Hollywood Dirt by New York Times bestselling author Alessandra Torre is LIVE! We're thrilled to spotlight this Hollywood-themed, opposites attract, stand-alone romance! #MUSTclick #2015TRSoRfave
I read an advance copy and selfishly call DIBS on Cole Masten because THIS >> "I'll pin you down and won’t stop until my mouth is imprinted on your mind and your taste is my fucking middle name." I'm so GIDDY about this book. Finished it in one night, totally fangirled the author, & told her I just want to HUG her for writing this love/hate romance with characters and depth so vivid it felt like a movie playing out in my mind... sexy as hell & FUN! Who doesn't love a modern day Hollywood love story and happily ever after? I'm experiencing a HUGE book hangover, not because I cried my eyes our or I'm an emotional wreck, because my heart is soaring! BRAVO Alessandra, confidentially a TRSoR 2015 fave!
Don't take my word for me, read a hot excerpt that showcases the uncontainable passion between Cole and Summer and enter to win a $25 gift card! Happy reading and good luck!
I read an advance copy and selfishly call DIBS on Cole Masten because THIS >> "I'll pin you down and won’t stop until my mouth is imprinted on your mind and your taste is my fucking middle name." I'm so GIDDY about this book. Finished it in one night, totally fangirled the author, & told her I just want to HUG her for writing this love/hate romance with characters and depth so vivid it felt like a movie playing out in my mind... sexy as hell & FUN! Who doesn't love a modern day Hollywood love story and happily ever after? I'm experiencing a HUGE book hangover, not because I cried my eyes our or I'm an emotional wreck, because my heart is soaring! BRAVO Alessandra, confidentially a TRSoR 2015 fave!
Don't take my word for me, read a hot excerpt that showcases the uncontainable passion between Cole and Summer and enter to win a $25 gift card! Happy reading and good luck!
"There should be laws against men who could kiss like that. With a mouth that dominated yet begged. Tongue that teased yet delivered. Tastes that dipped into an addicting stream and hooked a woman after just the first hit."
- Hollywood Dirt by Alessandra Torre
Excerpt: Want a glimpse of Cole and Summer's intensely combustible relationship?
“I want blue. Something cool and refreshing.” Cole pushed the ad copy toward me and I fidgeted, scratching the back of my stocking with the toe of the vintage Mary Jane heels. Above us, the spotlights were hot, the set an oven.
“The focus groups liked red better.” I avoided his eyes when I spoke, running my finger over the edge of a stack of cards, lining them up against each other. I was supposed to be hesitant in this scene, uncomfortable. It was an easy role to play. I felt so lost. On the set, in the role of actress, in the lust/hate relationship that Cole I seemed to have.
“Red means stop,” Cole’s voice was tired, one hand rubbing at his eyes, the other pulling at his tie. I wish we didn’t have to do this scene today. I had asked Don, beggedDon, when he had come to my trailer– begged him to push this scene, for us to do it in a few weeks, once I had the acting thing down, my kinks worked out. What I didn’t say, to Don, was that I needed more separation from my sex with Cole to this kissing scene. Twelve days. That was all it had been so far. Twelve days and it still felt like only twelve hours. When would I forget how his fingers felt on my skin? The tone of his voice as he had gasped my name? When would I forget how he felt inside of me? When would I forget the incredible sensation that had wracked my body? Part of me wanted that answer to be never. Another part of me just wished it had never happened. You can’t miss something that you didn’t know existed.
“You don’t use a color that means stop when you want someone to buy something.” His voice hardened. “It’s common sense, Ida. Use your brain.”
“I don’t care if your literature says that red means stop. The blue… when combined with the dark cola – it looks weak. The red has more punch, looks more iconic.” I help up the card, the cursive script of the logo standing out against the red mockup. “It looks patriotic.”
“Blue is patriotic too.”
“Yankees wear blue,” I pointed out and this was easy, the lines falling into place and coming easily.
“We’re not doing red,” he said flatly.
“Let’s ask the other investors.”
He stopped messing with his tie and looked up at me. “Let’s not.” My finger, which had been picking at an itch on my arm, stilled. This was it, it was coming. He twisted in his chair, turning it to the side, then slowly to the front, considering me.
