Mari Carr's Blog, page 41

April Showers, Great Books!

Thought I’d start something new on my blog and share a list of monthly releases. Welcome to April’s reading! The list includes books by writers I love!

April releases

  

The Back-Up Plan

Today marks the release of The Back-Up Plan. It’s the fourth book in my Second Chances series. This time, no-nonsense lawyer,  Kristen, discovers that nothing about falling in love makes sense. Especially when her heart sets its sights on the last man on the planet she wants to spend the rest of her life with, her womanizing law partner, Jason. All rise. Court is now in session!

Just how legally binding is a promise made on a cocktail napkin?               

Second Chances, Book 4

Kristen Grey has always been married to her work, but as her fortieth birthday looms, she begins to wonder if that’s all there is to life. When her friend Zoey suggests she come up with a goal for a second chance at happiness, the first idea to pop into Kristen’s mind falls out of her mouth—to find a husband.

One night, after a few too many shots of vodka, it falls out of her mouth again, in front of the last man she wants to hear it. Her annoying, cocky law partner, Jason Mitchell. She’s shocked when he vows to help in her quest to find a man.

After all, he has a vested interest in her success. Years ago, they foolishly made a pact that if they hadn’t found “the one” by age forty, they’d marry each other. Time is running out.

Problem is, as Jason and Kristen try to help each other find love, it becomes more and more apparent that maybe the back-up plan isn’t such a bad option after all.

Warning: The heroine in this story has no objection to how her law partner likes to recess. Legal eagle? Nope. Spread eagle.

Excerpt:

Jason stood when a slow song started and the singer on the stage began to croon “Unchained Melody” every bit as beautifully as The Righteous Brothers.

He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

She looked around the bar. “No one else is dancing.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care.”

She accepted his hand and let him lead her to an empty spot in front of the stage. Then he wrapped her in his arms and they began to sway. Soon other people followed suit, coupling up to join them on the tiny, makeshift dance floor.

“One of the top five love songs ever,” Jason murmured in her ear.

“Really? You think so? I’ve never been a big fan.”

He pulled back so he could see her face. “Are you kidding me?”

She shook her head and crinkled her nose.

“Oh man. What the hell happened to your heart, Tin Man? This is a very romantic song.”

She grinned. “God. Please tell me you’re not one of those people who goes for mushy-gushy crap like this.”

They were still holding each other and moving in time, their conversation spoken in hushed whispers. Though Jason pretended to be annoyed with her response, she could see the spark in his eye that confirmed he loved their sparring as much as she did.

“You’re in serious danger of being held in contempt of love court. You have one chance for reprieve or I’ll have to lock you up in my Audi and bombard you with romantic songs until you break.”

She feigned a shudder.

“So what song makes you melt inside?”

She pretended to consider her answer, then said, “‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’. Def Leppard.”

Jason groaned. “You wanna try again or do I need to get my car keys out?”

“Fine. I’m a Clapton fan. ‘Wonderful Tonight’.”

Jason tilted his head, clearly impressed by her answer. “That’s a good song. Why that one?”

She should have known he’d dig deeper. It didn’t matter. She knew her answer. “I guess because it’s not about new love or lust or desire. It’s about a lasting love. That feels more true to me.”

“Wow. Great answer.”

She didn’t have time to reply when he pulled her closer, the embrace becoming more hug than dance. Neither of them sought to break the connection. Instead, they held tight, swaying in place.

When the song ended, Jason let her go, leading her back to the table. Kristen missed his touch instantly.

He must have felt it too. “You wanna go?”

She nodded.

Jason settled their tab, then the two of them drove back to her townhouse in silence. As they pulled into the parking lot, Jason turned the car off, but left the battery running, the radio playing softly.

“Well,” he said.

He was waiting for an invitation inside. She knew it. But the panic she’d held at bay all night found its way to the surface, clogging her throat with pure fear.

She tried to cover it up when a song came on the radio. “I love this song.”

Jason smiled kindly. He could obviously see the nervousness she wasn’t hiding very well. “It’s one of my favorites.”

They sat in silence as the words to “Let Your Heart Hold Fast” closed in around them. It comforted her, calmed her down.

Then she turned to face him. “Jason—”

He shook his head. “It’s okay, Kris. You don’t have to ask me in.”

She leaned forward, grateful for his understanding, while hating him for it as well. Some sick, weak part of her wanted him to demand, to push for this.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered, meaning to give him a quick, platonic kiss. Those intentions flew out the window the second her lips touched his. She’d had two weeks to remember every incredible, intense moment of his first kiss in her office. The memory had consumed her, drowned her in longing.

Now she was here again and unwilling to deny herself one more taste.

Jason clasped her cheeks in his hands and she realized it wasn’t music that melted her, it was the sexy way he held her, coddled her, made her feel precious, delicate, special.

She twisted, trying to move closer, but the damn stick shift kept digging into her side. Jason must’ve noticed because he turned as well, working to move them away from the damn thing. She laughed when he banged his elbow against it.

“Something tells me it would be simpler to make out with a porcupine,” she murmured.

He gave her a crooked grin. “Let’s try something else.” He pressed lightly on her shoulder until she was in her seat once more, her head against the rest. “Lift that lever on the side of the seat and recline.”

What the hell was she doing? She was almost forty years old and making out in a car like a horny teenager. That fact was made even more ridiculous by the idea that her parent-less house was less than a hundred feet away from them.

Regardless, she did as he asked, not quite ready to make the mother of all mistakes just yet. Even so, she was dying to see what he had in mind for now.

She slid her seat back, expecting Jason to follow suit. He didn’t.

Instead he twisted in his own, studying her face. “You’re beautiful, Kris.”

She was touched by the compliment and amused by the slight sound of amazement in his voice. “You sound surprised by that.”

“I’m trying to figure out how the hell I’ve missed that detail all these years.”

Kristen couldn’t respond because he punctuated his statement by resting his hand on her knee and his fingers slipped the skirt higher.

The Back-Up Plan is available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Samhain.

Never Been Kissed

I just finished up edits on Never Been Kissed this weekend. The story will release on Sept. 9. In the book, Shelly decides it’s time to reinvent herself. Tired of being a wallflower, she seeks ways to overcome her shyness…and maybe even find a guy (or two) to kiss as well. Thought I’d share the cover, the unedited blurb and a sneak peek at the book. And don’t forget…The Back-Up Plan is out tomorrow!

Never Been Kissed

There’s a big difference between starting over and simply starting.   

