the surface, Jordan seems skin-deep. But peel back the layers of this complex character, and you’ll discover a big heart and the secrets weighing on it.
Seduced in San Diego is a fun, glamorous, sexy and emotional ride as Jordan and Sasha find their way to each other.
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Happy reading,
Reese Ryan
Dedicated to all of the remarkable readers I’ve met during my publishing journey. You support African American and multicultural romance with your hard-earned dollars, valuable time, honest reviews and enthusiastic word of mouth. We are nothing without you.
Shannon Criss and Keyla Hernandez, it has truly been a pleasure to work with you both. Thank you for your confidence in me, your patience and your enthusiastic support of my career, which has opened the door to additional opportunities within Harlequin.
Thank you to the Kimani editors, copywriters, cover artists and marketing team for your support. It has been an honor to be counted among the ranks of the remarkable Kimani Romance authors I have long admired.
Contents
Jordan Jace made a hard turn into the car park of the Prescott George headquarters. He got out, slamming the door of his black Karma Revero. Jordan glared at the stone-and-brick building.
He didn’t appreciate being summoned to HQ. Vaughn Ellicott may have been a lieutenant when he served in the navy. But as a civilian, Vaughn was the treasurer of the San Diego chapter of Prescott George, not his commanding officer.
Jordan had joined Prescott George, or the Millionaire Moguls, as they were more commonly known, as a concession to his parents. He was the outlier in a family of wealthy London bankers who also had financial interests here in San Diego. His membership in the Millionaire Moguls was his way of throwing them a bone so they’d let go of their hopes that he’d eventually join the family business.
Jordan caught a glimpse of himself in the glass as he approached the building. Overpriced, tattered jeans. A T-shirt that read Icon. An unbuttoned, blue check shirt. Black motorcycle boots. His thick, curly hair grown out in twists.
He was no bloody banker. Artist. Metal sculptor. Professional badass. Any of the above applied. But a banker?
Not in this lifetime or the next.
Jordan checked his watch. It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. The opening for the latest exhibit of his work at his art gallery, Sorella, began in six hours.
Vaughn better make this quick.
Jordan scanned the modern, industrial space. Exposed brick. Concrete floors. Metal railings. Offices with glass walls and doors. Masculine, minimalist, modern furniture. No one was milling about the club.
He
