Book & Author Details:
by Autumn Miller
(Rags to Riches, #2)
Publication date: March 22nd 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary,
A coming of age love story about a bad influence, sweet vengeance, and a whole lot of heart.
Millie
My father – the Earl of Amhearst – intends to marry me off to a man I can neither love nor tolerate. He invites potential suitors to the Marriage Games, a series of tasks to complete before one is declared the winner.
The prize? Me.
Trapped by circumstances, my only way out of this farce sees me walking into tattoo parlours and sex clubs, looking for a suitably tattooed man that my prejudiced father will hate on sight.
Except, while the man I find will undoubtedly rile my father’s blood, forcing him to rethink his humiliating plans, the heavily inked, handsome bad boy I set my sights on makes my blood hot for entirely different reasons.
He’s all I want in the entire world. Too bad he’s only my fake boyfriend.
Mal
Being propositioned by a gorgeous young woman wearing the shortest dress known to mankind was the last thing I expected tonight.
But whatever the terms, I’m game.
Enrage her up-tight father? Done. Be her pretend lover? Try and stop me. Wear a tux and attend a lavish party for the country’s elite? I’m there.
A few days after I agree to her plea for help I find out who she really is – Lady Amelia Harrington-Scott, heiress to the indecently wealthy seat of Amhearst.
But Millie doesn’t know that I met her father – a long time ago. That he tainted the only good thing I ever had in my life. That he embodies everything I hate about the peerage.
He’s my enemy, which makes her my enemy, too.
But I didn’t know our story would be so much more than revenge, Millie right at the heart of it.
And I am blown away.
This is the second book in the Rags to Riches series. Although this is a standalone book, I strongly recommend that you read Marrying the Heiress first to avoid any spoilers and get maximum reader enjoyment. The characters featured in MTH will feature again here, their storyline extended within Loving the Bad Boy.
Mature content. Please refer to the foreword or Look Inside feature.
When she's not writing, she'll be engrossed in a book, catching up with friends in the pub, or cleaning up after a husband, three children and a dog. Failing that, she'll be dreaming up meet-cutes, gorgeous men and sassy dialogue.
Author links:
Sections of LOVING THE BAD BOY
Autumn Miller
1) This is where Millie is in a sex club, trying to track down a suitably tattooed bad boy to rile her father…..
The visual of the man leaving the room hits me instantly, like a visceral call from every single tiny piece of me. I can only watch, my heart in my throat as the man exits, running a hand through his dark hair. He looks thoroughly worn out, like he’s had a good time in that private room, and it fills me with livid, hot jealousy.
Wearing dark grey jeans and black biker boots, a black T-shirt is balled up in his fist that showcases his heavily-inked torso. And it’s magnificent, leanly strong with dense, intriguing tattoos covering just about every inch of it. I’m too far away to distinguish many, but one dominates his back: an angel. The broad black wings are spread wide, the feathers edging over the curve of his biceps. He has full-length sleeves too, but because his head is slightly bowed, all I can see is a neat beard on a cut jawline. Chestnut-brown hair flops onto his forehead even when he stabs a hand through it again, his arm muscles rippling with the movement.
He is absolutely breathtaking.
My feet move before I have a chance to think it through, desperate to follow the gorgeous man who’s already disappearing towards the front door. He’s dragging the T-shirt back on his body, and even in the relative dark of the main room I can see his back muscles work, gleaming in some light from the TV screen. He has the physique of someone who works with their body on a daily basis. Who uses their strength to hone muscle and tighten abs. Who could show a woman a fucking good time.
I want to know what lucky bitch got to be with him, working up a delicious sweat. I want to torture myself with that image, wishing it were me. Because I don’t just want to proposition this man to help me out. To enrage my father and make him rethink his plans.
I want him. I want him so badly that my heart hurts.
2) This is from Mal’s perspective…..
Millie’s lips taste salty, reminding me of past girlfriends, of past breakups. I don’t know why girls crying turns me on but it does. I like kissing away their anguish and despair, glad that it’s not just me who’s hurting in the world.
And even though I’m not the direct cause of Millie’s tears, I kind of put them there. So I drink them down, sipping at her lips, licking into her mouth and finding berries and earth and complexity.
I know a good thing when I taste it.
Damn her for making me imagine what it would be like to kiss her. To hold her in my arms and ravish her mouth, plundering all the salty sweetness. And it hits me that even in this intimate act she’s still unfathomable, a girl of contrasts. Ever since our first encounter I’ve been swinging from one assessment of her to another, trying to work her out.
At first glance, I wanted her. Then I thought her too saintly for me. Too polished. Pure and sweet to the bone. And then she riled me, insinuating things. But since then I’ve seen another side of her, one that’s a maelstrom of rage, an acid-tongued young woman who I could almost view as a kindred spirit if I believed in such things.
Her hands fist my shirt, her lips a little slower than mine but certainly keeping up, chasing me. She’s tipsy, but not so drunk she’s incapable of pushing me away or telling me to stop. Which is good, because I don’t want to stop.
I undo the bun and then smooth my hands through her silken hair until I meet the material of her dress and her waist underneath it. Holding her gently, I pull her up and over me until she’s in my lap, her fit against me precise and perfect. There’s a shocked gasp, a slight hesitation as she seats herself against my groin. And then we’re back to kissing, Millie’s mouth one I’ll happily spend time exploring.
Her dress has ridden up, showing off her thighs. Sliding a hand along that exposed skin occupies my thoughts. I think of how wet her knickers must be and how I’d rip those away before easing my fingers inside her, and then my cock.
My erection is killing me so I loosen my belt and top button.
Millie pulls back, her eyes dropping to my hands that were sorting out my rather large problem. “Just giving myself some room,” I tell her, before feasting on her mouth. It feels wrong to take her to bed when she’s in a state like this, mentally fragile and bordering on drunk. And I’m certainly not angling for anything more than just some fooling around. I might like to tease her about my boyfriend privileges - those would be fun and welcome and satisfy deep-seated needs, but tonight doesn’t feel like the right time to take advantage of those.
Plus, I’m not sure about my own mental state, not that I normally care. But it’s linked to my indecision about Millie, this idea that she’s like popcorn - sometimes sweet, sometimes salty. There are times I want to just fuck her out of sheer frustration. Out of annoyance. For all the times girls that look like her and sound like her have made fun of me. And even though I’m not so blinkered to realise Millie has never done that, some of her comments cut too close to the bone.
So despite saying I don’t care what people say about me, clearly I do. Millie affects me in a way I’ve not had to worry about for some time, shaking me up and bringing old insecurities into the light of day.
And then there’s her whispered confessions tonight, so different to the poised, well-put-together socialite she normally presents to the world. They were adorable, I have to admit. And she looked so young and beautiful and broken, and I’m a sucker for all of those things. So I kissed away her tears because I hungered for them. I craved them and the girl who shed them so effortlessly, shamelessly drowning under her emotion.
3) And back to Millie…..
Breath hot, he leaves open-mouthed kisses on my neck, each one a heartfelt apology. I feel him thicken against me, his hips flexing, rubbing his engorged length against my thigh.
“Every time we argue this is how we’re going to make up,” he murmurs into my skin, kissing his way down to my breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving it with a hot, wet tongue. “Because we will argue, Millie. But you won’t fight me about the way I’ll make it right between us. I’ll make it so good you won’t be angry for long, my little maelstrom. Buried deep inside you, you’ll forget everything but how much you need me. Want me. So I apologise for those fights now, but this is who I am. And while I can look at you and wonder how I ever deserve you, I’ll also look at you and see Lady Amelia.”