Shelly MacIssac had pretty much given up all hope. Hope that she’ll lose weight, that she’ll find any excitement in life, that there will ever be any man in her bed besides Barney, her cat. So when Zoey suggests the wine girls come up with resolutions for the New Year, Shelly latches onto the one everyone expects her to choose—the tried and true commitment to go on a diet and get into shape. However, deep inside Shelly knows she needs to change a lot more than just her physical appearance.

Christian has been licking the wounds of a broken heart for a year, but no more. He’s covertly watched and lusted after Shelly at work and he’s not wasting any more time. There’s something about her that makes him believe she’s the one. Unfortunately, Shelly’s kickboxing instructor—and Christian’s best friend—Lance has set his sights on the sweet blonde as well.

Will it be pistols at dawn or will the two friends discover a more erotic answer to their shared attraction to Shelly? And will the shy beauty accept their racy proposal?

Warning: There is a chance this story will encourage you to go on a diet and begin an intense exercise regime. After all, flavored body lube is low cal, right? And sex is a great way to burn calories.

Excerpt:

Lance’s grip tightened on her waist and he leaned closer. For a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her and she panicked until he spoke into her ear loudly. “I think your friend is trying to get your attention.”

Shelly tried to suck enough air into her lungs to get her brain functioning again. She’d been in the bar less than thirty minutes and yet it was shaping up to be the most exciting, terrifying, surreal night of her life. Lance pointed toward the edge of the dance floor and she followed the direction until she spotted Josie waving at her.

Josie pointed at Jake who was standing next to her and mouthed, “Full moon.” Shelly grinned. Damn. She’d picked the wrong friend to emulate. Josie was off to have sex in public with the gorgeous man standing next to her. What a night. Shelly never wanted it to end.

She lifted her finger. “One hour?”

Josie nodded.

Lance watched the exchange, but mercifully he didn’t ask questions. Instead, he tugged her closer. “Looks like I’ve got you to myself for another hour.”

Shelly laughed. Not because he’d said anything funny. But because she was so incredibly happy. She’d have to buy Georgie the world’s biggest box of chocolate to thank her for her advice.

A new song began and Shelly did something she’d never done before. She let go of all her inhibitions and simply lost herself to the music, the moment. She and Lance picked up the rhythm of the sultry tune, each of them trying to outdo each other with their sexy dance moves.

Unfortunately, reality came crashing down in the form of a blonde barracuda. Miss Size Two jeans/DD boobs knocked into Shelly, pushing her away from Lance. At first, Shelly assumed it was an accident. After all, the dance floor was packed.

The woman said, “Excuse me,” but Shelly noticed she didn’t relinquish the space she’d just cleared. Size Two moved closer to Lance, her dancing an overt sexual invitation.

Lance glanced at Shelly over the woman’s shoulder, his gaze darkening as the blonde thrust her breasts against his chest. Shelly couldn’t tell if it was lust or anger on his face. She didn’t have much experience with either. She’d never managed to provoke those sort of hot emotions in anyone.

Shelly continued to move to the beat, as her mind whirled over what to do. The woman truly was beautiful. And built. And definitely interested in Lance.

He’d have to be blind not to pick up on the signals the blonde was giving him. Maybe it was time for Shelly to step aside. She didn’t want to cramp his style. It had been nice of him to dance with her while Josie was occupied, but it wouldn’t be right for her to monopolize his entire evening.

She took one step toward the table, then froze as a spark of anger flared. If anyone had asked her yesterday, she would have sworn she didn’t have a temper. Shelly could count on one hand the times she’d blown a fuse and all of those had been years earlier, in high school, before life had beaten her down and taught her it just doesn’t get any better.

Tonight had proven to her that was wrong. In the past, she’d taken her lumps in silence because she’d given up.

But dammit, she was tired of lying down and playing possum, while others took and took and took.

So she stole a page out of Size Two’s book. Stepping next to the dancing couple, she accidentally swung her hip too far, propelling the petite woman at least five feet across the floor. Shelly suspected she would have gone even farther if another pack of dancers hadn’t broken her flight.

Shelly raised her hand to her mouth as if mortified by what had happened and said a less than sincere sorry that had Lance laughing loudly.

“Looks like my kickboxing lessons are paying off. That was completely bad ass.”

She grinned. “Maybe if she ate a cracker or two occasionally she wouldn’t be so easy to throw.”

Lance took Shelly’s hands and spun her as the music slowed down. Without a second’s pause, he pulled her closer and started swaying.

Status Update

And the countdown to Tuesday and The Back-Up Plan continues. Today I’m spotlighting the third Second Chances book, Status Update. I have to admit I pulled most of the Jimmy Buffett concert happenings for this story from my own experiences. The tiki bar, the topless lifeguard stand (oh yeah…I went up on it) and the rigged up Johnny Blue are all things I’ve done in my past…cue the Come Monday music…”for the Labor Day weekend show.” And I totally got yelled at my girlfriends for carrying a big purse into a nightclub. Oh…and the Rocky Horror Picture Show part (sans sex…sigh) was true too. So basically, I am the still married (and happily) Laura without all the hot sex at concerts, in bars and in movie theaters. Dammit. lol

Status Update 

Some things never change. Others never stay the same. Thank God.

Second Chances, Book 3

Laura Sanders thought post-divorce life would be simple. What a rude awakening to realize that after too many years as a wife and mother, she’s stuck in a rut so deep she’s forgotten how to have fun.

Determined that this year will be different, she sets a New Year’s goal to rediscover the woman she used to be—the one who loved to dance, to laugh, to kiss.

When Bryan Sinclair spots his best friend from high school in the Blue Moon bar, he wonders how the hell he failed to notice her beauty and vitality all those years ago. Laura’s confession that she plans to experience lost opportunities tempts him into joining her on the journey.

Together they make up for lost time, in and out of the bedroom. But there’s one area in which Laura has no plans to change the status quo—her heart. And Bryan has his work cut out convincing her to take another chance. On him. On forever.

Warning: This story contains sex at Rocky Horror, sex at a Jimmy Buffett concert, sex on the stairs, sex on the dining-room table, sex on the dance floor, and even sex in a bed.

Available at Amazon, Samhain, and Barnes and Noble.

Full Moon

Nope…Full Moon is not a paranormal story thrown into the middle of my contemporary series. lol. Full Moon is actually Josie’s resolution for a happy new year. She’s been burned by love before and she’s not interested in walking down that path again. However, after a few years of boring “wham bam” marriage sex, she would like to try out some sexy new positions while she’s still young enough to strike the poses! So…she makes a list of 12 daring sexual adventures and decides she’ll try to fulfill one each month of the year–right around the full moon.

