Chasing Bliss (Bliss Series Book 3) SAMPLE CHAPTERS ONLY

Assignation

This is the third book of The Bliss Series.
Book 1: Confessions of a Wedding Planner
Book 2: The Bachelor's Guide to a Perfect Proposal

All characters, events or locales in this story are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This story contains mild swearing and scenes which will make you blush. Read at your own discretion.

Chasing the Runaway Bride All rights reserved. © MishlRodriguez 2015

I do not own the photo on the cover.

Let's begin, shall we?
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Assignation: (noun) a lovers' meeting

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Let me share a secret. Hanah means "favoured" or "grace". Grace, meaning effortless beauty or charm of movement. Hanah is my second name, my secret second name.

What wasn't a secret? My second name did not suit me. I had zero grace, and I lacked charm. What I did have was a wicked body. An ass that wouldn't quit (thanks to my fabulous trainer, Diego) and boobs which stayed perky (it also helped to have connections with people in the lingerie business along the western coast). And I wasn't ashamed to use them.

But boy, did it suck at times. More like, all the time. I supposed it was my fault. My bestie, Nica had warned me time and time again that it would bite me in the ass.

I tried using my brain.

I hungered for knowledge, thirsted for facts. I absorbed clues, hints and wisdom, even from the most bizarre sources. That was me. An autodidact. I was a curious sort. For years, I'd been told that knowledge was power. Well, that was true enough. But I also learned, the hardest of ways, that some men, if not most, disliked smart women. So I had to be wise, wily. And I discovered most men responded better to hot women. It wasn't fair. It was unjust.

Non-secret number three: I am a hypocrite.

Women hated me for how I looked. Men hated me for what was in my head. Put two and two together, and what have you got? Me. A Diva. Queen Bee. I had a reputation. Like anything else I'd worked hard for, I watered it and cared for that reputation. Women thought I was a big bitch. Men thought I was an easy lay. Neither of them were completely right.

The only person who truly knew me was Nica. But there were things that even Nica didn't know. Some secrets were meant to be buried, stayed hidden in the dark for decades, never to surface into the light. Other things I wanted to keep because they were too much fun.

Case in point -- Alexandre Laurent.

Room 505. Half hour.

That damned text message was enough to wet my panties.

I stared at my phone for a good minute or two. My mind had often told me not to reply. To stay put. To resist. But the rest of my body rebelled and screamed, "Alex, oh, Alex!"

The vibration of my phone had me jumping. It almost hit the pavement, but thank goodness for quick reflexes, I caught it before that happened. Nica's drunkass face on her bachelorette party appeared on my screen. She'd asked me to delete and change the picture, but what kind of best friend would I be if I did that?

"Yeah?" I answered with little flourish.

"Did you get it?" Good ol' Nica. Business as usual.

"You know it." I swung my leg over my bike, ignoring the salacious looks I was receiving from male passerbys. Apparently, biker chicks were hotter than hot.