She’s headed for the big time…unless her heart gets stopped at the pass.
Somethin’ Dirty
© 2014 Em Petrova
Country Fever, Book 4
Forty-two-year-old single father Griffin Turner couldn’t have made it through colic and calving season without his mother’s babysitting services. But just when he thinks he’s got the hardest part of the infant learning curve licked, he gets devastating news. Mom is sick. And Griffin is forced to hire a nanny.
With nothing but twenty dollars in her pocket and her voice, Nola Brady wants to leave small-town Wyoming to pursue her dreams in Nashville. She answers Griffin’s ad to keep body and soul together until her big chance arrives. Love isn’t even on her radar…until she unexpectedly falls for the rough-and-playful cowboy.
Between the sheets, they’re poetry. Outside the bedroom, he inspires her to be more woman than she ever dreamed possible, which scares her enough to put on the brakes…and hit the road.
But if she thought he’d just let her leave quietly, she was wrong. Because hell hath no fury like a cowboy in love…especially one with a baby on his hip. And a ring with her name on it.
Warning: This cowboy daddy is determined to make a May/September romance work—even if he has to lay down his palm or his mouth on a round ass cheek to do it.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Somethin’ Dirty:
What the hell was he thinking? Nola was twenty-five if she was a day. Was her brain even fully formed?
But oh Christ, the sight of her stomping her curvy legs to the beat as she ripped through the notes of that song made him harden painfully. When she flashed him a grin, he focused on her luscious pout and his cock swelled another inch. How, he wasn’t sure.
The first two songs she’d sung had blown him away. Reedy’s superstar was an understatement. The girl could sing. What was she even doing in small-town Wyoming?
She strutted across the stage on those little red cowgirl boots, the frayed hem of her mini-skirt riding high on her thighs.
He had to get out of here before he lost control. He’d sworn off younger women. Nola was probably a student just like Miranda.
He stared at the dark strawberry blonde waves spilling over her shoulders and reaching for her cleavage, and he knew he was in serious lust. Lust equaled trouble. What could he do anyway? Take her home and halfway through hammer-f**king her over the edge of the bed, Lyric wakes up and screams for a bottle?
He scuffed a hand over his features, trying to wipe away the pounding need that must be evident in his expression. For an hour, he’d shirked his duties as designated driver, allowing others to shuttle people home so he could remain with Nola.
Nola. Her name tasted old-fashioned and brand-new at once on his tongue. A pretty little thing with tanned legs and a killer voice. What she was doing in Reedy, wasting those talents was beyond him. But he wasn’t ready to see her go yet, if that was her plan.
She threw her head back and held a long, throaty note that raised the hair all over his body.
Applause erupted, and he stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. When she scanned the crowd and sought him, his balls clenched up tight. That look held more promise than a man of his age and carrying his amount of baggage deserved.
Still, could he pass it up if she offered?
She jumped off the stage for the third time that night, and someone handed her a shot glass brimming full. Some of the amber liquid sloshed down her fingers, and all he could think of was guiding those digits to his mouth and sucking them clean.
Holding his gaze, Nola knocked back the whiskey.
He stepped forward and removed the glass from her hand. Setting it on the edge of the stage, he caught her fingers. She inched close, invading his senses with lush curves and the ripe scent of vanilla and arousal.
Perspiration dotted her throat, and he licked his lips, hungry for a taste.
“You’ve had too much to drink. I’m taking you home.”
“I was hopin’ you’d say that.” She waved at the redhead who had to be her sister, then pointed at him.
Griffin shot the sister his best nice-guy smile. No, I’m not a rapist or murderer. I’ll see your sister home safe. I just might steal a kiss or more if she’ll allow.
Heart wild in his chest, he wrapped an arm around Nola’s waist and guided her out of The Hellion. The brisk night air cut through the heat of his need, and he gulped the coldness into his lungs.
Maybe he shouldn’t try anything, just take her home and be honorable.
“My truck’s over here.” He waved at a well-used truck splattered with mud from the back tires and wished like hell he had something fancy for her.
She walked at his side, as steady as if she hadn’t drunk three beers and a whiskey throughout the night. For a little gal like her, that was a lot of alcohol, even spread out over a few hours. She could still sing like crazy even with alcohol in her veins.
By the time he guided her into the truck, he’d made up his mind that he wasn’t even going to try to kiss her. But when he got in and she scooted all the way over in her seat, leaning over the console, and threaded a hand into the hair at his nape, all self-control went up in a puff of smoldering hope.
“Where does a guy like you come from? I’ve never seen you in Reedy before.”
“I’ve lived here all my life.” His lips were inches from hers, and her breath washed over him. He studied her hooded eyes and the tips of her lashes, dark with mascara. Stripped of makeup, her lashes would be red-gold.
And the hair between her legs too.
“Hell,” he groaned and dropped his mouth to hers.
The first taste punched him in the gut. He snapped his arms around her, hauling her over the console and onto his lap. She clung to him, soft and willing female, her silky thighs draped over his.
He sealed her mouth under his for several seconds then could stand no more. He probed the seam of her lips with his tongue.