I waited for the next line, my lungs tightening, the simple act of breathing in and out in a normal fashion a chore.
“Come here.” He said softly, pushing on the edge of his desk with one smooth soled dress shoe, his heavy chair rolling back a step. He waited, his hands on each arm, his knees spread, the dress pants stretched tight over his frame.
“What?” I breathed out the question in a mild state of panic. This was off script. He was supposed to ask about my husband, or lack of.
“Come here.” He nodded to a place before him.
“I’m fine right here.” I set down the ad cards.
“I’m not gonna bite you, Ida. Come here.”
I shouldn’t have moved. Ida wouldn’t have. Ida would have primly told Mr. Mitchell where he could stick it.
I moved. I walked on uneven floors in unsteady heels over to him and stopped, five feet or so away, my hands clasped before me. I could feel the soft hum of the camera beside me, could hear the shift of our audience behind me, the loud click of someone’s walkie. Cole’s eyes never left mine, his stare burned up the path between us and he rotated his chair slightly, till he faced me. “Closer.” The word came out a little hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Closer.” he repeated.
I moved closer, one slow step at a time, my heels loud in their clicks against the wood, then I was before him and he rested his head back against the chair and looked up at me. “Sit. On the edge of the desk.”
My hands reached back, found the ledge of the desk, and I leaned back, grateful for the support.
“No,” he corrected. “Sit on it. Or I will put you on it.” The order in his voice, the image of his threat… it stirred a feminine place in me that shouldn’t, in this moment, surrounded by onlookers, shouldn’t be touched. I pushed up on my toes and worked my way onto the desk, my skirt pushed up by the action and I pulled at it, crossing my legs and covering myself as best I could. Surely, Don would call for us to cut. Surely, someone would stop this waste of valuable film time.
“Do you know why I hired you, Ida?”
I lifted my eyes from the tassels on his shoes. “No.”
“No, sir.” He corrected.
I pursed my lips and said nothing.
“Do you want to know why I hired you, Ida?”
“Not particularly,” I said tartly. “Sir.”
He pushed off of the arms of the chair, standing up in one fluid motion. I tensed, waiting for him to step forward but he didn’t. He stayed in place, his hands slow and deliberate as they rolled up one white shirt sleeve to the elbow, then move to the other. “I hired you,” he said quietly, stepping forward and stopping before me, his eyes dropping to my legs. I lost a breath when his hand settled on my knee, and I uncrossed my legs, pinning them together, my hand pulling my skirt down. “I hired you because you walked into my office in your cheap little dress and I thought ‘I bet that woman will be one hell of a lay.’” His hand slid higher, up under my skirt and I stiffened, my hand falling on his forearm and pushing, resisting. He chuckled, his second hand pulling my legs apart and with a sudden jerk he pulled me to the edge of the desk, my knees spread, my skirt pushed high enough to expose the ridiculous garter straps. His eyes met mine for a moment, his fingers light and slow as they drew lines across the bare skin of my upper thighs, tracing the edge of the garter straps to the place where they crossed my panties, a lace set that matched. “I hired you because I pictured you right here, on my desk, moaning my name.”
My hands closed hard on his in the moment before his fingers moved further, the edge of my panties too close, my need too great, my composure a tiny step away from begging. I told him no with my grip and he listened, pulling his hands away, back to my stockings, then my knees. When he looked at me, his hands were already back to his tie, tightening the silk back into place. “What I didn’t do was hire you because I cared about your opinion or your advice. You make a fairly decent cup of coffee and look good in a skirt. That’s why you’re here. Don’t forget that.”
“You’re an ass.” The rough words scraped through my mouth but barely hid the tears at their formation and Cole smiled at their receipt.
“Oh yes, my dear.” He leaned forward and yanked at the edge of my skirt, covering me up with one hard motion. “That just might be the smartest thing you’ve said all day.” The response hit the script, the familiar line the only thing I could hold on to and I did, biting back a hundred stupid feminine words and I pushed off of the desk, my heels shaky when they hit the floor.
“Thank you for making your position on this point so clear, Mr. Mitchell. I’ll keep my opinions to myself from this point forth.”
