Bad Boys Don’t Make Good Boyfriends
Melanie A. Smith
(Life Lessons, #2)
Publication date: May 19th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
From best-selling author Melanie A. Smith comes the second book in a new series of steamy contemporary medical romance standalone novels about life lessons that break all the rules.
Even when you know better, sometimes it’s simply too tempting…
Hospital work isn’t for the faint of heart. Becca Dillon knows that firsthand, having worked as a medical assistant in the cardiac unit at Rutherford Hospital for longer than she cares to think about. What she does care to think about is having fun, gossip, and … guys. Her favorite of the three. And why stick to one, when you can sample them all?
That’s exactly her plan when a workplace crush on a mysterious bad-boy orderly unexpectedly takes a very steamy turn. But Vincent DeMarco turns out to be nothing like she expected, and before she knows it, she’s falling hard and fast. She wants him in ways she’s never wanted anyone before, but there’s something he’s keeping from her. Something that’s holding him back. And Becca is going to find out what.
Even though she knows that bad boys don’t make good boyfriends, he seems like he might be so much more. Will her quest unlock the truth behind who he really is? Or will it end their relationship for good? Either way, ready or not, Becca’s world is about to change.
Author Bio:
Melanie A. Smith is the best-selling author of The Safeguarded Heart Series and other contemporary romance fiction. Originally from upstate New York, she spent most of her childhood in the San Francisco Bay Area before moving to Los Angeles for college. After that, she spent almost fifteen years in the Seattle Area, and now lives in the Dallas-Fort Worth area of Texas with her family.
A voracious reader and lifelong writer, Melanie’s writing began at a young age with short stories and poetry. Having completed a bachelor of science in electrical engineering at the University of California, Los Angeles, and a master’s in business administration at the University of Washington, her writing abilities were mainly utilized for technical documents as a lead engineer for the Boeing Company, where she worked for ten years.
After shifting careers to domestic engineering and property management in 2015, she eventually found a balance where she was able to return to writing fiction.
Melanie is also a Mensan and enjoys spending time with her family, cooking, and driving with the windows down and the stereo cranked up loud.
I slip silently off the couch and tiptoe toward the door. A glance out the peephole shows me a
shock of dark hair and a leather jacket that instantly raises my hackles. I slip the chain off
and open the door, my indignation purposely on full display.
“Vincent,” I hiss, and his dark eyes snap up to meet mine. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes tired. But he still looks like sex and sin. Bastard.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, sounding as tired as he looks.
I slip out the front door, letting it rest against the frame behind me and folding my arms over
my chest as I glare up at him. “Well, I don’t need to talk to you,” I whisper-hiss. “How do
you even know where I live?”
“Harper,” he says with a shrug, his voice low. “And why are we whispering?”
I roll my eyes. “Sasha’s asleep on my couch,” I reply, jerking my head back toward
the inside of the apartment. “And I’m going to fucking kill Harper.”
“Don’t — I snatched your info off her phone when she wasn’t paying attention.
She really needs to use a passcode,” he says. “So can we go inside and talk, or what?
I’d really rather not do this out here.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’m sorry, was I talking to myself a second ago? I’ve got
nothing to say to you,” I reiterate.
He raises an eyebrow in return. “What happened to thinking about it?” he asks.
“Oh, I thought about it,” I assure him. “Not interested.”
A smirk settles on his gorgeous lips. “Yeah, well, as much as I doubt that that’s really
true, I’ve been doing some thinking too,” he says.
I scoff a laugh. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself,” I reply.
“Mmm, see, that right there,” he says, taking a step toward me with a glint in his eye
that’s half smolder, half warning. “You wouldn’t be angry if you didn’t feel anything.”
He stops inches shy of me, and I instinctively pull away. But my back hits the
doorframe. And there’s nowhere to go as he stares intently down at me.
“I didn’t say I didn’t feel anything. I said I’m not interested in doing anything about it,
” I insist. But my voice sounds small and unsure. I try to tell myself it’s just the physica
l effect being so close to him has on me. But staring up into his eyes has a way of stripping
me bare. The rawness in his gaze is impossible to hide from.
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