ARROGANT PLAYBOY
WINTER RENSHAW
COPYRIGHT 2015 WINTER RENSHAW
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
COVER DESIGN: Louisa Maggio, LM Creations
EDITING: J.J. Mayflower
PROOFREADING: Janice Owen and Carey Sullivan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
BOOKS BY WINTER RENSHAW
Never Kiss a Stranger (Never Series #1)
Never Is a Promise (Never Series #2)
Never Say Never (Never Series #3)
Arrogant Bastard (Arrogant Series #1)
Arrogant Master (Arrogant Series #2)
Arrogant Playboy (Arrogant Series #3)
Coming Soon!
Bitter Rivals (part of the POSSESS anthology) – November 9, 2015
Dark Paradise – December 2015
DESCRIPTION
PLAYBOY. Noun. A moneyed man who spends his time enjoying himself, especially one who acts irresponsibly or is sexually promiscuous. Synonyms: ladies man, philanderer, womanizer. See Also: Beckham King.
BECKHAM KING. Noun. Synonyms: None.
Vanity wrapped in arrogance and tied with a wicked-intentioned bow.
Obnoxiously attractive.
Wildly talented in the sack.
Everything a girl could want in a one-night stand.
Don’t ask him to commit.
Don’t expect a phone call.
You only get one night.
And God forbid you’re the one girl deemed worthy of a reprise…
Because you won’t stand a chance.
When an arrogant playboy’s mind is set, there’s abso-f*cking-lutely no changing it.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
EXCERPT – BITTER RIVALS
BONUS!
ARROGANT BASTARD
ARROGANT MASTER
Chapter One
BECKHAM
I’m spent, balls deep inside an auburn beauty with shapely runner’s legs that wrap around my hips and pin us together.
Our bodies meld.
Each rise and fall of her chest brings the peaks of her budded nipples against my chest. The glowing beauty’s forearm rests across her eyes, and her swollen lips relax into an exhausted, exuberant smile.
I love that smile.
I live for that smile.
Not on her but on every woman I spend the night with.
Fucking women is a pass/fail endeavor and that smile tells me I made the grade.
The promise of warm sunlight fills the space around us. My sleepless night will catch up with me around three o’clock this afternoon, but she was so fucking worth it. I don’t move, opting to reside inside her a moment longer, both of us basking in our respective euphoric states a few more seconds.
Her arm goes limp, falling to the pillow behind her head, and our eyes meet for the first time since we stumbled over each other in a drunken rush to dive headfirst between the sheets of my king-sized bed.
And this is where it gets awkward.
This is where she’s supposed to sigh and give me that far off gaze, the one that makes me think she believes something amazing just happened between us. This is where she flashes a smile and grabs the sheet and covers up and combs her hair out of her face like she’s all of a sudden self-conscious around me.
They all do it. It’s like they’re reading off some kind of twenty-five-year-old single girl script.
First they’re sexy, bold, and brazen.
Then they’re cute, coy, and bashful.
Bait and switch. Every fucking time.
At least I know how it works now. I’m not some twenty-one year old, fuck-anything-with-a-vagina pencil dick who falls for it anymore.
One step ahead of them now.
After this radiant vixen plays modest church mouse for a while, she’s going to say she had fun and if I ever want to hang out again – hang out code for screwing her until neither one of us can walk straight – to give her a call.
That’ll be my cue to say something like, “Absolutely!” or “Hell yeah.” A little something to put a pep in her step during her imminent walk of shame.
The auburn girl below, whose name escapes me at the moment, flashes a two-second smile.
Here we go.
Three…
Two…
One…
“You can get off me now.” Her hands press against my biceps, and her post-orgasmic smile fades. “We’re done here, right?”
Wait, what?
I strategically maneuver myself out of her, making sure the condom is still intact, and move to the side. The girl doesn’t grab a sheet or slip into shy-mode. She tiptoes to the bathroom, her peach-shaped ass swaying, and comes out a few minutes later, brushing her teeth with her finger and apparently some borrowed toothpaste.
She leans over, spitting into the sink, the long muscles down the side of her leg flexing as she rises on her toes. When she emerges, she snaps a black elastic between her fingers.
“Found a hair tie in your bathroom,” she says, pointing to her hair as she finger-combs it into a messy pile on top of her head. Her breasts lift, round and proud. She has no shame – not that she needs any. She’s her own brand of gorgeous, and she owns it. There’s not an ounce of insecurity anywhere on this woman.
The sunlight climbing over the cityscape outside my penthouse starts to fill the shadowy room, bathing her in warmth and illuminating every curve.
“You just going to stand there with your mouth hanging? Be a lamb and find my bra, will you?”
I climb off the bed, stepping into my crumpled boxers and digging through the mess of clothes on the floor until I pull out a black bra with see-through lace cups and some clear, plastic strap across the back.
I hand it over, a half-smirk on my face.
She takes it from me and slips the straps over her creamy shoulders before adjusting it into place and securing the back. I grab her dress from last night, the tight black number with the low back that initially caught my eye, and hold it out for her.
“Thanks.” She steps into it, pulling it up and over her curves. Her eyelids are rimmed with smudged black makeup but it’s quickly overridden by a confident glimmer in her round eyes. The girl glances around the room. “What time is it?”
“Six.” I eye the blue-numbered alarm clock over her shoulder before getting up to grab some mouthwash. “Quarter after actually.”
“Perfect.”
I follow her out my bedroom, down the hall, and toward the foyer where her heels rest on their sides in front of my private elevator. This girl’s in such a hurry that I almost feel used.