“Good to hear,” he settled back into the chair and I turned away, moving to the door, looking past the camera which focused on my face and caught the tear moving down my cheek.
Later, Don would tell me I was brilliant, that the scene was perfect – one of the few in his career that had been captured in a single take. Later, I would nod and laugh and accept his praise as if I hadn’t been breaking, as if Ida and Royce had no correlation with Cole and I, as if I had been acting and not living through the skin of Ida Pinkerton.
“The focus groups liked red better.” I avoided his eyes when I spoke, running my finger over the edge of a stack of cards, lining them up against each other. I was supposed to be hesitant in this scene, uncomfortable. It was an easy role to play. I felt so lost. On the set, in the role of actress, in the lust/hate relationship that Cole I seemed to have.
“Red means stop,” Cole’s voice was tired, one hand rubbing at his eyes, the other pulling at his tie. I wish we didn’t have to do this scene today. I had asked Don, beggedDon, when he had come to my trailer– begged him to push this scene, for us to do it in a few weeks, once I had the acting thing down, my kinks worked out. What I didn’t say, to Don, was that I needed more separation from my sex with Cole to this kissing scene. Twelve days. That was all it had been so far. Twelve days and it still felt like only twelve hours. When would I forget how his fingers felt on my skin? The tone of his voice as he had gasped my name? When would I forget how he felt inside of me? When would I forget the incredible sensation that had wracked my body? Part of me wanted that answer to be never. Another part of me just wished it had never happened. You can’t miss something that you didn’t know existed.
“You don’t use a color that means stop when you want someone to buy something.” His voice hardened. “It’s common sense, Ida. Use your brain.”
“I don’t care if your literature says that red means stop. The blue… when combined with the dark cola – it looks weak. The red has more punch, looks more iconic.” I help up the card, the cursive script of the logo standing out against the red mockup. “It looks patriotic.”
“Blue is patriotic too.”
“Yankees wear blue,” I pointed out and this was easy, the lines falling into place and coming easily.
“We’re not doing red,” he said flatly.
“Let’s ask the other investors.”
He stopped messing with his tie and looked up at me. “Let’s not.” My finger, which had been picking at an itch on my arm, stilled. This was it, it was coming. He twisted in his chair, turning it to the side, then slowly to the front, considering me.
I waited for the next line, my lungs tightening, the simple act of breathing in and out in a normal fashion a chore.
“Come here.” He said softly, pushing on the edge of his desk with one smooth soled dress shoe, his heavy chair rolling back a step. He waited, his hands on each arm, his knees spread, the dress pants stretched tight over his frame.
“What?” I breathed out the question in a mild state of panic. This was off script. He was supposed to ask about my husband, or lack of.
“Come here.” He nodded to a place before him.
“I’m fine right here.” I set down the ad cards.
“I’m not gonna bite you, Ida. Come here.”
I shouldn’t have moved. Ida wouldn’t have. Ida would have primly told Mr. Mitchell where he could stick it.
I moved. I walked on uneven floors in unsteady heels over to him and stopped, five feet or so away, my hands clasped before me. I could feel the soft hum of the camera beside me, could hear the shift of our audience behind me, the loud click of someone’s walkie. Cole’s eyes never left mine, his stare burned up the path between us and he rotated his chair slightly, till he faced me. “Closer.” The word came out a little hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Closer.” he repeated.
I moved closer, one slow step at a time, my heels loud in their clicks against the wood, then I was before him and he rested his head back against the chair and looked up at me. “Sit. On the edge of the desk.”
My hands reached back, found the ledge of the desk, and I leaned back, grateful for the support.
“No,” he corrected. “Sit on it. Or I will put you on it.” The order in his voice, the image of his threat… it stirred a feminine place in me that shouldn’t, in this moment, surrounded by onlookers, shouldn’t be touched. I pushed up on my toes and worked my way onto the desk, my skirt pushed up by the action and I pulled at it, crossing my legs and covering myself as best I could. Surely, Don would call for us to cut. Surely, someone would stop this waste of valuable film time.
“Do you know why I hired you, Ida?”
