Thursday, May 30, 2013

Featuring Marissa Dobson--STORM QUEEN (and giveaway!)

Today I'm doing something new. Promoting a fellow Diamond Author! Marissa Dobson has a new release out, a paranormal romance titled Storm Queen. Take a look and comment for a chance to win one of Marissa's books! Contest ends Monday, June 3rd. So enter now! 


 Storm Queen
Stormkin Series – Book One
Marissa Dobson
One vibrant hope…
Bar owner Kayla Benson never thought of herself as extraordinary until the battle between Stormkins and Sunkins blew her comfortable life apart. Dropped heart first into the wild complications of court politics and dangerous insurrection, Kayla is drawn to three seductive and powerful men. Will Kayla be able to stand on her own and rule Storm Hollow or will her mixed heritage be her demise?

Two determined warriors…
Nightmare and Dreamer searched all their lives for the Queen who would restore the Stormkins to their rightful glory. Never did they suspect a common bar owner would be the answer to those prayers. But now that they’ve found her, they will do whatever it takes to keep her safe and in their arms.

His last chance…
Darkness only knows one life—the path of the assassin—but Kayla provides him with hope for the future, a desperate hope for a better existence. Never could have imagined the place he would find it was in her bed.

Three powerful men and one vibrant woman must find passion and redemption to survive…
Kayla must shed her expectations and become Queen of Storm Hollow, claim her men, unite her court and change the world…no pressure.
Buy Links:
Print Coming soon



Excerpt: 
“How the hell did you get in here?” She exhaled the words on a harsh exhale.

“That is not imperative at the moment. You must come with me.”

“Like that’s going to happen.” Covering her anxiety with a snort, she backed up to the door. Adrenaline chased away her fatigue and she searched for the handle. “It’s time for you to leave, the bar’s closed.”

Between one heartbeat and the next, he was in front of her. The overhead light glistened off his skin. An intangible force pushed her back against the cool metal of the door. Desire washed away her fear. “Who are you?” Violent, inexplicable need harshened her tone.

“That matter’s not.”

“It matters to me. You’re in my bar after hours. I have the right to know your name.”

“Nightmare.”

The name sent chills up her spine. “Nightmare, huh?” Just what I need some punk from the local gang trying to shake me down. She looked him over. His dark grey suit cast a question on gang affiliation. He’s not the type I’d expect to be causing problems for business owners. What is he into? Maybe not a gang…could the mob have moved into Sweetwater?

 “I can bring your deepest fears alive.” His rich voice sent a rush of heat through her body.

She raised an eyebrow in question. Great, an escaped mental patient walks into a bar…can this night get any worse?

“If you don’t believe me look down.” The cool dare interweaving the words drew her gaze toward the floor—and it disappeared beneath her feet.

She stood on a steel beam hundreds of feet in the air. Frozen and unable to move, her heart thundered in her ears. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swallowed the hard lump in her throat. This isn’t real. She repeated the refrain, but not even the knowledge of standing in the bar dissuaded her mind from what her eyes told it. She dangled a thousand feet in the air, and panic engulfed her.

“Believe me now?” He taunted.

“Please…” I’m going to die. A tear escaped her clenched eyes and she peeked down again, the acrid taste of bile in the back of her throat. The floor became solid once more and she collapsed. Sucking in noisy gulps of air, she tried to reconcile the insane with the real, but her mind rebelled.

“Come with me now before we’re late.” Nightmare ordered, his impassive visage cold and unforgiving.

“What do you want?” She choked out.

“I mean you no harm…”

“No harm? Are you out of your mind?” It took everything she had not to vomit. “You just had me dangling on a steal beam. Get out.”

He squatted in front of her, remorseless. Catching her upper arm in his hand, she thought he wanted to pull her up, but froze and instead dropped to his knees beside her, his head bowed.

Alarmed further, she watched him warily. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“You’re a Queen.” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “A Stormkin Queen. The one I’ve searched for.”


About the Author:
Born and raised in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area, Marissa Dobson now resides about an hour from Washington, D.C. She is a lady who likes to keep busy, and is always busy doing something. With two different college degrees, she believes you are never done learning.

Being the first daughter to an avid reader, this gave her the advantage of learning to read at a young age. Since learning to read she has always had her nose in a book. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that she started writing down the stories she came up with.