She opened to him at once. Her quiet mewl transformed into his croak of need. He trapped her face in his hands and angled her head to sink his tongue deeper into the sweet recesses of her mouth.
Pleasure-pain built in his groin, his erection throbbing against her maddening heat.
He bent her back over his arm until she was pinned to the driver’s door, sucking her tongue, nibbling her plump lips.
She wiggled and tugged on his hair, drawing him closer. Her breasts conformed to his chest as if she’d been made for him.
He tore away. Gasping, he stared down at her. She squirmed like a kitten under the gaze of a hawk.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”
She twisted a hank of his hair. “I wanted you to.”
Sometimes the best way to get over the past is to repeat it.
Making the Grade
© 2014 Marie Harte
Wicked Warrens, Book 4
Brian Good is in a tough spot. With all his friends getting married, and his sister in a relationship with not one, but two men, the love bug is hovering around his heart, ready to bite. Trouble is, he’s tired of playing a field full of gold-digging women.
Then there’s Faith Sumner. She’s gorgeous, genuine, and turns him on without even trying. Time to suck it up, ask her out, and pray their blazing attraction won’t dissolve into another lukewarm disaster.
Faith is finished dating wealthy men. No longer willing to let anyone make her feel inferior for her humble roots, she’s finally making good choices. Except this “Goode” choice turns out to be exactly the kind of man she’s sworn off.
Though she’s content to keep their one-night stand to a single amazing, unforgettable mistake, Brian’s persistent wooing—and convincing groveling—begin to turn her head. Until Faith’s ugly past comes calling, redoubling Brian’s determination to show her she’s wo
rthy of being loving, and being loved…
Warning: A Goode man who’s a bad boy, a woman named Faith who could use a little of her namesake, and meddling friends turn this relationship red hot.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Making the Grade:
“I don’t know why I’m here. This isn’t even my regular day.” Faith Sumner wiped her sweating palms on her jeans and tried not to feel nervous.
Across from her in a deep, comfortable-looking leather chair, Dr. Dylan Warren kicked an ankle over his knee. He wore a sport coat and slacks, looking more like a model than her therapist. But God, if she had to go to someone to get her head on straight, at least she had something pretty to look at while she did.
“Faith.”
He also had the patience of Job. So annoying that he was hot, smart and taken.
“Okay, okay.” She blew out a breath. “I’m nervous.”
“Because…?”
“Because tomorrow night’s the first date I’ve had in a long time, and I’m actually looking forward to it.”
Dylan smiled. “That’s great.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh?”
“Brian called for weeks, but I wasn’t ready. And then, I don’t know, I thought maybe. Then a few of my friends vouched for him. So I’m thinking I’m okay with a date on Valentine’s Day. That way I won’t feel like such a loser.”
“You’re anything but a loser.”
“Yes, yes. I’m beautiful, smart, successful and independent.” Like a mantra he’d taught her to recite. She felt better just saying the words. “I can handle dating again. I’m going out with this guy because he’s normal. Not a rich schmuck, but a regular guy who wants to connect.” She frowned. “At least, I’m pretty sure he’s not just after a hookup. Sydney likes him.” Her friends couldn’t say enough about the guy.
“Yes, well.” Dylan fiddled with his pen. “My future sister-in-law is a good judge of character. Go with your gut. You want to reach out, but you’re afraid. That’s a good sign.”
“It is?”
He nodded. “You’re cautious, realizing the risk of baring yourself, yet you’re willing to try. If you weren’t nervous, I’d wonder how seriously you were taking this outing. But you’ve accepted this date because you want—not need—someone in your life. It’s a good step.”
She nodded. “I don’t need him to make me feel good about myself. His wealth, status and looks don’t matter. Well, maybe his looks. He’s really handsome.” She couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she’d seen him, in two scraps of clothing, and fidgeted on the couch.
“Looks are a part of attraction.” He winked. “Faith, you’ve come such a long way. I’m proud of you.”
Remembering what a scared, insecure moron she used to be, she smiled and sat up straighter at his words. Hell, she’d even taken to visiting Dylan at his actual workplace instead of his home, no longer leery of anyone with the title Doctor. “Thanks. I’m kind of proud of me too. I’m going out with this guy for the right reason.”
“Which is?”
I’m friggin’ lonely. She cleared her throat. She trusted Dylan but didn’t want to appear a complete basket case in front of someone so capable. “I don’t want to be the butt of Sydney and Hailey’s cat-lady jokes anymore.”
“Faith.” Dylan coughed to hide a chuckle, but she heard it.
“Ha! You laughed. They all laugh at me.” She grinned. “But it’s good, because it made me realize it’s time to stop hiding. Like you said, time to take a chance.” She chewed her thumbnail. “I can do this. Besides, a date doesn’t mean I have to sleep with him.”
“No. You don’t.” Dylan sounded firm. “In fact, it would probably be a lot smarter if you didn’t. Establish a connection. Examine what you feel in an intimate setting.”
She raised a brow.
“By intimate, I mean that cozy dinner you mentioned you were going to.”
