It's My Birthday Week. We've Got a Soccer Theme. You Get the PREZZIE

On Friday, 12/16 it shall be Birthday Eve for yours truly.


To thank all you amazing readers, followers, fans and even you lurkers, I'm gonna give you a PRIZE...yes, a good one.


A $25 gift card to Amazon!


Why? Well, because I wanna share a little taste of my upcoming release from Decadent Publishing:
Caught Offside is a hot, fun, sweet story (well not sweet exactly but you get me).  
I'm gonna tease you kids with 2 excerpts. One a little tamer than the other.  


On Friday, 12/16 I'll ask one question here, on the Brewing Passion blog.  I need ONE correct answer.  Just one.  And I'll random.org-a-fy (funny that looks like "orgy-fy") one winner.  You can get MY ENTIRE backlist on Amazon with that $25.  Just sayin'.




BLURB

Ramon Castillo, world famous soccer player and international playboy has been brought low by a career-ending injury.  After the humiliation of a shattered knee and shin at the World Cup final he has spent year in surgeries and painful therapies, the last three months of which are at the Castillo resort in Las Vegas under the watchful eye of his cousin Jackson.  Ramon has lost interest in anything other than the black jack tables now that he will likely never play his beloved sport again.

Gillian Winter, catering  manager for the MGM Grand Hotel, and former US National Women's team goalie, is nurturing her own deep wounds.  Her husband has died unexpectedly, leaving her with a young son whose one dream is to meet his hero--Number 17--Ramon Castillo.  When a chance encounter in the lobby of the MGM reveals Ramon's presence in their midst, everyone's lives are changed forever.   Is healing possible for Ramon and Gillian after just One Night?
Excerpt #1:SETUP: Ramon's cousin Jackson Castillo (a well-known dude if you are familiar with the 1NightStand series) has hit on an idea to get his injured cousin and his friend Gillian together.  
 "You told her what?" Ramon stared at his cousin in disbelief.  "That you would be meeting her and her son at noon at Soccer Plus." "And what the fuck am I supposed to do with them there?" He protested while his body began reacting to the thought of being that close to the gorgeous red head from the MGM lobby. But Jackson had no right to do this. He'd sworn off soccer. All that ridiculous time, energy, money spent, only to get cut down in your prime by a random bullshit event. He turned and started to walk out of Jackson's office. The hour-long massage had loosened his leg, but his head started to pound at the latest turn of events.  "You will do this. Not because you owe me or anything. But because I've just made it a condition of your stay here."He gripped the doorknob. Yes, he owed his entire life to the Castillo clan. Born to a drug-addicted prostitute and left to languish in a Cuban-American neighborhood welfare hospital, he'd been adopted by the Castillo family, and Jackson in particular had taken an early interest in the boy's natural athletic abilities. He'd paid for his early training in the lily-white suburbs, amongst the wealthy soccer moms with their shiny SUVs. The rest could be called soccer history, including this latest ignominious chapter. His shoulders slumped and he nodded, not turning back to face the man at the desk.  "Okay—but just once. And I am not doing this for her or that kid. I'm doing it for you." "That's fine. But I assure you that you may have met your match with Gillian Winter." Suddenly curious in spite of his irritation, he turned. Jackson leaned back in his chair, shiny dress shoes propped on the huge walnut expanse of a desk, one eyebrow cocked. "Gillian Winter…." He had a sudden flash of realization. She had been the goal keeper for the women's national team back when he'd still been playing at the under-nineteen level. He'd quickly moved up. But she had left her gold-medal winning team after two brilliant seasons.  "Christ." He ran a hand over his face, yanked open the door and stomped out. First the pressure to stay in Vegas to take over the semi-pro team Jackson had funded with several other successful resort owners. And now this?  Back in his suite, resentment roiled in his gut at Jackson's overt manipulation. The man would not give up trying to get him to admit he would never leave soccer. But he had to. He gulped down his second espresso, and made a halfhearted stab at some eggs for protein. His whole life had been regimented by his sport. Without the structure provided by the game he absolutely adored, he slipped, unmoored, aimless, through the days. The pain in his leg matched the excruciating pain in his chest at the thought of never playing again.He studied her intense gaze as she readied herself in goal, celebrated key wins with her teammates in images he'd found on the Internet. The one at a press conference, when she announced her retirement, pregnant by the coach of the team, showed her as tough, resolved and sad. He knew the feeling. Her husband had apparently died of a rare heart condition two years ago, keeled over on the sidelines one day while coaching a club team here in Vegas. And I thought my life was fucked up? He frowned and slammed the laptop closed. Might as well get it over with. He put on loose-fitting shorts and a T-shirt, flexed his knee a few times, and marveled at how it had healed. He recalled the utter torture of major surgery, a two week twilight of pain killers, four more in early therapy, trying to get the damn thing to bear his weight. The four months in intensive repair work with weights, swimming, yoga and some light running had been working. But his entire body tensed at the thought of donning shin guards and cleats. He simply could not do it. Choosing short socks and indoor turf shoes instead, he grabbed one of the soccer balls lying around his room and made for the front door and taxi stand. He'd do this thing. Kick a ball around with that kid. Try not to be a walking hard on in the presence of the woman he now knew equal to his own talent. And be done with it. His thoughts wandered to the blackjack tables where his night would end, comforted by the concept of winning a few bucks in solitude once again.