Full Moon is a lighthearted story about a young single mother trying to raise her son and maneuver through the mine field of modern-day dating. It was a fun story to write and I absolutely fell in love with the hero/hot bartender, Jake, the man who is ready to claim Josie’s full moons…and her heart.

Sometimes it’s not just the tide that rises…

Second Chances, Book 2

In the two years since her divorce was finalized, Josie Jacobson’s life has become one long, boring routine. Work, home, repeat. She has her hands full as a single parent, and while she’s not looking for a serious relationship, she sure wouldn’t mind getting laid.

When her friend Zoey challenges her to make a New Year’s resolution for a second chance at happiness, Josie goes one better and creates the “Howl List”. Every full moon, she will indulge in a different sexual fantasy. Right at the top? Sex without strings.

Fate leads her to the Blue Moon bar in January. After all, what better place to howl? And when she meets Jake Stewart, the sexy bartender, and engages in some red-hot sex with a stranger, her year seems to be off to a great start.

At least, until Jake declares he wants all her full moons…

Warning: This is NOT the shifter story you are looking for. While the heroine howls during the full moon, she does it in naked, human form only. Sorry—no wolves, but there is a really sexy bartender and lots of red-hot fantasies.

Full Moon is available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Samhain.

Fix You

The countdown to the release of The Back-Up Plan begins now! The fourth book in the Second Chances series releases on Tuesday, April 1. To tide us over until then, I thought it might be fun to take a look at the first three books in the series and on Monday, I’ll share a sneak peek at the fifth story, Never Been Kissed, which will release on Sept. 9. I should point out that all of the stories run concurrently over the same one-year time span, so they don’t necessarily need to be read in any certain order.

The first story is Fix You.

What if love can’t heal all wounds?

Second Chances, Book 1

After too many years of secretly loving her best friend, Zoey realizes she’s been shortchanging herself. It’s time to take action. This New Year’s Eve heralds the year she’s going to tell Rob the truth. Even if he is on the road, reaching for musical stardom with his band.

Her plan is derailed when she discovers a lump in her breast—and it’s not “nothing to worry about”. How can she ask Rob to take a chance on love when her future is so uncertain?

Rob has spent his entire life chasing his dream, but the moment he hears Zoey’s voice on the phone, he realizes he’s been running the wrong race. Zoey never sounds like she’s been crying. Ever. Without a second thought, he books a flight for home, determined to give her everything she needs. A shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold…and nights of intensely emotional, passionate sex.

His biggest challenge, though, is convincing his best friend that he’s in it for the long haul. Because he finally knows what he wants, and it’s not fame and fortune. It’s her—and her love.

Warning: This book runs the emotional gamut between scorching-hot passion and the pain and fear associated with cancer. Keep a box of tissues next to your glass of ice water.

Fix You is available at Samhain, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, ARe, and Kobo.

Anybody hungry?

The unstoppable Meg Benjamin has a new book out today. It’s part of her Konigsburg, Texas series…and it combines two things I LOVE–hot guys and food!

And…Meg has stopped by today to talk barbecue with us!

Barbecue and Romance

Hungry Heart, my eighth book for Samhain set in Konigsburg, Texas, is all about barbecue. My two heroes and two heroines become a barbecue team for the big Konigsburg Barbecue Cookoff. This is, of course, based on something that really exists—barbecue contests are held all around the country because every part of the country does their own barbecue. And everybody will tell you their region’s barbecue is the best there ever was. I’ve had a chance to test a few of these claims. When we used to drive from Texas to Iowa for Christmas, we’d make it a point to stop in Kansas City to have ribs at Jack’s Stacks, slow cooked with lots of sauce and absolutely yummy. But back home in San Antonio we’d order brisket from Barbecue Station—wonderful smoky meat, but no sauce, you understand, because sauce was the invention of Satan. It’s been a while since I had barbecue in Tennessee or Louisiana, but I remember it being a bit more vinegary, and definitely falling into the sauce camp. Now I live in foodie heaven between Denver and Boulder, Colorado, and I have to put up with some budding super chef’s idea of what barbecue sauce should be (possibly involving pomegranate molasses), along with sides like sweet potato fries and fava beans (which are better than kale, I have to admit). Texans would weep.

My characters are having none of that. One hero, the Barbecue King (aka Harris Temple) has his own barbecue truck and does a brisket to die for. The other, Chico Burnside, is a pork shoulder fanatic with a secret rub. Neither makes sauce. And you should hear Harris on the subject of potato salad, particularly that made by his true love, sous chef (and foodie) Darcy Cunningham.

I had a great time in barbecue land, but I still ask for my sauce on the side.

So what about you? What’s your barbecue experience? And don’t you agree that Texas makes the best brisket on the planet?

Peace, love, and barbecue—with a big order of sexy on the side.

Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8

Sous chef Darcy Cunningham is less than entranced with small-town Konigsburg’s obsession with barbecue. But her future career as a chef de cuisine requires expanding her culinary horizons, so she talks the Barbecue King, a.k.a. Harris Temple, into taking her on as his apprentice.

However, learning Harris’s professional secrets wasn’t supposed to include falling for his spicy blend of smoky sexiness and laid-back charm.

Chico Burnside specializes in flying under Konigsburg’s small-town radar, but lately life has been going a little too smoothly, even for him. Hoping to shake things up a bit, he talks Harris into teaming up for Konigsburg’s first barbecue cook-off. But once shy scientist Andy Wells catches his eye, Chico’s got more on his mind than brisket. Like enticing her out of her shell to show her just how tenderly a big guy can love.

As the competition ignites, so does the romance. Until a natural disaster threatens to derail Konigsburg’s dream team before the grills even get good and warmed up.

Product Warnings

Contains hot sauce, hot sex, and a whole lot of smokin’ action.

Excerpt:

Copyright © 2014 Meg Benjamin

All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication “So what’s the big deal around here with freakin’ barbecue?”

Darcy Cunningham was taking a brief break from dishing up the Rose’s signature potato salad for the hordes of conventioneers streaming across the lawn of the Woodrose Inn. She’d made up about three gallons of the stuff that morning and it was moving briskly, even though she had to admit it was a little heavy on the lemon juice.

She frowned. She needed to work on the dressing. Make it less Niçoise and more down home.

Joe LeBlanc gave her a brief smile that was more like a lip twitch. “Keep your voice down when you say that, darlin’. If anybody hears you bad mouthing ’cue, they’re likely to take away your temporary Texas citizenship card.” As head chef of the Rose restaurant, Joe had more years as a Texan than she did, although he still had his Louisiana drawl.

