.
Love is my personal chimera.
Damaged from living with parents who neglected her for most of her childhood, Blaire White has grown up believing that love does not exist, and that expensive material possessions, and a lavish lifestyle are the only things that can fulfill her. She's a gold digger who loves milking all of her lovers for all the expensive clothes, shoes, jewelry, and money they are willing to give her. She knows exactly the type of games all these rich and powerful men that she dates likes to play, and she plays right along with them. But just when Blaire thinks she's happy with the current man she's dating, she meets two very different men who throw her life in for a loop. Each man offers Blaire something totally different, but two different things that she both wants and craves.
Many say that love will set you free, but I disagree... love is a cage, a very painful one; it's gilded bars made with yearning, heartache, and unfilled dreams.
Lawrence Rothchild is just the type of man Blaire wants. He's a business man that has the power and bank account that Blaire looks for. She believes that the meaningless relationship he can offer her is just the type of relationship she deserves. Lawrence knows exactly what he wants from Blaire and isn't afraid to ask her. His straight forwardness and sexual appetite is just the kind of thing that sets Blaire's body blazing. She's able to let herself go when she's around Lawrence, but still able to keep her emotions at a distance.
When I look at you, I see everything I want and everything I need.
On the complete opposite side of the spectrum, Ronan is the type of man that Blaire has never really given herself a chance to date or get close to. He's not rich and doesn't live the kind of lifestyle she's accustomed to. But the kindness in his eyes, and the things he's able to make her feel is what attracts her to him. Ronan isn't afraid to express his about Blaire and he's upfront with her about how much he wants her. He's exactly the type of man that Blaire avoids, but at the same time she can't stay away from him. With Ronan she's able to really let herself go and be the Blaire that no one sees. He strips her of her of the armor that she's been wearing for years, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Something that she's vowed she would never do, ever.
I don’t want to feel anything. I can’t. Feeling is bad. It leaves you vulnerable. And I don’t have time for emotions like guilt or shame. I like money. I like power. I like adoration. I like sex. And I’m good at it.
I've been in a bit of a reading rut lately, and have found myself not connecting with characters like I should be. But with EASY VIRTUE, I quickly found myself liking Blaire from the get go. Blaire isn't the type of character that everyone will like. She's the kind of woman that women love to hate. She's young, beautiful, sexy, and knows how to use her body to her advantage. But what I loved most about Blaire is how upfront she is. She knows she a gold digger and doesn't hide that fact. She's honest about who she is and what she does. Do I think what she does is right? No, but I can't really hate her for it because the men feed her all these extravagant gifts know exactly what they're doing. Blaire is flawed and she has her imperfections, but it's those imperfections that kept me wanting to read more and more.
Mia Asher's writing is the kind that seduces you from the very first page that you read. The words that flow across the pages EASY VIRTUE are effortless, straightforward, and addictive. While Blaire's life choices might not be things people understand easily, her story is every bit addicting and captivating. The sex and romance oozes out of this book and makes it almost too sinful. Mia Asher has definitely captivated me with this story, and like all the other readers who loved reading about Blaire's messed-up love life, I cannot wait to read the next book in this series.
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.
I smile and let my fingertips trail his name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.
Published by Mia Asher
Copyright © 2013 by Mia Asher
My name is Mia Asher.
I'm a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
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