My name is Karma Gallo. If you’ve heard of me, I am sure you're remembering a story about a police raid, missing person report, or an FBI probe into my family. My father is a Chicago mob boss, and I’m his little principessa—the heir apparent with no life of my own. But in twelve days my life will change. College will do that to a girl. So will the frat boy and the bad boy—two panty-dampening guys throwing around the testosterone. They both want to help me with my panties, but what else do they want? And do I care?
:::::PRAISES:::::
“This is an enjoyable read with some hot, sizzling action between Karma and Travis. Really makes me wish I'd tried harder to go to university now!! Oh, the stuff I missed! Looking forward to Part Two!”
~Mandy, Picky Bitch’s Blog Reviews
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“Freaking brilliant! The hopeless romantic in me right now is swooning. I loved every single precious minute of this book! Romantic, funny, sexy, suspense glorious hot male that rules the roost. Hello baby! I had to be forced to put it down to do family every day stuff. lol C. Shell, please tell me I don’t have to wait long for Catching Karma. I don’t think my heart can take it! 5 huge stars! Hopeless romantics, you’re gonna love this one!”
~Tracy, Stephanie’s Book Reports
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“Noooooo! I cannot wait for book 2, C. Shell. This is torturing me. I don’t think I can cope!”
~Stephanie’s Book Reports
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I need to get laid more. First day in my new place and I am already trying to hump the local eye candy. Down girl!
He
stares at me with interest. Once again, my internal alarm is warning me
to be careful, so I nod yes, and keep my gaze on the building in front
of us instead of looking up into his face
.
With one arm looped around my waist, he takes on the majority of my
weight while flinging my bag over his other shoulder. Once positioned,
he helps me hobble across the street and into my building.
Shooting
out a few general directions while ignoring the quizzical stares from
other students wandering in my corridor, he carefully deposits me in
front of my dorm-room door. I take deep, steady breaths while gaining my
balance, which is not easy to do, with the heat of his firm body
pressed against mine. Several people scrutinize us as they pass by. No
doubt, most are from females checking out Mr. Hot Stuff. The thought of
them ogling him makes me pissy for reasons I refuse to acknowledge.
Gripping the doorknob tight against my hand, I reach around and take my bag from—shit, what is his name?
“You
forgot to give me your name,” I say, breaking another of my dad’s
rules, “Always know who you are dealing with and what their weakness
is.” I am so glad I am on my own now. At least I am far enough away that
he can’t watch my many failures. He would no doubt be disappointed in
my lack of judgment. Mr. Cocky is back in full force as a smirk tips up
from the corners of his lips. Handing me my bag, he bends down and
places his mouth against the shell of my ear. I start to pull away, but
stop as his arm encircles my waist and holds me immobile against his
chest—the very chest I have been dying to feel. I was right; it is
strong and taut, catching my attention.
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