by Cara Carnes
Warning: This book features break-up sex, make-up sex, a lioness who’s a cougar and a hot young lion who’s grown up in all the right ways. Note: All electrical shocks are purely metaphorical.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Serengeti Lightning:
He’d wanted tonight to be perfect. This date was his chance to prove he deserved her, to show they were more than just hot sex. He knew she didn’t think he was steady enough to be her mate, but he’d hoped to prove her wrong tonight.
Instead, all he’d proven was that he hadn’t changed at all.
His sister, Ava, would remind him it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help it. The pride doctor said Michael was missing a neural inhibitor that drew the line between animal and man.
The science was small comfort. He would never be worthy of the woman curled against his side. How long could he expect her to stay with someone who could never give her the stability she craved? One more month? Two? Then who would she run to?
Michael forced the thought of the man who would take his place out of his head. Jealousy was savage—more likely than any other emotion to bring on a shift. He needed to get her back to the ranch, back onto pride lands, where a loss of control wouldn’t expose them all.
He started to set her away from him, preparing to load her into the front seat, but her scent curled around him. Michael froze in place, his hands tight on her. He barely managed to keep his claws from snapping out.
Intermingled with the sweet twist of jasmine was the sinuous spice of lust. He could taste her desire on the air. While he’d been contemplating his sabotage of their relationship, Mara had apparently been thinking more much luscious thoughts. Naughty girl.
“Michael?” She spoke softly, a whisper on the warm spring breeze, but he felt that sigh of sound like a fist around his cock.
She slipped between him and the SUV, rubbing her body against his front every inch of the way.
Over the last few months, they’d learned one another’s wants and needs. At first, they’d both assumed they would eventually grow tired of each other, but familiarity had only intensified each experience. They’d learned to play to their personal vices. He knew exactly how to touch her to get her wet in a heartbeat. And she knew he went hard at just the idea of pinning her to things—walls, doors, slippery shower tiles. He couldn’t seem to get enough of crowding her against firm surfaces until she had no choice but to yield her softness to him.
Michael leaned into her, looming over her and pressing her back against the door until he heard the telltale catch in her breath. She loved this too. Mara may be dominant, but she almost never wanted to be on top. She wanted the man who would push her until she gave in, trusting her pleasure to his strength. She wanted him.
Now if only he could convince her their compatibility didn’t end at the bedroom door.
Heavy-lidded eyes beckoned him. “Your wildness makes me feel wild,” she purred.
Michael hesitated. Mara was never reckless. She reasoned things out and made the good decision, every time. So there was absolutely no explanation for her current behavior.
He had calmed. He was ready to take her home. All she had to do was hop in the car and drive back to the safety of the ranch. So why was she inciting him?
She urged him forward and he followed her lead. He bore her back against the metal wall of the SUV until the vehicle rocked slightly. She seemed to bask in the warmth of his body, drawing him tighter against her, if that was even possible. A small, sinful curve of a smile flashed out around her mouth.
Was she thinking what he was thinking? If he took her here, against the Cherokee, would they tip it? He knew he shouldn’t want to try, but was captivated by the image teasing his thoughts. When she bit her lip, he wanted to bite it for her then suck that plump curve into his mouth.
“We should go.” His voice was as rough as the gravel beneath their feet, but he kept his hands gentle as they stroked down her sides, over the flare of her hips, pausing above the hem of her skirt.
They should go. He should back away. He could yank up that little skirt, wrap those long legs around his hips and fuck her senseless just as soon as they were back on pride land. A fucking parking lot, no matter how late it was, no matter how deep the shadows, was no place for this kind of game. He gripped her hips, fully intending to step away, but Mara—never, ever reckless Mara—forced his hand.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushed up onto her toes and captured his mouth in a ravenous, open-mouthed kiss. She begged him with her mouth, drawing him into her madness with each longing pull of her lips and strong sweep of her tongue. Or was it his madness she was surrendering to? Right now, he didn’t know or care. Her willing heat fried his last working brain cells and he fell into instinct and need.
Michael took command of the kiss. He sucked that luscious lip and gently scraped his teeth across it. His hands fisted in her skirt, jerking the stretchy fabric up, and Mara sighed into his mouth. God, he loved the noises she made, the little murmurs and sighs, not quite caught in her throat. She was musical in her passion, an instrument his fingers loved to pluck and strum.
The skin of her thighs was satin beneath his fingers. He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs. His fingertips brushed against her heat and he hissed out a curse.
