Golden Gate Billionaires - Book Tour and Giveaway

​ They're richer than sin, hotter than hell's kitchen, and sweeter than a cinnamon roll.  

Beautiful Namesake
Golden Gate Billionaires Book 3
by Chloe del Rey
Genre: Steamy Contemporary Billionaire Romance

He’s a hot billionaire. I’m a struggling wallflower. We have nothing in common…except our name.

Jameson “Jack” Carlton gets whatever he wants with a flash of his cocksure smile. And I'm just Jameson “JJ” Carlton, a shy barista working in his gleaming tower.

He’s fifteen years older and impossibly successful. We never should have crossed paths.

Then a simple mix-up reveals more than we bargained for.

Attraction. Coincidences.

Secrets.

Soon his ravenous eyes strip my layers bare, seeing straight through to my secret talents and hidden desires…

One molten heartbeat later, we’re tousling in thousand thread-count sheets.

I feel like a foreigner in his world of luxury and excess. But when he comes into mine, all hell breaks loose.
Because some secrets are etched in bloodlines.

His family’s music empire and my family’s working-class struggles are linked by a bond that shocks us both.
Being with Jack would devastate my family.

But if our relationship stays off-limits, my heart will go into freefall…


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​As if she senses me, JJ turns at my approach, her mouth shaped in an “o” of surprise for an instant before blooming into a smile that looks a hell of a lot like pleasure. Her head tilts slightly as she takes in my appearance, nothing like the suit I wore the other day. I’m in faded skinny jeans ripped at the knees, a low-slung leather belt, black leather jacket, and well-worn band T-shirt. I’ve had this shirt since their first tour, about eight years ago.
JJ was probably still in high school eight years ago, I think to myself and then push the thought aside. Even if that were true, she’s all grown up now.
I wave and her cheeks flush, and she tentatively waves back before looking away quickly.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask, laying a light hand on the crook of her arm to catch her attention again.
She seems momentarily stunned but quickly recovers with a sweet smile, showing off that cute dimple on her right cheek. “Jack, right?”
“Good memory.” I nod and grin, then wave to Opal and JJ’s other two friends before gesturing to my right.
“What are you doing here?”
I lean closer, feeling mischief on my lips. “I could ask you the same thing. VIP tickets aren’t easy to come by…”
Her eyes spark with recognition as she gives me some side-eye. “Are you suggesting something?”
“Only that they were intended for a certain Jameson Carlton who works in the Megaton Records building.”
“Well there ya go.” She smiles and crosses her arms over her chest. “That would be me.”
“You sure about that?” I reply with a chuckle.
“JJ’s only a nickname. Are you saying you don’t believe me, Jack?”
“Jack’s only a nickname.” We’re pushed closer together as the crowd jostles forward, close enough for me to smell her amber and orange blossom perfume mixed with sweat and excitement. Intoxicating. I extend my right hand. “It’s Jameson. Jameson Carlton.”
Behind her glasses, her thick-lashed brown eyes widen in adorable confusion. She stares at me in disbelief, covering her open mouth with her left hand while she takes my proffered hand in her right. Her skin is a dream—soft and supple, shooting a spark through my chest. Our fingertips linger for just a moment after our handshake officially ends.
“No way.”
“The one and only.” I shrug with mock modesty, enjoying her reaction. “Sorry, I guess I’m not the one and only now, am I?”
“So we’re like…name twins?” she stammers out.
“Looks like it.”
“And I, uh…took your tickets?” She swallows, and her brows pinch with worry.
“Something like that.” I hold my hands up to show that I mean no ill will. “No harm done. As you can see, it didn’t hold me back from being here.”
“Okay, but…” Her eyes narrow. “Do I owe you something? Because I can’t—”
“Just a good time.” I have to raise my voice over the crowd noise that’s getting louder with each passing moment, wishing the timing was better.
“I—I owe you what?” The way she’s chewing her glossy red lip, it’s obvious she’s still worried she’s done something wrong. And it’s only now that I realize how my words must have sounded.
“Oh shit. You don’t owe me a good time.” I’m backpedaling. Hard. “I want you to have a good time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me at the café?”
“Why question a good thing if it falls into your lap?” I lean in closer to her ear so she can hear me over the crowd. “Consider it a perk of being in the Jameson Carlton club.” Thank God, she smiles.
“Okay, I accept.” JJ’s eyes blaze with a fire I didn’t see in the shy barista at the coffee shop. “One Jameson to another.”
“Damn right, you do. And considering that sketch of yours I saw…” My eyes meet hers, and then I cast them toward the stage. “I have a feeling you appreciate a little spectacle.” Her cheeks turn a shade of red that could give any sunset a run for its money.
But there’s no time for her to dwell in embarrassment because the band members of Shadow and the Sun burst onto the stage. I grab her hand, weaving through a couple pockets of fans to a cordoned off area at the base of the stage.
“Come on, name twin,” I shout over the first blast of music, “let’s dance!”
We lose ourselves in the rhythm and JJ lights up, hinting at the side of her I’ve only just barely glimpsed. My eyes are half on the band and half on her as she lets loose, and something primal within me comes to life. Those curves…she knows how to move them.
And I can’t seem to take my eyes off her lips as she sings along. The way they’re painted glossy red and just slightly parted, the sight of her open mouth makes my mind go places.
Before I know it, I’m imagining how that mouth might feel on me, what she’d sound like if we were alone together, what that body would feel like pressed up against mine in a delicious rhythm like the one she’s moving to now…
It’s been a while since a woman has sparked my imagination like this. It’s the contrast that gets me. Even shy and unassuming behind the counter in the café, she had a magnetic pull that I can’t say for sure was because of her name or just because of her easy presence.
But every little sway of her hips, the wavelet of hair that’s just sprung loose from her bun…there’s more to this girl than meets the eye, and something in me can’t help but speculate whether sketching lingerie designs isn’t her only hidden passion.
“Oof!” JJ’s voice breaks me out of my spell as a couple of overenthusiastic dancers jostle into her. She stumbles and grasps for my arm, her pale pink lacquered fingernails lightly—deliciously—digging into my skin, lighting up every circuit in me. Her body collides with mine, her ass dangerously close to my crotch. A whiff of perfume and the feel of her softness against me, and that’s it.
I want her.
​