Darcy managed not to grimace. She didn’t really think of herself as a temporary Texan. She was a cook who was currently plying her trade in Texas. Cooks didn’t exactly have homes—not if they wanted to keep moving up. Moving up usually meant moving on, although she was happy enough in her current job as the Rose’s sous chef. Very happy, truth be told. But happy wasn’t necessarily what chefs were supposed to want. Chef de cuisine jobs were what chefs were supposed to want.

And she did want that. Honestly. She did.

“Everybody in the Hill Country acts like barbecue has some freakin’ mystical quality.” She frowned again, rubbing the back of her hand across her damp forehead, which didn’t do much since she was wearing plastic gloves. “Like it cures palpitations or something.”

“How do you know it doesn’t?” Joe’s grin was more pronounced this time. “Good ’cue has been known to cure a lot of life’s ills.”

Darcy grimaced. “So has good tomato soup, but I don’t notice anybody suggesting it’s another version of holy water.”

Joe shook his head. “You’re just mad because we don’t cook our own.”

“Damn right I am.” Darcy’s jaw firmed. “Since when does the Rose outsource its cooking? It’s not like we can’t do a brisket. Or a pork loin. Or a few racks of ribs. Hell, Joe, we could do one smokin’ grilled turkey.”

He shook his head again. “You’re already off base, Darce. Grilling isn’t the same as barbecue. At least not Texas style barbecue.”

Darcy opened her mouth to reply, but he raised a hand. “You want the truth, it’s easier to let somebody else do it. I’d love to cook ’cue myself, but we don’t have the space or the time. So we pass it to the King, and he does us proud.”

She glanced across the gentle slope of the river bank outside the Woodrose Inn Event Center, currently dotted with picnic tables. The diners all seemed to be having a good time, she’d give them that. Most of the conventions got their choice of barbecue or a fajita bar for their final meal at the Rose, and she had to admit most of them chose the barbecue, even though the fajita bar really rocked.

She would have thought a bunch of high-dollar types would prefer something a little more upscale than brisket and potato salad, but this crowd was chowing down on their barbecue with gusto. They didn’t even seem to mind that they were drinking beer instead of the wine that usually went with the Rose’s banquet menu. Hell, some of them were drinking iced tea. With sugar.

At least serving the outdoor barbecue meant she got a chance to dress down a little. Normally, she wore her chef’s whites and black beanie. They were her working clothes, after all. But for this she wore jeans and a black Rose T-shirt, along with her running shoes. The dress code might be western casual, but she spent way too much time on her feet to wear boots.

The other cooks and assistants were all in jeans and Rose tees too, although Jorge, the line cook, wore a black cowboy hat that made him look a little like he was planning on robbing some of the guests at gunpoint.

Joe, of course, wore his chef’s whites and black beanie. As chef de cuisine at the Rose, he never appeared in anything less that his full uniform. Of course, he wasn’t actually running the barbecue, just checking in to make sure Darcy was doing okay. In a few more minutes he’d head back to his kitchen.

She checked the line again and paused. The figure at the far end, currently sliding a hotel pan full of sliced brisket into place on the table, was maybe as far removed from Joe LeBlanc as she herself was from Julia Child.

He wore the standard jeans and boots with a black western shirt that had seen better days. His black hat was a lot more battered than Jorge’s, even though it sported a pheasant feather in the band. His brown hair was on the longish side, curling over the edge of his collar. His mirrored sunglasses caught the sunlight as he glanced her way.

She turned back to her potato salad, gritting her teeth. The Barbecue King. What male over the age of ten would call himself the Barbecue King, for god’s sake? It wasn’t even Fred, The Barbecue King. He had no name attached, other than King.

The Barbecue King appeared to be aware that she’d been staring at him. He strolled her way easily. Darcy felt like growling. She didn’t have time for this.

He stood in front of her service line, frowning slightly as he removed his sunglasses. “Now what exactly do you call this?”

She looked up into dark eyes. Laughing, dark eyes. She managed to unclench her jaw enough to answer him. “Potato salad.”

He glanced down at the container in front of her, then back up again. “Potato salad?”

She nodded, her jaw clenching again.

He folded his arms across his chest. His surprisingly broad chest. “So just what exactly does this potato salad have in it?”

“Potatoes,” she ground out.

He nodded, forehead furrowing in thought, then leaned against the side of the table. “Good start. And?”

She blew out a breath, folding her own arms to mirror him. “Feta cheese, kalamata olives, chopped scallions, Dijon mustard, red wine vinegar, lemon juice, a little of this, a little of that.”

He nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth inching up. “Feta cheese? DayJohn mustard? Olives? No, not just olives, kalamata olives?”

Darcy sniffed. “You have something against kalamata olives?”

He shrugged. “Not sure. So far as I know, these olives never made any aggressive moves in my direction. On the other hand…”

“On the other hand?”

He blew out a breath. “They wouldn’t find a place in my potato salad.”

Darcy’s jaw stayed clenched. “Too bad. They seem right at home in mine.”

He shook his head sorrowfully. “Oh my, my, my—I can see from this short conversation that you’re Not From Around These Parts.” It sounded to Darcy as if his drawl had just gotten heavier.

She placed her hands on her hips. “You’re saying I have to be from around these parts to make potato salad?”

He nodded. “It helps. It definitely helps.”

Darcy gritted her teeth again. She could tell him she’d graduated from culinary school. She could tell him she’d worked in kitchens all around the country, and a couple outside the country. She could tell him she was the sous chef at one of the premier restaurants in the Hill Country.

She could tell him to go screw himself.

Instead, she picked up a paper plate and plopped a spoonful of her potato salad in the middle of it. “Try it.”

“I’ll like it?”

She shrugged. “You won’t dislike it.” She handed him a fork.

He took a tentative bite of salad, narrowing his eyes and screwing up his mouth as he chewed. Then he set the plate down again carefully. “Interesting.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Does that mean good?”

“It means interesting. Lots of flavors.” He shrugged. “Kind of tasty.”

Her chin went up mutinously. “Tasty means good.”

“It is good. Only…”

Her jaw began to ache from tension. “Only?”

He shrugged again. “Only it’s not potato salad. It’s a salad that has potatoes in it. Also feta cheese. And kalema olives.”

“Kalamata.”

She should just let it go. She really should. She had things to do, damn it. But when had she ever backed down from a fight? “A salad that has potatoes as its main ingredient, which this salad does, is automatically potato salad. Therefore, QED, this is potato salad.”

He gave a long, somewhat sorrowful sigh. “Nope. I regret it. I truly do. But you’re wrong. Potato salad is more than potatoes.”

“As I pointed out,” Darcy said silkily, “this salad does, in fact, include more than potatoes.”

“Yep. It does. On the other hand, it’s missing some essentials.”

“Such as?”