She wasn’t wearing panties. And she was dripping already. His slightest touch called forth another rush of moisture. Her need hit his nostrils, fogging his already blurry thoughts.
With one swift pull, he lifted her. Her legs wrapped snuggly around his hips. He notched his denim-covered erection against her pussy, but he didn’t push like he wanted to, concerned about the rough fabric against her sensitive flesh. He shouldn’t have worried. Mara ground herself on him, tearing her lips away from his to gasp out his name.
“Easy,” he murmured into the hair at her temple, barely recognizing his own voice. He slid his hand between them and slicked a finger through her folds. The touch was designed to be more soothing than arousing. He wanted to wind her up a little tighter before he let her take off.
To fight this evil, they’ll have to make love. Lots of love.
Awakening Beauty
© 2010 Bonnie Dee and Marie Treanor
Fairytale Fantasies, Book 3
Joel Thorne feels as if he’s been sleepwalking through his life. Wealth and success are his; now he’s at a crossroads. Politics beckons, a move that would be made easier with a loveless marriage of convenience to his ambitious friend and ally, Vee Gabor. During a long mountain hike to clear his head, he discovers a castle overgrown with thorns and, inside, a beautiful sleeping woman.
When Princess Aurora opens her eyes, Joel’s handsome face is imprinted on her heart—then she’s swamped with grief and loss. An evil fairy tried to take her pure blood to gain power, and though her other godmothers fended off the worst of the curse, she’s been asleep for a thousand years. Worse, she’s been erased from history and from the memories of all she loved. True love brought her back, but to what future?
Despite their instant, strong attraction, Joel’s practical nature wars with the possibility that magic is real. Yet with every touch, every kiss, the heat and emotion grow more real than anything he’s ever known. Their union also reawakens something else. Something darker. An evil fairy’s centuries-old vendetta that just won’t die.
Warning: Contains explicit, edge-of-your-dreams sex, a newly minted hero in training, and a fairy princess who kicks butt for the man she loves. No fairy dust was spared in the making of this book.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Awakening Beauty:
Joel walked toward Aurora and crouched down among the dustier cushions beside her. “How do you feel?”
She swallowed. “Sore. Confused.” She closed her eyes on the upsurge of tears. “Desolate,” she whispered.
“Aurora.” Her name on his lips soothed, as did his hand when he laid it on hers, warm and comforting. “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out. It’s dark now, so we�
�ll stay here tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you down to the village and we can find a doctor who can help you.”
She stared at him. “Will he give me back lost time? Will he give me my mother and father? My friends and my betrothed?”
There was a pause while he searched her eyes. He wasn’t remotely intimidated by her anger. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But I hope he’ll give you something that helps.”
He took his hand away and she felt curiously forlorn. But he only reached across her for his backpack. Clearly he had no concept of maintaining a respectful distance, for the hair on his arm, at once crisp and soft, actually tickled her chin. Even more strangely, she didn’t mind. She liked the smell of him, warm, a little faint sweat from exercise, something both elusive and alluring that reminded her of spice and orchards in summer.
He heaved the bag over her and dumped it between his long legs while he rummaged inside. “Hungry?”
Bemused as much by watching him as by his strange, curt speech, she had to think before she answered. “Um—yes, I think so…”
“Good.” He brought out some odd, light containers, pulling the lids off each with a mocking flourish. “Help yourself.”
Aurora closed her mouth. “What is it?”
“Bread, local cheese, salami and ham, some salad. Fruit, chocolate.” Misunderstanding her hesitation, he added, “There’s enough for two.”
It wasn’t what she was used to. Frankly, it was peasants’ food, but she’d been brought up never to be rude to her inferiors, and so she thanked him politely and reached into one box to pick up some cheese. He cut off a hunk of bread from the loaf, using a knife that unfolded from a short, rounded silver stick and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said again.
He took out a couple of bottles, one the clear water bottle she’d drunk from already, and the other a dark green color. He glanced at her. “There’s water and beer. I’d advise the former until you’ve seen the doctor.”
“I’ve never drunk beer in my life. Don’t you have any wine?”
“No.” He didn’t have to sound so pleased about it.
Sniffing, she took the water bottle, remembering to thank him once again. Her stomach rumbled and, as she bit into the bread and cheese together, she realized how good peasants’ food really was.
“So, Aurora, what’s the rest of your name?” he asked, placing two slices of salami and tomato slices onto one piece of bread.