Not My Billionaire Boyfriend
Golden Gate Billionaires Book 2

Challenging my biggest rival to a dating contest was all fun and games. Until I find out I’m sleeping with the enemy.

The dating app I built was the best in the business until an unlucky-in-love blogger ripped our reputation to shreds.

So I put my money where my mouth is: if she can’t find love using my app, I’ll give her a cool million.

I'll even play along.

We use fake identities to keep it fair. I’m a billionaire, after all.

It only takes one sheet-ripping date with a smart, sexy schoolteacher, and I know I’ve got this competition in the bag.

I’m falling. Hard.

But I haven’t told her who I really am, and she’s starting to suspect I have secrets.

Turns out, I’m not the only one who has to come clean…

The new woman of my dreams has been hiding something too.

Now, our fiery passion feels like mutually assured destruction.

Are we going down in flames, or have the games just begun?


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​POV: Luke

[A couple context notes to the reader before you get into it: Luke and Adelaide are the real names of MMC and FMC, but neither of them know it. They know each other as “Lewis” and “Alison.” The reader is aware that they are each other’s biggest public detractors. But of course, they don’t know that yet… MMC thinks FMC is a high school math teacher; FMC thinks MMC is a carpet salesman.]

I park on the far end of the parking lot at 18 Shades of Green and take a moment to feel the heft of my phone in my hand. Then I shove it in the glove compartment, lock it up, and slide out of the car. I drove the Rivian R1S tonight, in the hopes that this date might not end at mini golf. An SUV with a six-figure price tag is a little bit conspicuous, but I can explain that lots of ways. No explanation on earth could justify why a carpet salesman drives a five-million-dollar Bugatti.
As I scan the entrance gate, my eyes instantly lock onto Alison. She stands out like an earthbound angel as I approach, her long blonde hair shiny in the light of the entryway. She’s wearing a sporty little green skirt that ends just above her knees, a tight white T-shirt that leaves little to the imagination, and flat leather sandals revealing toenails painted coral pink. My mind wanders back to the end of our last date, and all I want is to continue where we left off. I know I haven’t earned it.
“Well, well, well,” she greets me playfully. “If I didn’t know you, I’d mistake you for a pro.” I’m wearing light-colored plaid shorts and a pale blue polo shirt for the occasion.
“Brought my A game,” I tell her, brushing my hand at her waist and kissing her soft cheek. I might linger a second longer than is absolutely necessary.
We get our clubs and balls, and Alison leads me to the first hole. It’s basically the warm-up—putt the ball through the gnome’s legs, bank it off the back, and land it in the hole.
“Ladies first.” I extend my arm like a gentleman, but she shakes her head.
“There’s a milkshake on the line. I insist you go first so I can study your technique.”
“Hoping to intimidate me, huh? I’m not afraid.” I exaggerate shifting my weight from foot to foot and make a show of surveying the lay of the astroturf at the starting point.
“Quit stalling,” Alison says in a singsong.
I point two fingers at my eyes, then at hers, and then I attend to my putt, easily nailing the hole in one. “Any questions?”
“Oh, I’m not studying your technique so I can learn from you.” She smirks and takes no time making her hole in one. When she retrieves both of our balls, her skirt rides up just enough to give me a mouthwatering glimpse of those toned thighs I’ve been wondering about. “Just making some observations so I can give you pointers later.”
“Tsk, tsk,” I say. “Such trash out of such a pretty mouth. It’s a shame.”
We make our way to the next hole. I haven’t played mini golf since my brothers and I were kids and we’d go to Lake Tahoe with our grandparents. They were the best times—not just because of the lake, the mini golf, or the fact that it was the only time anyone spoiled us. They were the best times because my brothers and I felt safe.
As much as this brings back happy memories, I admit I’m a little rusty. I’m a pretty serious triathlete, and I hold my own on a golf course. My reflexes and spatial awareness are excellent, but Alison is matching or beating me, shot for shot. Between her effortless play, the challenging flash in her eyes as she taunts me, and the way our hands graze every time golf balls change hands, my cock is putting me on notice.
On the ninth hole, the course difficulty starts to ramp up. I’ve planned my trajectory through two windmills, a water trap, and a fire-spurting dragon and I’m lining up my shot while Alison stands to my left, eyeing me with skepticism. I give her a pointed “you can’t touch this” look and turn my eyes toward the ball. Just as I’m starting my swing, she leans into me, her right breast brushing my bicep, her fingertips just barely grazing my ass. “Don’t screw up, Lewis,” she whispers, sending a jolt of heat to my balls. I take the shot anyway and practically knock the ball out of the green.
“Not fair, Teach.” I turn toward her, intentionally grazing her nipple where her breast touches my arm as I do, leaving no more than an inch between the rest of us. I shake my head, unable to control my wolfish grin as she looks up at me. “I deserve a do-over for that.”
