Enjoy the following excerpt for Finder’s Keeper:
His chuckle was low and far too delicious in the dark. An invitation to things she had no place hungering for. “So, now that you have me in the pantry, what are you going to do with me?”
What indeed? Mia’s heart had been doing double time ever since Nonna shoved her in here. The inky blackness inside the pantry seemed to amplify all her other senses—and give her permission to indulge them. She could hear the rustle of his shirt, the slightest shift in his breathing. And, Lord almighty, he smelled amazing. Like summers at the beach with lowered inhibitions—not that she’d had any of those.
“I say we go with it,” Chase said, his body suddenly so close she could feel the warmth of him.
“Go with it,” she repeated, defensively trying to sound quelling and disdainful rather than like a trembling pile of hormonal mush.
She must have succeeded, because Chase made a low scoffing noise, the puff of breath stirring against her skin in the darkness. “Stop trying to plan everything, Mia. Sometimes you’ve gotta go with the moment. Have you ever done that? I bet you have a boyfriend checklist. Itemized and ranked.”
And color coded. Mia cringed, glad he couldn’t read on her face how right he was. So she liked to plan. And, yes, she knew what she required in a mate. Was that a crime?
Outside Marvin Gaye’s crooning segued from “Let’s Get It On” into “Sexual Healing”. Nonna was nothing if not subtle.
“This isn’t a moment. It’s a hostage situation,” she protested, but the words wavered as a calloused hand brushed across her throat and around to cup her nape.
“I say we pay the ransom,” he murmured, his voice so throaty and low…and close. The words practically touched her lips. And then his lips did.
The kiss was a jolt to her system. She’d heard of toes curling and always thought it was a metaphor, more for poets than scientists, but with the warm, gentle press of his mouth against hers, synapses she’d never known she had started firing and, sure enough, her toes curled in her impractical shoes.
Mia held herself still, observing the kiss more than participating in it. Until his tongue traced the seam of her lips and then slipped between them, and Mia remembered she was supposed to be kissing him back.
She flicked her tongue against his and leaned into his chest, fisting her hands on the lapels of his blazer and hanging on for dear life. As soon as she relaxed against him, Chase’s arms came around her and suddenly he was all she could feel, swamping her senses. He was warm and hot and smelled deliciously of sunblock and citrus. Damn if the man couldn’t kiss. She was swooning—actually swooning!—in his arms, clinging to his lapels to keep from careening into the dry goods.
He murmured something indistinct and utterly intoxicating against her lips, some mumbled exclamation of surprise or pleasure, and angled his head to take the kiss deeper, sucking her under until all she felt was his mouth and all she heard the rushing of her blood, the pounding of her heart…
And the creak of the pantry door opening.
Light splashed across the tangle of their embrace and a high, young voice sing-songed, “I fooound them!” The words echoed throughout the house as Mia jerked away from Chase, knocking several cans of soup off a nearby shelf.
Mia ignored the fallen cans and Chase and everything except her cousin’s six-year-old daughter Imogen, standing in the doorway, staring at them without blinking, her arms folded disapprovingly. “Nonna says you hafta come to dinner ’fore we can eat.”
“Of course! We were just on our way,” Mia yelped, grabbing Imogen’s shoulders and spinning her to face the dining room where half the family would be gathered, the rest spilling out onto tables in the side yard.
Imogen took off toward the dining room as Chase stepped out of the pantry behind her. “They were kissing, Nonna!” she shouted, her high, clear voice carrying back to them and echoing throughout the house as she ran. Chase covered his mouth—either to conceal the evidence or his laughter, she couldn’t tell which. A cheer rang out from the dining room. Mia flinched.
So much for just friends.
When top Minneapolis ad man Ric Holiday is asked to design a campaign for a quaint little town, his first reaction is absolutely not. Meiers Corners is too near Chicago, home of the vampire who turned him as an orphaned boy.
Then the city sends an angel-faced med student with a body made for sin to plead their case. Synnove Byornsson is the ray of sunshine Ric hasn’t felt since he was human.
Armed with determination and a micro miniskirt, Synnove is prepared to crash Holiday’s penthouse cocktail party—and to dislike him on sight. But Mr. All-Style-No-Substance turns out to have a deadly smile, a barely restrained, feral strength, and piercing blue eyes that look at her—not at her cleavage.
Unfortunately Synnove has competition in the form of a sly temptress with a counterproposal. For the first time in her life, Synnove must cash in her genetic lottery ticket and fire back with some sizzle of her own—or her beloved Meiers Corners could become the new Sin City.
Warning: Contains a doctor with a bod for sin, an ad exec with a chip on his shoulder, sarcasm, sex, and a cabin full of annoying friends. Secrets are revealed. One heart-stopping, horrific moment leads to the ultimate of happily-ever-afters.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Beauty Bites:
A shiver hit me at Ric Holiday’s hot, promising smile. Testosterone plays a starring role in sexual arousal in males, but in women its purpose is less clear…
Argh. What was wrong with me? No lusting, especially after the opposition. My cousin had charged me with a job, and while I wasn’t against sex overlapping with work per se, I’d seen it cause aggravated stupidity too often. Extended bathroom breaks and three-hour lunches, sneaking around like nobody knows when in fact everybody does and resents the extra work.
Holiday’s smile sharpened, a wicked glint of teeth edging it like a knife. Pure lust shimmered through me. Oh yeah. Lubrication is followed by vasocongestion of the vaginal walls…crap.
I had to escape that promising smile, stat.
But the path to the study was clogged with people. I was screwed, and not in the good way.
Then Ric “Moses” Holiday extended one elegant hand toward his study. The sea of black, gold and silver miraculously parted. “Off you go now.”
All that, with just the force of his personality. Ooh.
Before I got too girly over it, I paused to wonder if he had any real character to back it up. I heard sizzle. Didn’t mean he had the steak.
His smile broadened. His eyes twinkled with an I have all the steak you need.
I gasped and escaped into Holiday’s study.
It was an upscale man cave—walnut wainscoting, leather couches and recliners, a leather-and-oak wet bar, and a seventy-inch smart TV, the ultimate in flickering fires. Its impressiveness was kicked stratospheric by the 7.1 surround sound, eight speakers’ worth of movie-quality goodness.
But an upscale man cave is still a man cave, and I’m not much into sitting on skinned cow. I crossed the room to a set of French doors cracked open to an evening breeze.
My breasts tightened. Not arousal but simple chill; I’d let go of the suit coat. I pulled it closed. Maybe Holiday made a habit of loaning articles of clothing to women. None of my business, but strangely, the thought bothered me. As if, for some reason, I wanted to be special to him. Had to be hormones making my brain mushier than normal. Stupid norepinephrine. I shook it off.