Violet Luna is a new brand of “It Girl.”

Young.

Beautiful.

Executive Director of a viral sensation dating app.

To the outside world, her life is an unattainable fantasy of glitz and glamor. Well... the “fantasy” part is true.

Reeling from a nasty break-up with an up-and-coming movie star, Violet is painfully aware that it will tarnish her company’s reputation if she shows up to their annual retreat alone. What’s a girl to do but hire the most devastatingly sexy elite male escort she can find?

Gabriel de Graaf was meant to be nothing more than a dirty little secret as Violet dared to walk on the wild side. But when he awakens a passion within her, Violet soon realizes that one night with this handsome Dutchman won't be close to enough...

Author L.B. Alexander delivers a gender-swapped Pretty Woman romance that will leave readers swooning over each sizzling page!

I’d never before subscribed to the aphoristic notion correlating a man’s ability to dance with his ability to perform in bed.

That was until I danced with Gabriel de Graaf.

Still stewing from my ego-crushing exchange with Nathan, I accepted a shot of Glenlivet, downed a glass of Dom Perignon, and even took a mild puff off of a low-dose sativa pen, before following Gabriel onto the dance floor, twisting and shaking my body as if I were in a nightclub.

And that direct contact with his body, surrounded by smoky darkness and too-loud music, was more arousing than any foreplay I’d ever experienced.

It was as if I’d only taken small hits of Gabriel throughout the night, and now I was really experiencing the soaring high that he was. He was a potent force, lust personified in the otherworldly form of a man way too beautiful for the mortal realm. I drunkenly imagined him as the ancient vinous deity as he towered over me on the dance floor, his electric gaze captivating me even through the throng of tipsy bodies and pulsing beats. He was silently commanding, with his eyes and with his body, and I’d become a lascivious worshipper, his maenad, eager and ecstatic to dance for him.

He was confident as he rhythmically moved, gently domineering, expertly guiding me as I awkwardly swayed in the heels that were starting to ache.

As if he sensed that my feet were hurting, Gabriel suddenly stood even closer, wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and actually lifted me several inches off the floor.

The DJ was playing a dirty remix of a Cardi B track, amplified by a prolonged, sexy bass line that empowered my inner stripper, and I became acutely aware of the steady bump and roll of Gabriel’s hips against my backside as I curled against him in our new position.

He paused against me for a brief second as the bass dropped low, and I could have sworn I felt something—something hard—positioned right against me.

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