“The fact that I’m here? This is your do-over.” She raises one glossed lip in a playful sneer, not backing away.
“Oh yeah? And how am I doing?” I can feel my pulse in my crotch.
“Jury’s still out, but I’ll tell you one thing,” she says. “You got lousy concentration.” She turns her perky little ass toward me as she sidles up to the starting position. When she deftly navigates her ball through the obstacles without batting an eye, leaving it just inches from the hole, I start to suspect a con.
“So tell me…” I follow close behind her as she bends over to pick up her ball after her two-under-par. When she’s bent over, I get even closer. Not as close as I want, though.
As she stands up, it’s my turn to surprise her. “Do you always play dirty?” She jumps with a little shriek before she leans back against my chest. I grasp her forearm and rasp into her ear. “Sneaking up behind me when I’m about to take my shot? Not telling me you were a ringer?”
Alison turns around, those hypnotic eyes raking over my face as she leans on her putter. Her lips part, then quirk into a saucy smile. “You should have done your homework.”
“Oh, I’m studying now, Teach.” I let my putter fall to the side with a little thud. My left hand drops to her waist and my right hand cups her cheek. I nuzzle my stubbled cheek against her smooth one, lips hovering next to hers for one delicious moment of anticipation before those delectably plush lips finally meet my own.
The tiniest little hum escapes Alison’s lips—a sound I’m already aching to hear again the minute it fades. My right hand moves to her hair, the rich scent of ylang ylang and honey overtaking me. I lick her lips—strawberries and cream—and part them with my tongue as hers gently flicks and teases mine. My body hums with electricity, every cell alive and on alert.
As first kisses go, this is a scorcher.
We pull away, meeting forehead to forehead, breathing in sync. When we part, Alison’s eyes skim my face and chest, and I wonder if she can tell my heart is beating double-time.
Then her smirk returns. “You have a putt to finish.”
As I pick up my putter from where I let it fall, a short woman with dark hair and a look of intensity approaches us, her eyes lighting up as she sees Alison.
“Hi! Didn’t expect to see you here,” the woman says, looking at Alison with familiarity.
Alison’s eyes grow wide. “Wow! Me neither. What are you doing here?”
“Hanging out with a couple friends from journalism school.”
“Uh-huh.” Alison nods, shooting the quickest of glances my way before she trains her eyes back on the stranger.
I wait for an introduction, but none comes. I shift and clear my throat, but nobody takes the hint.
“Hi, I’m Lewis,” I say, extending my hand to the woman.
“Be—” she starts.
“B-Bethany. My friend from spin class,” Alison cuts in.
Bethany shoots Alison an undecipherable look, and Alison shoots an equally cryptic one back. Something shifts in the energy between them, and Bethany turns toward me and shakes my proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, Lewis.” She then turns back to Alison. “Good running into you. I’ll be in touch soon, huh?”
Alison nods. “See you in spin class.”
“Sure, sure.” Bethany gives us both a wave and walks off to join a couple other people a few holes back.
Once she’s out of earshot, I can’t help but notice that Alison’s body language doesn’t have the same playful ease. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I tease her, “Had a friend ‘run into us’ here to check up on us, huh? Make sure I’m treating you right?”
Alison laughs, but it sounds forced, not like her others. “Just a coincidence,” she insists.
“Good,” I say with a grin. “But just in case, what’s your safe word?”
“If you must know, it’s Fibonacci.” A glint in her eye, her playful ease has returned.
“Nerdy as fuck,” I say. “But I like it.” I chuckle as I turn back to the game, determined to salvage my score.
Salvage my score. Bad choice of words, Walker. This isn’t a score. I don’t know what it is, but I do know that I’m enjoying the hell out of getting bested by a hot, feisty blonde. Especially one whose safe word happens to be the name of one of history’s most brilliant mathematicians.
Despite my complete and utter distraction I somehow sink my shot on the next try, putting my score within two points of Alison’s. “Not bad,” she appraises with raised eyebrows.
“Maybe I’ve been letting you off easy,” I tell her as we walk to the next hole.
“Show me what you got,” she says.
“Believe me. I can’t wait to.” I reach for her hand and pull her toward me, hungry to lick those taunts right off her lips.
“Mr. Nelson?” A youthful voice breaks to the surface of my consciousness, but I ignore it as background noise, all focus on my date and the imminent taste of strawberries and cream. Until someone coughs lightly behind us.
It’s almost painful to pull myself away from Alison, but whoever’s there isn’t going away. I look over my shoulder and wave him away. “I think you’re looking for someone else.”
“Uh, I don’t think so, unless there’s a mistake,” a redheaded teenager wearing a STAFF T-shirt blushes. “Lewis Nelson? The reservation is under your name.”
Fuck. I forgot my fake last name.
​