He held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “No pickles. No hard-boiled eggs. No celery. No celery seed. And DayJohn mustard is definitely not what you put in potato salad. French’s. That’s what you put in potato salad. That’s if you’re doing mustard potato salad. If you’re doing mayonnaise, you got yourself a different set of essentials. Howsomever, no matter what kind you’re doing, potato salad doesn’t include cheese. Any kind.”

One part of Darcy wanted to tear the Barbecue King a new one. The other part, the female part, was noting the way his lips curved up when he smiled, showing a hint of white teeth and the way his dark eyes tipped up at the corners, almost almond-shaped but not exactly. The Barbecue King was, in fact, hot.

Hungry Heart is available at Samhain.

Quote of the Day

Thought I’d share the chorus of a song, Nothing More, by Alternate Routes. I LOVE THIS SONG. So beautiful and the message is wonderful.

We are Love

We are One

We are how we treat each other when the day is done.

We are Peace

We are War

We are how we treat each other and Nothing More

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I’d like to take a moment to wish everyone a happy St. Pat’s.

I wanted to share the link to Guilty Pleasures Reviews. They did the loveliest spotlight on the Wild Irish series yesterday, complete with a “luck” quote from every book! Hope you’ll check it out. I swear it made my Sunday!

And…I thought it might be fun to share the first chapter from the first book in my Wild Irish series, Come Monday, to kick off the Irish celebration today. Oh…and don’t forget to wear green!

 

Monday’s Child

Monday’s child is fair of face,

Tuesday’s child is full of grace,

Wednesday’s child is full of woe,

Thursday’s child has far to go,

Friday’s child is loving and giving,

Saturday’s child works hard for a living,

But the child who is born on the Sabbath day,

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

 

~Traditional nursery rhyme

Chapter One

 

Keira Collins stared at the paper in her hands and bit back the growl of frustration that bubbled beneath the surface. She’d received another C-plus. Professor Wallace had finished handing out the graded work and was beginning his lesson on the importance of dialogue in fictional writing.

Screw him and his damn quotation marks.

She’d only taken this creative writing class on the advice of her advisor, who claimed she needed another English credit to fulfill the college’s stupid general education requirements. So far she’d taken two years’ worth of what she called “High School, the Sequel”, all without setting foot in a single class in her major program. She wanted a degree in business technology, not to be the next freaking Nora Roberts.

The worst part of this class was, she knew her papers were perfect. English had always been one of her best classes in high school. She knew how to write a complete sentence—unlike Roy Decker. She glanced at the nineteen-year-old frat boy next to her to try to see what grade he’d gotten. She’d been paired up with Roy as critique partners the first week of class back in January. All that basically meant was she practically rewrote every word of his papers while he stared at hers and said, “This is real good.”

Roy caught her gaze and flashed his paper toward her with an enormous grin, another C-minus, which apparently delighted the slack-ass boy to no end.

Great. They’d both gotten C’s…again.

Her temper rose and she shot daggers at the back of her professor’s head as he wrote the proper way to punctuate dialogue within a sentence on the white board. She’d tried—really tried—to use the man’s asinine comments to improve with each paper, but it was clear she was beating her head against a brick wall—a six-foot-two-inch brick wall with light brown hair and soulful, deep brown eyes.

Crap, why did her teacher have to be so hot? He made her think completely inappropriate thoughts and she’d be damned if she became a cliché—the college coed who falls in love with her professor.

She’d refused to question Professor Wallace personally about her papers because the idea of being anywhere alone with him intimidated the hell out of her. When he looked at her, she felt as if he saw way more than just the surface and she was uncomfortable under his all-knowing gaze. Usually she kept her eyes averted as she took notes from the man’s lectures lest she unwittingly reveal her less-than-scholarly interest in him.

But now it was mid-April, just two weeks from the end of the semester, and she’d finally hit her limit on all these damn C’s. He was younger than most of her college professors—somewhere in his mid-thirties, she guessed, which should make him more approachable, not less. At twenty-seven, she was just old enough to feel completely out of place on campus as she watched the barely-out-of-their-teens student body discussing last weekend’s wild parties. She should be old enough, mature enough to face Professor Wallace without babbling like a child. But there was something about the man. She didn’t have trouble telling anyone what she thought and she considered herself a fairly independent, outspoken woman…with everyone except him.

He turned back toward the class and caught her eye. In the past, she would have scrambled to avoid that intense look. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and held his gaze. He stumbled momentarily over his words and she felt a small, petty smile curve the side of her lips.

She’d shaken Mr. Unshakable. Caused Mr. Perfect to lose his implacable cool.

He recovered quickly, finishing his thought, but his eyes refused to move from hers and she felt the moment stretching into a battle of wills. For several minutes, he continued to speak as if she were the only person in the room while she merely stared, not bothering to write down a word of his lecture. She’d pay for that stubbornness later, but right now the only thing that mattered was winning this war.

“Um, Professor Wallace.” Roy’s hand went up, forcing both of them to break their concentration.

“Yes, Mr. Decker.”

“It’s time for class to be over.”

Professor Wallace grinned and Keira sucked in a deep breath at the sight. For a moment her confidence, her determination wavered and she considered avoiding the coming confrontation once again.

“So it is. I want you to bring rough drafts of a five-page short story to class next time. There must be a lengthy dialogue included in the story. Class dismissed. Miss Collins,” Professor Wallace added as she rose. “Please follow me to my office. I’d like to speak to you about your paper.”

Shit. Double shit.

She’d gone too far apparently, tempted the bear from his den and he had taken the decision to discuss her grade out of her hands.

She stiffened her spine and watched the other students file out as she gathered her things. Once the room was empty, the professor gestured for her to precede him down the hall. She knew where his office was, having stood outside the closed door on more than one occasion debating whether or not to knock and question his grading practices. She’d never managed to work up the nerve. She was starting to think she wouldn’t have held on to it tonight either.

They approached his office door and he unlocked it, again motioning for her to lead the way. As she entered the room, she heard the door close behind them.

She turned and glanced at the closed door. He followed her gaze.

“I want to ensure that we aren’t disturbed.” His words, though spoken lightly, sent a shiver of fear through her. His voice was deep, sensuous, and she found her thoughts drifting to places best left unexplored.

“How old are you, Miss Collins?” he asked.

She was taken aback by his unexpected question. “I’m twenty-seven. Why?”

“You’re considerably older than the other students in the class.” His reply was succinct, but far from an answer.

She didn’t think it was any mystery that she was older than most of her classmates.

“I don’t consider seven, eight years such a vast gap.”