I lifted my eyes from the tassels on his shoes. “No.”
“No, sir.” He corrected.
I pursed my lips and said nothing.
“Do you want to know why I hired you, Ida?”
“Not particularly,” I said tartly. “Sir.”
He pushed off of the arms of the chair, standing up in one fluid motion. I tensed, waiting for him to step forward but he didn’t. He stayed in place, his hands slow and deliberate as they rolled up one white shirt sleeve to the elbow, then move to the other. “I hired you,” he said quietly, stepping forward and stopping before me, his eyes dropping to my legs. I lost a breath when his hand settled on my knee, and I uncrossed my legs, pinning them together, my hand pulling my skirt down. “I hired you because you walked into my office in your cheap little dress and I thought ‘I bet that woman will be one hell of a lay.’” His hand slid higher, up under my skirt and I stiffened, my hand falling on his forearm and pushing, resisting. He chuckled, his second hand pulling my legs apart and with a sudden jerk he pulled me to the edge of the desk, my knees spread, my skirt pushed high enough to expose the ridiculous garter straps. His eyes met mine for a moment, his fingers light and slow as they drew lines across the bare skin of my upper thighs, tracing the edge of the garter straps to the place where they crossed my panties, a lace set that matched. “I hired you because I pictured you right here, on my desk, moaning my name.”
My hands closed hard on his in the moment before his fingers moved further, the edge of my panties too close, my need too great, my composure a tiny step away from begging. I told him no with my grip and he listened, pulling his hands away, back to my stockings, then my knees. When he looked at me, his hands were already back to his tie, tightening the silk back into place. “What I didn’t do was hire you because I cared about your opinion or your advice. You make a fairly decent cup of coffee and look good in a skirt. That’s why you’re here. Don’t forget that.”
“You’re an ass.” The rough words scraped through my mouth but barely hid the tears at their formation and Cole smiled at their receipt.
“Oh yes, my dear.” He leaned forward and yanked at the edge of my skirt, covering me up with one hard motion. “That just might be the smartest thing you’ve said all day.” The response hit the script, the familiar line the only thing I could hold on to and I did, biting back a hundred stupid feminine words and I pushed off of the desk, my heels shaky when they hit the floor.
“Thank you for making your position on this point so clear, Mr. Mitchell. I’ll keep my opinions to myself from this point forth.”
“Good to hear,” he settled back into the chair and I turned away, moving to the door, looking past the camera which focused on my face and caught the tear moving down my cheek.
Later, Don would tell me I was brilliant, that the scene was perfect – one of the few in his career that had been captured in a single take. Later, I would nod and laugh and accept his praise as if I hadn’t been breaking, as if Ida and Royce had no correlation with Cole and I, as if I had been acting and not living through the skin of Ida Pinkerton.
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Hollywood Dirt Synopsis & Purchase Link
Cole Masten. Abandoned by his superstar wife, Hollywood’s Perfect Husband is now Hollywood’s Sexiest Bachelor: partying hard and screwing even harder. Watch out Los Angeles, there's a new bad boy in town.
Summer Jenkins. That’s me, a small town girl stuck in Quincy, Georgia. I cook some mean chicken and dumplins, can bluff a grown man out of his savings in poker, and was voted Most Friendly my senior year.
We were from different worlds. Our lives shouldn’t have collided. But then Cole Masten read a book about my small town. And six months later, his jet landed on our dusty airstrip, and he brought Hollywood with him.
From the start, I knew he was trouble. For our town. And for me.
Sometimes, opposites just aren’t meant to attract.
Summer Jenkins. That’s me, a small town girl stuck in Quincy, Georgia. I cook some mean chicken and dumplins, can bluff a grown man out of his savings in poker, and was voted Most Friendly my senior year.
We were from different worlds. Our lives shouldn’t have collided. But then Cole Masten read a book about my small town. And six months later, his jet landed on our dusty airstrip, and he brought Hollywood with him.
From the start, I knew he was trouble. For our town. And for me.
Sometimes, opposites just aren’t meant to attract.
"In that moment, that push, I lost every hold I had on myself and became his."
- Hollywood Dirt by Alessandra Torre
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