“Alexandra Maria Helena, daughter of King Hubert Wilhelm George and Queen Elizabeth Annaliese.”
“I meant your surname.”
She frowned. “Do you jest? We are the royal family. Our lineage stretches back to the beginning of time.”
“The royal family, eh?” His tone still suggested that he doubted her word. “Schlaushagen is ruled by a democratically elected government these days.”
“Oh.” Aurora was at a loss to imagine a time in which her country did not have a monarch. How had such a thing come to pass? “Lauchevitzerstein is our family name.”
“My last name is Thorne,” he said and a quick smile flashed across his mouth. “No string of names and definitely no noble lineage. You can just call me Joel.”
He took a bite of his bread and Aurora found herself watching with fascination as his strong white teeth tore free a large chunk, taking it efficiently into his mouth and chewing close-mouthed. At least he didn’t have a peasant’s table manners.
When he’d swallowed, he picked up the green beer bottle and took a hefty swig. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen. It was my birthday when I…” She broke off, swamped once more by the memory of the glowing spinning wheel and the sharp, unexpected prick when she’d touched it.
“When you what?” he prompted.
“It was my birthday,” she repeated more slowly. “My parents had invited our friends, all the most powerful nobles from our country and from Karl’s, because our betrothal was to be announced. I was dressed for the ball, but the maids were so busy fussing over the correct jewelry for me I got bored, and wandered off.”
She stared in front of her, picked up the water bottle as if it held the secret of this mess. “I wanted to go to the south tower. I don’t know why. My parents had always forbidden it. But I’d snuck up there once before when I was a child, following one of the maids. It was full of sharp things, the things I was never allowed to go near—scissors and needles, pins, spinning wheels. So many that they positively glittered. That time the maid turned and saw me and quickly slammed and locked the door again.
“The night of the ball, I was drawn to return. I was nineteen and soon to be married. I didn’t want to be a child, so over-protected that I couldn’t even look at a pin! And so I went up there, even knowing the door would be locked. It always was.”
She looked at Joel, almost wondering at the effort of memory that seemed like yesterday and yet was hazy and confused. She couldn’t properly explain the compulsion that had drawn her to the tower. He gazed back steadily, waiting.
“It wasn’t. That’s the funny thing. The door wasn’t locked at all. When I pushed, it opened immediately and now all that was there was one solitary spinning wheel. It glittered too. In fact, it shone so brightly I just had to touch it, to find out what it felt like. So I walked over to it. Despite what my parents had always said ever since I could remember, I knew I was an adult now and nothing as trivial as a spinning wheel could possibly damage me. I reached out and touched the spindle.”
“Then what?” Joel prompted when she fell silent.
“I pricked my finger on it.” She lifted the finger, examining it. “Look.”
He leaned over, taking her hand, and gazed down at the healed scab on her right forefinger. He smiled and lifted the finger to his lips, kissing it lightly, briefly.
“You look, Aurora. That’s not a thousand-year-old scab. And I have to say, none of you looks a thousand years old. I think you fell up there and hurt your head. It’s quite a vivid story you’ve concocted for yourself, but with a doctor’s help, I’m sure your true memories will come back.”
Stricken, she stared at him. “But I want these ones. They’re all I have. Joel, I want my mother…”
Joel said something beneath his breath and put his arms around her, drawing her close into his arms. “We’ll find her,” he promised. “We’ll find everyone you’ve lost, everyone you need.”
Stunned by his familiarity, she held herself rigid, but then, suddenly terrified he would let her go, she relaxed into his solid comfort and let the tears come. Suddenly she didn’t care if he was a peasant or some strange lord from a future time that terrified her. She clutched his arms, his shoulders, as if they were her one salvation, buried her face in his chest and wept.
He held her in a big, rocking hug, stroking her hair until the storm had passed. Even then, when she slowly, shame-facedly, lifted her head, he didn’t let her go. His lips tugged upward and, in shy response, she let hers follow.
He bent his head and softly kissed her mouth.
At the first touch of his lips, something surged through her, vital and desperate. It was a brief kiss, less even than she had shared with Karl the night before the ball she’d never got to, and yet it changed everything. He drew back slightly, and she realized he meant it as no more than comfort. Comforting the child that she wasn’t. She needed… She didn’t know what she needed, except him.
So she reached up and fastened her mouth to his.
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/> Cara Carnes, Wolf: An Enchanted Story