He grinned at her and again she felt overwhelmed by the power of his close proximity. Every time the man got within five feet of her, her body shifted into overdrive. Her nipples were erect, her breathing stilted, her stomach tied in knots.

“I agree. It isn’t,” he assured her, and she realized at that moment he wasn’t completely unaffected by their nearness either. He seemed slightly nervous as well. “You don’t live on campus, do you?”

As he spoke, his eyes covertly traveled down her body and she was struck by the fact that his wayward glance didn’t bother her, as it did when patrons of the restaurant where she worked did the same. His look seemed to be more appraising, almost clinical, while with other men the look couldn’t be called anything more than a leer, an unsavory study of her body. She’d long ago accepted that men found her pretty. With waist-length, wavy black hair, porcelain skin and ice blue eyes, she’d fought off more than her share of unwanted attention. Of course, it helped that she had four enormous, overprotective brothers at her back.

“No, I don’t live on campus,” she replied. She still lived at home with her father and siblings, still worked as a waitress at the family business, still did everything the same as she had when she was a teenager. She sighed as she considered his question and how dull her life truly was.

Her mother had passed away midway through her senior year and the raising of her six younger brothers and sisters had fallen to her. Not that her father had ever charged her with that duty. As the oldest, she’d simply assumed the role because, well, there hadn’t been anyone else and because she loved her family almost to the exclusion of everything else. She wondered sometimes if she’d almost lost her own identity in that love.

She glanced at the clock that hung on his wall. Five fifteen. She only had forty-five minutes to weave her way out of this unusual conversation and bust ass across town to be at work by six.

“You have some concerns about your grade, I believe.” His astute comment, on the heels of his strange questions, left her reeling.

“Um, yes,” she began, struggling to speak her mind under his intense gaze.

What would he look like without any clothes on?

That inappropriate question sent a flush of heat to her face and she watched his gaze narrow, his lips twitch slightly. He couldn’t know what she was thinking. Could he?

“I don’t understand why you keep giving me C’s.”

“I don’t give grades, Miss Collins. My students earn them.”

She rolled her eyes at the old teacher line and was surprised when her reaction provoked a light laugh from the man.

“I used to hate it when my teachers used that answer on me as well,” he admitted.

“My papers are grammatically correct. I include paragraphs, proper punctuation and I know the spelling is flawless.”

“And this, to you, indicates A work?” he asked.

“Yes.” She looked up at him, wondering how they’d gotten so close. She could have sworn when they’d begun this conversation, he’d been halfway across the room. Had she moved? Had he?

“I’ve given you suggestions on every paper.”

She scoffed. “The same suggestion on every paper and it doesn’t make any sense. You say my writing lacks emotion. I’ve tried to address that, but you still say the same thing, every time. And you gave Roy Decker the same damn grade. His paper sucked.”

“Miss Collins, this course is over in two weeks. Why are you only now questioning your grades? That comment?”

Frustration and weariness won out in her fight to maintain her anger. She still had an eight-hour shift to work. “I guess I thought I could figure it out on my own, but I can’t. Fact is, I don’t understand what you want from me.”

He paused and for a moment she thought her question had taken him unaware, or somehow lowered his guard. “I want quite a lot from you actually.”

She glanced at his face and was struck by the strange notion that his answer meant far more than schoolwork.

He must have recognized her confused look as he clarified, “I know what my students are capable of and I grade their work on an individual basis, on what I know they’re able to produce. I’m sorry, but I won’t discuss Roy’s grade with you.”

His laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as the beginning of his gorgeous grin peeked out again. She closed her eyes to block out the mouthwatering sight. She was fighting some serious arousal issues right now.

“I have high expectations of you because I know you are capable of writing something truly wonderful. There is more to writing than simply dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s.”

“I understand that. I just don’t know how to do what you’re asking.”

“Bring your papers—all of them—tomorrow. My first office hour starts at nine. Can you be here by then?”

She nodded. “Why?”

“We’ll compromise. I’m going to show you what I mean about adding emotion to your writing and you’re going to revise every paper, and then I’ll re-grade them.”

“We’ve written quite a few things,” she said, trying not to have a nervous breakdown. Finals were approaching and the thought of rewriting nearly a dozen assignments made her want to cry. However, the idea of doing so much work paled in comparison to the thought of spending even more time alone with Professor Wallace.

“It may take us several meetings to get through all of them, Miss Collins.”

“Keira,” she said without thinking.

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Keira.”

He nodded. “Keira.”

Electricity shot through her body at the sound of her name spoken in his deep, sensual voice. For a moment, she envisioned herself tied spread-eagle to his bed as he whispered her name again.

Tied to his bed? What the hell kind of image was that? She blushed again as he took one step closer. She swallowed heavily when his gaze landed on her lips. Her tongue darted out to moisten them before she considered what her action might insinuate.

Was she inviting this? Him? To kiss her?

She struggled to breathe as they stood spellbound, motionless for one long moment.

He recovered first, clearing his throat and stepping away. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”

She nodded, relieved—and oddly disappointed—to be granted so quick a reprieve. She turned toward the exit, ready to beat a hasty retreat.

“Oh and Keira,” he said as she reached to open the door. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Don’t be late.” His words were spoken lightly, but she sensed a darker, more thrilling underlying meaning. The words or I’ll punish you hovered unspoken between them.

She held his gaze, nodded once and left.

* * * * *

“You’re late,” Tristan called out from behind the bar.

“So fire me,” she yelled back, glad there were at least some perks to working in the family business. She and her siblings could give each other hell for anything and everything at work, but all of them would still be employed in the morning.

“I was starting to worry about you, Kiki,” her father said as he bustled out of the kitchen with a loaded tray in his hands. He gave her a quick buss on the cheek as he passed and she struggled not to roll her eyes at the pet nickname. She’d broken her siblings of using the annoying name years ago through sheer brute force and now they only used it in the midst of an argument because they knew how much the silly name irritated her.

“I’m sorry, Pop. Traffic was terrible. What are you doing carrying that heavy tray?” The doctor had issued a serious warning to her father regarding his high blood pressure in his last checkup and, as a result, she was determined to see him working less and resting more. The only reason she’d gotten him to the doctor at all was because he’d had a couple of dizzy spells. It had scared her to death so she’d sicced Teagan, her younger sister on him. Pop couldn’t resist Teagan’s puppy dog eyes or sweet, baby girl pleading.

To make matters worse, his high cholesterol was giving his off-the-charts blood pressure a run for its money, so the doctor had prescribed medication and a vacation. Unfortunately, telling Patrick Collins to relax was sort of like trying to convince the Pope to convert to Scientology.

“It’s not heavy.”

