Rating:

“But every fairy tale has a villain, someone waiting in the wings to rip it all down. A scoundrel who will set the world on fire if that means he gets what he wants.
That's me. I'm the bad guy.”

Have you ever been obsessed about a book, set a high expectation, get what you've expected and more? Yeah, this book. That's what it is for me.

“She was made for me, just as I'd been fashioned from the darkest materials for her.”

Sebastian Lindstrom is the villain of this story, the black knight, the perfect psychopath. And every line that had spewed from his mouth is the stereotypical lines that came from every story with a psychopath villain in the books I've previously read and probably will read in the future.

But there's something in him, creepy that he is, that I find humor in. Probably because he's thoughts are actually illogical but that he believed in them. I repeat, the perfect psycho. I may compare him to Parker, my favorite thief from The Leverage, in the way he reasons, his intelligence, and his analytical process on how he understands emotions.


Camille Briarlane on the other hand, is a teacher that is passionate in teaching and plants and sweet and nerdy and oh so sexy. I like her character a lot. And she's not the stereotypical female heroine that although she's a damsel in distress, she was smart and she used her head in every situation.

“I'm drawn to your spark of darkness the same way you're drawn to the ocean of mine. We aren't magnets pulled together by a weak force; we create our own gravity for each other.”

I really cannot pinpoint what endears me to this story so much. It may probably be the fact that Sebastian is so creepy but you can't help but be drawn and love his character, or the fact that he stole a woman because he thinks they were meant for each other. Or it could be that it has a psychological factor on how he reasons, and it just came to mind that if Sebastian gets psycho test, he knows what to answer depending on the mood that he wants the doctor to get after examining his results. He is so the male version of Parker!

Or its just that even if Camille is soft hearted, she has a devious streak in here. It may be also the unconditional love Sebastian's father have for him. Whatever it is, this book has made me giddy and obsessed.

This is definitely my favorite Celia Aaron to date! This story is dark that it will test your morals, but is full things I find humor in. The science involve is definitely sexy and oh so hot for me. Intelligent conversations and psycho-analyzing. Just my kind of read!

“Where you're concerned, I'll be as creepy as necessary to make you happy.”

Title: The Bad Guy

Author: Celia Aaron

Genre: Dark Romance

Cover Design: PopKitty

Release Date: May 21, 2017

What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?

“This is so not my color.” I spun in the dressing room mirrors, all three reflecting the pink confection of a dress my mother had picked.

Over the years, the Graves had suffered plenty of hardships—when the good caviar was out of season, when that one maid failed to do proper hospital corners when she made the beds, or even that time when Kerfuffles, Mom’s prized Dandie Dinmont Terrier, destroyed my father’s autographed baseball from the ’56 World Series where Don Larsen threw a perfect game. Each time there was a setback, the Graves rallied in the only way we knew how. We shopped.

I wasn’t into it like Mom, but if buying me new clothes got her off my back about Braden—and finally gave me some breathing room—I was all for it. I couldn’t go back to the apartment, not until I knew what my course of action would be. So, a day of shopping didn’t sound so bad while I mulled things over.

“I think you look lovely in it.” My mother walked around, her critical eye examining it from every angle.

“What will I wear it to? My quinceañera?”

“I’m sure you have plenty of weddings to attend next spring. In this, you’ll outshine the bride.” She smiled.

“Yes, Mom, because my goal is always to ruin the bride’s special day by flouncing around in a sherbet-colored dress and flashing my panties at all the boys, including the groom.” I stepped down from the modeling podium and walked into my separate changing area. I didn’t mention that I had, on plenty of occasions, bagged a groomsman or two at my friends’ weddings, often using similar tactics to what I just described.

Mom gave an over-dramatic sigh. “Stop being difficult, and try on the next dress.”

“This one is the newest from the Valentino line.” The snooty shopping assistant reassured my mother that she was, for certain, buying the most expensive shit in all of Saks. “I wish I could have been at the runway show. It was faboosh, beyond transcendentine, positively luxotic.”

“Those aren’t words,” I muttered and fought the zipper on my mother’s next selection. This one wasn’t so bad. It was a sky blue sheath that fell mid-thigh and had an interesting peasant-top ruffle at the bust line.

I walked out and stood on the podium as the assistant—a man wearing more makeup than I owned—flittered about and crowed about the fit.

Mom took a swig of the complimentary champagne. “Cyrano, she looks like a barmaid.”

I smiled at myself in the mirror. “It’s my favorite one so far. Tit-tastic.” If a dress made it look like I had actual breasts that were bigger than a teacup, then I was sold.

“An excellent choice. The bodice is ahead of its time. I have a feeling peasant will be in three years from now.” Cyrano—if that was actually his name—twirled one side of his too-thick mustache and affected a lisp that screamed “flamer.” But he wasn’t fooling me. I’d seen him checking out my tits and ass while I modeled my dresses. He was straight, but likely knew that pretending to like the dick was the surest way to get commissions in a Saks dressing room.

Let’s test this theory. I smirked and headed back into the changing area. After yanking my zipper halfway down, I called, “My zipper is stuck. Cyrano, a little help?”

He pushed through the white curtain and let it fall behind him. His eyes took in my bare back and bra strap.

“I can’t quite get it.” I smiled at him in the mirror.

“Allow me, mademoiselle.” He gripped the zipper and pulled it down easily. “There we are.”

I let the dress fall to the floor and turned to face him. His gaze froze on my tits, then lowered to the lace over my pussy.

I plucked at the edge of my panties, pulling them away from my hip. Then I looked at him through my lashes. “Do you think I’d have to go without panties in that dress. Did you see a line?”