Excerpt #2:
 Ramon's entire body hummed with energy as he stared at himself in the men's room mirror. His need to escape from her or risk his go slow vow to Jackson had become imperative. Her laugh, the line of her jaw, the tops of her breasts, her bare thighs as she crossed and uncrossed those amazing legs combined to make him nearly demented with desire. He sighed and leaned his hands on the granite counter. His cock could cut diamonds and his balls were starting to ache. His natural tendency to go overboard with women, to fall madly, deeply in love with every single one of them, had gotten him in trouble before. But his publicist had always spun him as super playboy, master cocksman of the soccer world. It worked for all concerned.  But this was different. He refused to let this one get away, goddamnit. They had a connection beyond physical. It was as strong as the deep throbbing in his lower belly, when he looked up into the mirror, straight into Gillian's deep green eyes. There she stood, bold as brass in the men's room, a wicked smile on her face. He turned. "Look, um, I don't think...." he started to say. But she reached out, hooked a finger through a belt loop and pulled him close. Before he could say another word, her arms were around his neck and her mouth covered his, her tongue caressing his lips. He moaned and gripped her closer, yanked her hair out of its flimsy clips, and buried his hands in the tangle of red that spilled over her shoulders.  He walked her backward, hands on her ass, holding her as tightly as possible. Their tongues collided, teeth clicking in urgency. She broke away to catch her breath, giving him access to the neck he'd been eying all night. He ran his tongue down a line from her jaw, caressing the porcelain length of it, keeping his hands fisted in her hair. When she looked at him again, her eyes shone.  "God, Gillian...." He gave into the mind blowing necessity to flick his tongue over her freckles. She smiled. "I knew it." He muttered, as he buried his face in her neck again. "Tastes like cinnamon." She drew him back toward the long chaise lounge conveniently situated in the large, men's room sitting area. He eased her down and slid the flimsy strap off her shoulder, cupped the exposed curve of her breast, so perfect and heavy in his hand. The proud, hard buds of her nipples begged for his mouth. He pulled one between his lips, sucking hard. His head buzzed. He tried not to rub against her body, afraid he'd shoot his load in the expensive trousers Jackson had sent up, like a high school kid in the back seat of his dad's car. "Wait, Ramon," she whispered.  "I'm not waiting. Not another minute." 

Yummy, no?And I will forgive you if you start mentally saying his name like my editor and I did...Rrrrrrrrrrrra-MON!
oh yeah.check back Friday.  Answer one question you'll find an answer to in one of these 2 excerpts and you could win!Now don't you have some shopping or decorating or baking to do?cheersLiz