She fought back a groan of frustration. Damn man would work himself into an early grave. That thought, as always, scared the hell out of her and she dashed toward the stairs that led to their home above the restaurant. “Let me go throw on my uniform and I’ll take over.”

“Take your time. I’ve got things in hand here. The real dinner rush is only just starting,” Pop answered, placing food in front of a couple of regulars before coming over to her with the empty tray in his hands.

“You’re not supposed to be doing any lifting. Hell, you aren’t supposed to be working at all. I thought we agreed that you’d take a couple of weeks off.”

“Now don’t you go lecturing me, Kiki. I’m older and wiser than you. That doctor is a flake, trying to get me to spend my hard-earned money on a bunch of useless pills.” This argument was tedious in its redundancy. Patrick Collins was king of the conspiracy theorists, sure everyone from lawyers to doctors to pharmacists were secret government agents dead-set on taking his money.

He tapped his chest as he spoke and Keira sighed. “Who knows what this body can do? Me, that’s who. This ticker has plenty more mileage on it.”

Keira gave in, only because she was anxious to continue the fight in her uniform so at least she could be waiting on the tables and cutting down on some of her father’s workload.

“Fine, Pop. You win for now. Let me go change and I’ll help you.”

As she climbed the stairs to the family’s living quarters, she ran into Sean, her youngest brother, at the door. She loved all her siblings dearly but if forced to decide, she had to admit to a special fondness for the eighteen-year-old Sean. Perhaps it was because he felt more like her own child, rather than just a brother. While she’d merely taken on the mother role figuratively in her other siblings’ lives, she truly had raised Sean, who had only been nine when their mother died.

“Where are you going?” she asked as he put on his coat. “It’s a school night.” Even as she asked the question, she internally winced. She just couldn’t seem to kick the mother hen habit where he was concerned.

“Big history project due tomorrow. I’m going to Chad’s house to work on it.”

“Oh, okay. Well listen, don’t be too late. Did you eat something?”

“Chad’s mom’s having lasagna. She invited me to eat with them.”

“Sorry about dinner,” she said, guilt pummeling her. Prior to her decision to attend college, she’d always made sure there was at least something on the table for dinner. Her mother had ensured the family gathered for dinner upstairs, away from the hubbub of the restaurant, and for years Keira had managed to maintain that tradition. In many ways, she felt as though she was letting her family down through her decision to continue her education.

Sean grinned and gave her a quick hug. “Are you kidding me? Chad’s mom makes the world’s greatest lasagna. She makes it from scratch.”

She laughed. “What? You mean people actually eat lasagna that doesn’t come in a box marked Stouffer’s? You’re kidding me.”

“Riley would flip out to hear you even mention frozen lasagna.”

Keira nodded. “Yeah well, that’s clearly why she took over the cooking duties as soon as she was old enough.” Riley was destined to become the greatest chef in Baltimore. Despite being only twenty-one, she was setting the city on its ear with her delicious recipes. Since she’d assumed the role as chef in the restaurant, business had nearly doubled as folks came from far and near to eat her traditional Irish dishes.

“I gotta go or I’ll be late. See you later, Keira.”

“Bye, Sean. Be careful.” He rolled his eyes at her warning. It was the same warning she gave him every time he left the house. They were the identical words her mother had always said to her and she was determined Sean would have the same life he would have had if their mother hadn’t been taken from him when he was so young.

She changed quickly and returned to the restaurant just in time for the dinner rush. She was so busy she didn’t have time to worry about the prospect of returning to Professor Wallace’s office until she fell into bed that night. It was well after two a.m. and she knew she should be too tired to think, but her mind kept lingering on a dangerous, delicious fantasy.

In her thoughts, she’d overslept and was running late…

She rushed into Professor Wallace’s office shortly after nine with an apology hovering on her lips.

“Shut the door, Miss Collins,” he said before she could speak. “And lock it.”

She obeyed, wondering at his too-calm disposition.

“Come here.”

Again she complied and a tiny part of her marveled at his ability to make her follow his commands. She wasn’t the type of person to take orders easily from anyone. She’d spent far too much of her life in charge, the responsibility of caring for her family weighing heavily on her shoulders.

“You’re late,” he said.

Again she started to apologize, but he placed a firm finger against her lips, halting all sound.

“I warned you.”

She nodded.

“Turn around and bend over the desk. Lift your skirt in the back.”

She shivered at his request before her fantasy broke briefly.

Why am I wearing a skirt? I never wear them.

Shrugging off the wayward thought, she bent over his big desk, her mind only slightly aware of the fact the surface had been cleared.

His hand lightly brushed the back of her thigh as he helped her raise her skirt to her waist. She whimpered softly at the impact of his touch.

“Shh,” he soothed. “This is for your own good.” As he spoke, he brought his hand down against her buttocks. Over and over he spanked her as she trembled against the wooden desk. Her body revolted against her mind, the ingrained part of her that said this was wrong, as she lurched back, aching for more of his blows. His hand fell without restraint, without ceasing, and before she could make sense of what was happening, she came. Loudly.

“Ahh!” Keira bolted upright in bed and glanced around, afraid she’d woken her sisters with her cry. Riley and Teagan didn’t stir, a fact for which she was grateful. They’d think she’d had a nightmare and there was no way she could explain that fantasy to them.

She silently gasped for breath, her body trembling, demanding the climax she’d dangled in front of it then ruthlessly denied. A trickle of sweat ran down her cheek. She wiped it away, wrapping her arms around her bent knees, trying to regain some semblance of control.

She’d never fantasized about such things before entering Professor Wallace’s class. In the four short months she’d been his student, her mind had wandered to so many dark, forbidden places she wondered if the man had somehow hypnotized her. She’d never experienced such intense, powerful fantasies. She took a deep, calming breath and lay down again.

Figured. Her first real taste of hardcore, passionate need and it was directed at a man who was completely unattainable. He was her teacher, for God’s sake. She glanced at the clock. In six hours she would be alone with him—and heaven help her, because she was sure she’d never be able to hide her desires from his too-knowledgeable gaze.

He was too perceptive, too attentive.

Too everything.

Come Monday is available at Ellora’s Cave, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and All Romance Ebooks.

Writing Wonderland!

If my head wasn’t attached to my shoulders, I swear I’d lose it. I was supposed to choose a winner for the contest I’ve been holding this past week. And yep…I completely forgot!

So without further adieu….the winner is….Shirley Long! Shirley–I’ll email you about the prize. And a BIG thanks to everyone for the awesome comments! I enjoyed reading them so much.