My Bossy Billionaire Ex
Golden Gate Billionaires Book 1 

My ex crushed my heart on our wedding day. Now he needs me to save his company?
Screw that.

I never got over Jonah Wright – surfer-turned-billionaire CEO, my first and only true love.

Between his sun-kissed beach body and brilliant mind, he lit me up like a sparkler.

But he shattered my heart at the altar, and I’ve been picking up the pieces ever since.

Now he’s the big shot billionaire on my campus, throwing money at my students and me to fix his broken project.

My ex and I go from tearing each other a new one to tearing each other’s clothes off.

Our chemistry is hotter than ever.

But I don't know if I can forgive the wounds of the past…


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​POV: Codie (FMC)

A group of about twenty of us assembles in the robotics lab—Jonah and his team, the six of us faculty from Merrifield, and ten of our best and brightest students, including Shawna and Kenny. We all circle around a large table in the middle of the room.
All attention is focused on my billionaire CEO ex. Today he’s traded in his designer suit for jeans, sneakers, and a sunshine-yellow T-shirt that sets off the color in his blue eyes. His tan, muscled arms bring back sense memories I can’t shake, and his jeans hug his toned ass perfectly. His wavy hair isn’t quite so smoothly coiffed as it was yesterday; it’s practically begging to have fingers run through it.
Fucking stupid Jonah and his stupidly optimal genetic profile.
He addresses the group with an introduction. “This is Prasad, one of our top engineers at Wrightside.” He gestures to a slender, smiling man of about thirty who waves at us. “Prasad will do a quick demo of the RIDA prototype, then we’ll have a few of you come up and try some test interactions.”
“Great. I’ll just show some basics so that you can see how RIDA responds to voice commands.” Prasad powers up the robot and begins his demo. RIDA is about two feet tall and clunky as heck, something like a cross between a giant tin can and an oversized Swiss Army knife with a screen on the flat base at the top. “RIDA, can I have a cold beer?”
“Yes, Prasad. I’ll get you one,” comes the female voice from the makeshift speaker. The robot lurches forward on the table and her claw arm extends out, opening the door of a mini-fridge that was set up for the demo.
“Through simple word combinations, RIDA can understand the home she serves. She can recognize hundreds of items around your household, including groceries, and she knows, for example, that the refrigerator keeps things cold.” RIDA uses a claw arm to pick up a beer and deposits it into a compartment that opens up in her center. Then she scoots back over to Prasad, who proudly removes the beer, cracks it open, and takes a swig. “Put that together, and you have a robot who can serve you drinks.”
We all pretend not to notice when foam squirts out of the pull-tab, having been shaken just a little too hard on the all-of-three-foot journey.
My students and I exchange worried glances. Just for fun the other day, Kenny made a walking, solar-powered mini-fridge as a joke. I was so tickled with Fridgebot that I drank three Dr. Peppers in a row, forgetting that its secret ingredient is prunes.
Story for another day.
The point is, this demo isn’t doing anything to knock our socks off. The underlying principle is okay, but only just okay. And the execution is beyond flawed, even for a prototype.
“Do you mind if I ask RIDA some questions?” I ask, approaching the robot.
“Please,” says Jonah.
“RIDA, where is my hand?” I ask.
“Sorry, I don’t understand that question,” says RIDA.
“RIDA, what kind of mood am I in?” I ask, putting a big smile on my face. RIDA’s screen goes blank.
I look at Jonah. “So RIDA understands the physical world, but not her human companions?”