“Oh. Yeah. That.”
He laughed, and she sighed inside. Too bad Dylan, like the rest of his brothers, had already been nabbed. All the Warrens were handsome and genuine. She could only hope Brian Goode, her date the next evening, turned out even half as charming. Fingers crossed, she made small talk with Dylan about his brothers and their girlfriends—her best friends—and tried to ignore the way her heart raced at remembrances of Brian’s bright blue eyes and deep, husky voice…
The next evening, sitting in one of the nicest, priciest restaurants in downtown Augusta, Faith did her best to focus on the menu and not the blond god sitting across from her. The prices of the wines alone made her itch to be elsewhere, yet it was her attraction to Brian that had her second-guessing the date.
She hadn’t felt so drawn to a man since the last jerk she’d dated, and look at how that had turned out.
No. Think positive, Faith. Good energy. Stop being so negative.
She smiled at Brian, then pretended to look at her menu while she gave her surroundings a subtle study. The modern décor, a blend of urban chic and earthy wood accents, felt right at home with the smooth jazz crooning through discreetly placed speakers.
The waitstaff were dressed in black slacks and pristine aqua-blue polos and looked a little too pretty to be waiting tables. But whatever. If Brian wanted to impress her by going all out, she’d let him. From what Hailey had told her, he worked hard for his money. A regular guy, just like her, eking a living to get by. Even those of modest means deserved a night away from the humdrum of nine-to-five. God knew she needed it.
She glanced at Brian again, lured by his clear gaze and white smile. Damn, that square jaw is just killing me. She wanted to kiss him up one side of his face and down the other. Then find out if his chest really was that broad or if his button-down shirt just made him look that way. An image of Brian half-naked at Halloween appeared in her mind’s eye, and she swallowed a sigh. No, his chest really was that wide.
“I’m a breast man.”
Faith blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I prefer white meat. It’s drier, but I like my chicken to not taste greasy.”
Her heart raced, and she realized she’d put a hand over her low-cut blouse—a pitiful defense against an imagined lecher.
To her embarrassment, Brian seemed puzzled. “Faith?”
“Oh, right. Me too. Grease…yuck.” Dummy. She realized he’d been talking about the items on the menu that she’d pretended to be so absorbed in. She had to stop reading into everything the poor man said. For once she’d found a decent guy. Time to relax and enjoy her date instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I like to keep healthy. It’s tough, because I have a bad sweet tooth.” He grinned.
She did her best not to sigh like a besotted fool over a face that could have graced any of the covers on her romance novels. Even without the face, he was swoon-worthy. She imagined the cover ending at his neck and just showcasing that fine body. Oh wow. Yeah, he was that hot. Nice, handsome and not a rich asshole. She’d truly scored. Now how do I not screw it up?
She swallowed hard and refocused on his words.
“…yeah, got a real hankering for tits and ass.”
“What?”
“You know, Smits and Plass? That new candy store downtown you mentioned earlier? Their window display is killer, especially with the chocolate-covered cherries front and center. I have a cousin who lives near Mt. Rainier out in Washington. The Chukar Cherries he sends me are the best.”
“Oh, ah, yeah. Me too. I like chocolate too, I mean.” Faith, could you be any more oblivious? But in her defense, Brian appealed to her on every level.
She’d always been a sucker for blonds. And looks. And charm. And hot, hot bodies. Gah. Valentine’s Day had turned her into a desperate woman, one who shouldn’t be looking for a casual hookup. She hurried to take a sip of water to soothe her parched throat.
And like that, her mood soured.
Thoughts about good old Dr. Pain In My Ass had her reconsidering her presence here tonight. Again.
Instead of settling in with a good book or watching reruns of Snapped—about women who’d offed their significant others—she was on a date. She’d sworn off men for the past six months, and her friends still gave her crap about it, even though she’d had every reason to be wary.
But a nice night out with a man not interested in loving-and-leaving her or using her for arm candy at some gala appearance? Priceless. She could do this—enjoy a man’s company and maybe take their friendship to a deeper level. But not tonight. Tonight they’d get to know each other, remain platonic friends.
Or so she kept telling herself.
Too bad she hadn’t foreseen her libido waking up and taking notice of everything about the man. Nothing harmless about Brian Goode or his sexy-as-sin smile. At all.
He and the waiter watched as she sampled the wine. Once she did and gave her approval, the waiter poured them both full glasses and left again.
After a sip, Brian nodded. “This is nice.” He sounded surprised.
“You prefer a jammier wine?”
“I have no idea. I’m a beer guy, actually. I just know what I like.” His flirtatious wink made her blush. “How about you?”
“I like it. I prefer a milder taste, to be honest.”
“Ever try really expensive champagne? I have.” He leaned closer and confessed in a low voice, “Excuse my French, but it tasted like shit. And for three hundred bucks a bottle, I’d have expected more.” At her raised brow, he explained, “Friend of mine got a big promotion and put on a dog and pony show. Me? I went because I’d heard there’d be tons of hors d’oeuvres. I guess that makes me shallow.”
Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4 Page 20