And to round out this week’s sharing, I thought I’d talk just a little bit about my next release, The Back-Up Plan. It comes our on April’s Fools Day. Here’s a little bit of meaningless trivia for you. The Back-Up Plan will actually be my second April Fools release. The first was Sugar and Spice, which came out way back in 2009. I have to admit I always chuckle when I think of the first line of that book. It was the first line that prompted the whole story! Here–I’ll share it with you.

“Hey there, baby. What do you have sweet in those drawers for me today?”

Ginny Brooks narrowed her eyes. “I told you yesterday to stay out of my candy stash. You ate the last of the Tootsie Rolls and I really need a Tootsie Roll today.”

“Yikes. That time of the month, Brooks?” Travers joked as he pulled open the top drawer of her desk.

“Get bent.” She slapped his hand away before he could grab the last of the SweeTarts.

LOL–I will confess I keep a candy stash in my drawer at work too. And…all the male teachers stop by to steal it!

But…I digress…today I want to talk about The Back-Up Plan. I really had a blast writing his book. It’s part of the Second Chances series. This time, wine girl Kristen finds romance in the most unlikely of places! When she and her girlfriends meet for New Years Eve, Kristen blurts out her plan for a second chance at happiness, revealing that she wants to get married before she turns 40. Her friends try to gently warn her that finding the man you want to spend the rest of your life with in just 7 months could be tricky. But fortunately for Kristen, she had two things working in her favor–one, her law partner, Jason, has agreed to help her find a suitable man, and second, if all else fails, she has the back-up plan. The only problem is that plan has her marrying Jason if neither of them find partners by their 40th birthday. And if there’s one thing Kristen DOES NOT want to do, it’s marry Jason!

How about a peek at the blurb, cover and an excerpt? The book is available for preorder now and it will arrive in just two short weeks! I can’t wait!

Just how legally binding is a promise made on a cocktail napkin?               

Second Chances, Book 4

Kristen Grey has always been married to her work, but as her fortieth birthday looms, she begins to wonder if that’s all there is to life. When her friend Zoey suggests she come up with a goal for a second chance at happiness, the first idea to pop into Kristen’s mind falls out of her mouth—to find a husband.

One night, after a few too many shots of vodka, it falls out of her mouth again, in front of the last man she wants to hear it. Her annoying, cocky law partner, Jason Mitchell. She’s shocked when he vows to help in her quest to find a man.

After all, he has a vested interest in her success. Years ago, they foolishly made a pact that if they hadn’t found “the one” by age forty, they’d marry each other. Time is running out.

Problem is, as Jason and Kristen try to help each other find love, it becomes more and more apparent that maybe the back-up plan isn’t such a bad option after all.

Warning: The heroine in this story has no objection to how her law partner likes to recess. Legal eagle? Nope. Spread eagle.

Excerpt:

“What are you wearing?”

Kristen glanced up, her brow creased. He’d clearly interrupted her when she was deep in thought. She’d been working hard preparing for a medical malpractice suit. He almost felt guilty for distracting her. Almost.

“What?”

He crossed the room to her, walking around her desk. She pushed her chair back and swiveled to face him.

“What are you wearing?”

She looked down, perplexed. “A skirt?”

He rubbed his forehead as too many sleepless nights caught up with him all at once. She was driving him crazy these days. Wearing her hair down, smiling, singing, laughing at all his dirty jokes. Lately he’d gotten in the habit of calling her every night before he went to bed just because he wanted to hear her voice one more time before he closed his eyes.

Then sleep would elude him as he saw her face and heard her chastising him for drinking too much or not eating a healthy dinner or chasing the wrong kind of women. God. All she had to do was take that tone with him and his cock was rock hard for an hour afterwards. He’d jacked off so many times in the past few weeks he was getting callouses on his palm.

He gritted his teeth, then forced himself to say, “Under the skirt?”

She narrowed her eyes in her typical grow up way and his dick twitched. Shit. Here we go again.

“Seriously? You came in here to ask me that? Go home, J. Or better yet, call Monica. For some insane reason, she’s really into you. Maybe she can take your mind off this unhealthy obsession you have with my stockings.”

“So you are wearing stockings.”

“That’s all you heard me say, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, perfectly aware he was standing over her, looking and acting like king of the Neanderthals. He didn’t care. She was poking the bear. Every freaking day.

Then he caught a whiff of flowers. “When did you start wearing perfume?”

She shook her head, apparently unbothered by his odd change of subject. “When I was fifteen. Are you feeling okay? You’ve been walking around here for weeks like a tiger with a thorn in his paw. What’s going on?”

He wished to God he knew. Because maybe if he did, he wouldn’t do what he was about to do next. Unfortunately, intelligent Jason had abandoned ship when Kristen walked into work this morning in her short skirt and stockings. The only person still in residence was the idiot.

He bent down, caging Kristen in her chair, and kissed her. Put his lips against hers and pressed close.

She struggled for only a minute. He barely registered her hands on his shoulders, shoving against him. Then her fingers stopped pushing and started gripping.

Jason released his white-knuckle clench on the arms of her chair once he realized she was kissing him back. Their lips parted at the same time, their tongues meeting halfway as he grasped her face in his palms, stroking her soft skin.

She made a quiet whimper when he knelt between her legs, but she didn’t hesitate to part her thighs, to make room for him between. Neither of them came up for air, as if breaking the union of their lips would somehow crush the magic. Instead, they dove headfirst into the kiss, allowing it to go on and on.

Kristen’s hands loosened from his shirt, moving along his shoulders, then back to his tie. She released the knot and tugged the silk from the collar. When she started to tackle the buttons of his shirt, Jason gave up whatever semblance of control had remained.

He lowered his hands to her legs, caressing her thighs before gathering enough courage to dive beneath her skirt. His fingers had only traveled a few inches before he found the clasps of her garter.

Kristen gasped, a strong burst of air that almost pushed their lips apart. They recovered quickly, however, and resumed kissing, tasting. Jason relished every soft cry, every delicate sound of pure bliss she made.

He’d kissed hundreds of women in his life, but none of them compared to this. They didn’t even come close.

Jason deepened the kiss when his fingers found the bare skin above her stockings. Kristen spread her legs wider and he moved closer, but her tugging his shirt open distracted him. When had she unfastened the buttons? She stroked his chest, toyed with the light smattering of hair there, pressed her thumbs against his small brown nipples. There wasn’t an ounce of shyness in her exploration. Nothing, but sure, assertive hands. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Kristen was a powerhouse in the courtroom, confident, strong. It was apparent those attributes carried over to the physical realm as well.

His erection thickened even more, causing an almost lightheaded effect. The edges of his vision went fuzzy. What the hell was he doing? This was Kris.

His Kris.

The Back-Up Plan is available for preorder at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Samhain.