He licked his lips. “I-I think—” His voice had lowered two octaves in the space of ten seconds.

When I saw his boner at war with the front of his skinny pants, I laughed. “So busted. Quit ogling my pussy, and go entertain my mom.”

“What?” He cleared his throat and raised his voice into a nasal pitch again. “Oh, vaginas are so icky. I would never—”

“Tell it to your boner.” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave his crotch a pointed stare.

He dropped the act. “Look, I make good money this way, okay? When I played it straight, women never took my style advice. Style is my life, and this is the only way I can be around it and make money at it. Please don’t say anything.”

Guilt filtered through me, and I dropped my arms. “I’m not judging. Well, I’m not now, anyway. I was just messing with you.”

He smiled a little. “What gave me away?”

“Your roving eye.”

“I’ve been trying to work on that, but when I see a beautiful woman.” He gestured at me. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

An idea struck me like a wild pitch. “You get the inside scoop on designer clothes and what the customers come in here looking for all the time, right?”

He ran his thumbs up and down his bright pink suspenders. “Yeah. It’s kind of my job.”

“I’ll tell you what—wait, what’s your name?”

“Cyrano.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, your real name.”

His shoulders drooped. “Cyrus.”

“Okay, Cyrus. You agree to let me interview you for my magazine, and I won’t tell everyone what a true pussy-fiend you are. Sound like a deal?”

“Magazine?” He twirled his mustache.

“I work for Style and Substance.”

His eyes lit up, and he grabbed my upper arms. “Are you shitting me?”

I shook my head. “Not even a little shitting. Not so much as a shart.”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. Then he ran his hands down my arms. “Sorry about that. It’s just, that’s my favorite fashion mag. It’s so down-to-earth but also classy beyond belief.”

His enthusiasm had my mind whirling in all different directions, but first things first.

“Good.” I plucked one of his business cards from the front pocket of his plaid shirt. “I’ll be in touch, Cyrano.”

My Review:

A book that makes me smile, and makes my heart swell, and makes my day after I’ve read the last word, in my opinion, is a good book. No, scratch that. A great book.

What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?

I shot back against the cushion, doing my best to act normal. Nik pushed the door open. “Hey, babe. I was waiting for my dessert course.” I made a show of scrubbing my hand across my mouth and face like I was clearing her a space.

“I’m good.” Her tone was flat, and she didn’t even look at me.

What the hell?

Her usual spark was gone. She sauntered over to the side table, and dropped her keys and bag on it.

I glanced down at the laptop screen full of porn. Fuck! I’d been researching some new shit to try out with her, but there was no way she’d believe me. My gaze drifted to the mouse way up under the table. There was no chance I could get to it without giving away my knee situation.

Using my good leg, I tried to gently kick the computer screen closed, and, of course, it only opened wider.

“Have you moved from the couch all night? Did you even shower?” She sighed, still facing the wall like she had no interest in looking at me.

“What’s wrong, babe? What happened?” My mind raced. A lot could have occurred at Estate de CuntMuffin that would set her off. I’d been worried the whole time she was gone.

“I’m fine.” She turned around, and I watched her eyes dart straight to the computer screen. Her brows pinched together and her hands went to her hips.

Fuck me. This won’t be good.

“Nice, Braden. Real fucking nice.”

“It’s not what you think. I don’t look at porn.” I stared in the other direction and mumbled. “Often.”

“Your fingers slip and accidentally type in ‘fuckmedaddy.com?’” She scowled and began to pace back and forth.

I’d expected her to be upset about the porn, but not this much. I was halfway hoping she’d want to look at it with me. “No. I was trying to find new stuff to try out on you. If you must know.”

Her lips curled like she might smile, and then they mashed back into a thin line.

So close.

“Have they said if you’re going to be traded or not?” She took another step toward me, ignoring all of the pussy acrobatics flashing on the laptop.

“No.” I tilted my head to my lap and ground my teeth while I tried to compose myself. I’d been trying to forget about that shit all day, but the pain in my knee kept it front and center in my mind.

She made a pfft sound and threw her arms in the air.

“Babe, I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to have a clue what you’re upset about. I just don’t.”

A million things rocketed through my mind at once and brought my entire thought process to a crashing halt. My brain buffered slower than the inverted cowgirl pussy nomming scene I’d attempted to watch earlier.

Nik scowled, and then folded her arms across her chest. She stared me down like a closer in the ninth inning. “Think really really hard about the problem we have.”

My eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “Uhh, your parents?” I glanced back and tried to judge her reaction.

She made a loud sound like a buzzer that startled me.

“Fucking hell. I mean, umm, me being traded?” I held my hands up and shrugged.

“Warmer.” She took another step toward me.

I hated this fucking guessing game. Why couldn’t she just say it? Heat rushed into my face, and my body tensed.

“Can you just tell me? Please. Stop fucking around with me.” I smacked my hand against the back of the sofa, and Nik jumped.

“Maybe my parents were right. Maybe you do have anger issues.” She stomped off a few steps and whipped back around. “Easton!”

“Take that shit back. You know I don’t. Maybe your goddamn family just brings it out of everyone. Maybe you’re more like your mo—” I froze stiff on the couch, and my eyes bugged out. I held up my hands. “I stopped myself. You heard me. I did not say it.”

It was too late. I thought my head was going to explode the way Nik glowered in my direction. Her hands were squeezed into fists at her sides, and I could see all the whites of her knuckles. She started toward me like a possessed demon. “Did you say what I think you said?”

Do not answer, Braden. That shit is rhetorical. Adapt and survive.

I shook my head quickly and braced myself in case she resorted to physical violence.

Celia Aaron

Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

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Sloane Howell

Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

Visit his web page www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.

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