Jonah nods. “She understands data and objects. Human cues are too complex for RIDA’s processing.” I have to hold back a snort. Like man, like robot. All of a sudden, RIDA’s shortcomings are putting me in a good mood. And my world-famous expert of an ex doesn’t seem to have a clue where he’s gone wrong.
I try not to revel in the moment too long, focusing on the task at hand. “Okay, so what about all of these attachments? What can RIDA do besides grab, pinch, and carry?”
At the sound of my words, RIDA comes back to life. “Grab, pinch, and carry. Okay, I’ll do that,” she says. The robot turns toward me, extends a claw, and grabs the belt loop of my jeans. She pulls and pulls, as if she’s trying to take me somewhere.
I’m vaguely aware of the reaction around the room as I grapple with how to disentangle myself from the little robot. People are wincing, and George is shielding his eyes with his arm. But I try to keep my composure. “Let go, RIDA,” I command, trying hard to keep the skin around my waist covered up as RIDA keeps pulling at my jeans.
“Sorry. That action is unsafe,” says RIDA.
Jonah rushes forward. “Let me help.” Before I know it he’s standing behind me, inches away. I can smell his scent of oak and bay, and it’s all I can do not to lean backward into his chest and inhale.
“Stand still, Codie,” he says, quietly. As he gently manipulates the little robot arm that will not let go of my clothes, the back of his warm hand grazes my bare skin, just at the small of my back.
Who knew there was a nerve that ran from my back straight to my nipples? I feel his touch everywhere, from where he touches me to the bottom of my toes, between my thighs, and all the way up to the heat I feel creeping up my cheeks. Fucking fuck. He can’t get to me like this. I have to pull it together.
“You got it yet?” I ask Jonah, channeling all my irritation so that I can avoid these other feelings of…whatever’s going on that’s making me turn to mush.
“Just about there,” he says. I hear a click, and my belt loop has been set free.
“Thank you,” I say. I wheel around to face the robot again and realize that Jonah’s still so close to me that I can feel the warmth from his body. I tear myself away, taking a step to the side so that there’s a healthy distance between us again. I lean over the table to get a closer look at RIDA. “What’s up with the mechanism here? Why didn’t it let go?”
Jonah leans down in front of RIDA too, his face level with her attachments. “See this part?” He gestures toward a piece of her machinery. But before he can say another word, RIDA’s claw goes haywire. It retracts, moves down, and then extends—punching Jonah right in the eye.
“Ooooh, that’s gotta hurt,” says Prasad, as a mix of laughter and groans comes from the team of onlookers. I’m on the laughter side of this equation. I’ll happily watch one of Jonah’s inventions give him the comeuppance he deserves.
“Thanks—I’m okay, just a minor malfunction,” says Jonah, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sure it can be ironed out.” Jonah has backed away from RIDA, but there's a cut starting to bleed under his eye. Aw. I can only take delight in someone else’s pain to a certain degree.
“Looks like you’re bleeding a little bit,” I say. “I’ll get you some first aid.”
“I’ve got it,” says Adelaide, rushing to the first aid kit attached to the wall behind her. “Here, Mr. Wright. I’ve got some antiseptic right here.”
Jonah looks at Adelaide, and then looks at me. I merely raise my eyebrows. “He’s all yours,” I tell her, backing away and trying to ignore the little stab of jealousy I feel. Adelaide clucks and coos and takes her time dabbing one little antiseptic wipe on his upper cheekbone. I’ve honestly never seen her like this, but I get it.
It’s hard to act rational around Jonah Wright.

Chloe del Rey works in the video game industry by day and dreams up smart, sexy, messy romances by night. Chloe lives in Northern California with her grumpy dog.

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