Marissa is blessed with a wonderful, supportive husband, Thomas. He is her other half and allows her to stay home and pursue her writing. He puts up with all her quirks and listens to her brainstorm in the middle of the night.

Her writing buddies Max (a cocker spaniel) and Dawne (a beagle mix) are always around to listen to her bounce ideas off them. They might not be able to answer, but they are helpful in their own ways.
Marissa loves to hear from readers so send her an email at marissa@marissadobson.com or visit her online at http://www.marissadobson.com.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Wednesday Words: (One More Week Until) LOVE IN ELECTRIC BLUE

Just one more week until Love In Electric Blue releases from Samhain. Another brand new teaser for you.

Remy Davis quickened her pace down one of Savannah’s seedier streets, noting the late hour, as well as the thinning crowd. Her hair swayed in the cold December wind as she ducked around the corner and moved in the opposite direction of her small apartment. She felt him following behind her, could feel his gaze burrowing into her back.

“Watch it, lady!” an angry voice yelled as she accidentally plowed into a large body. She murmured her apology and continued. The streetlights ended in another block, bringing her closer to a rundown section of the city she normally avoided.
As the moon slowly escaped the confines of dark gray clouds, a sliver of light illuminated the gravel before her. She glanced around, not surprised to see a few men warming their hands over a small barrel fire and a prostitute leaning in the window of an old Buick, sizing up a potential client. Remy dared to look over her shoulder and saw in horrified amazement that the man following her loomed closer.
At this distance, she could make out cold, dark eyes and a grim mouth marring an otherwise average male face. His shaggy hair flapped in the wind that now carried hard drops of rain. The menace in his stare made her shudder more than the cold soaking through her clothes. She gave up all pretense of ignoring him and ran as though her life depended on it.
Listening to the man’s harsh panting drawing nearer, she suddenly ducked to the right and ran to the fence at the end of the alleyway. Coming to a locked gate, she considered climbing it, but she could hear him behind her. She was out of time. Remy stopped, out of options, and turned to face her pursuer.
He slowed when he realized he had her trapped. He stopped with a good ten feet between them and drew a weapon from beneath his overcoat.
“Lizzie.” He shook his head. “There was no need to run. You know who sent me, so why not come along quietly? I don’t want to hurt you, and he only wants to see you again. It’s been over ten years.”
She glared at the man sent to take her back. It had been exactly ten years, four months and three days since she’d been imprisoned in that hellhole. She refused to go back. Time to get that message across, so there’d be no confusion.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. But I do have something I’d like you to take back. Make sure you give it to him for me, would you?”
The man cocked his pistol, and to her dismay she realized it wasn’t a gun with bullets, but tranquilizer darts. Something to keep her alive, useful, for…him.
Before he could pull the trigger, Remy pointed her finger.
A visible jolt of electricity shot from her fingertip and enveloped him in a web of eerie blue light. He stared at her in horror—another casualty in the war between those who would oppress and those who sought to remain free.
“Forgot to warn you about that, did he?” she asked with cold amusement. Then, with a flick of her hand, she increased the power flowing through her.
Her pursuer shrieked in pain before he slumped to the ground and slid into death’s embrace.
“Brava, my dear. You’ve exceeded even my expectations.”
Her throat dried and terror balled in her stomach. That voice. God, it had been so long. But not long enough. The sounds of a lock turning and the gate opening were overly loud in the sudden quiet. She had to face him. She knew that. But her feet refused to move, fear holding her stock-still.
“It’s time to come home, Lizzie,” he said in a smooth, cultured voice. “I’ve missed you.”
Energy flared through her entire body as six hundred milliamperes of direct current coursed through her. It was more than enough to kill a normal person, but Remy simply soaked up the flow, managing her resistance and the voltage with ease. A living, breathing conduit for electricity who could gauge it without trying, she shut down into a hazy state. The way he expected her to. The way he needed her to. This way she was his to be captured and controlled once more. And the foggy disorientation swiftly turned to pain…

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

How to Get Published...?

Every day I see a new article on how to get published. And not just published, but best seller, quit-your-evil-day-job published. Because as everyone knows, it's totally probable that writers make a bazillion dollars out of the starting gate. Uh, no. Not really. Not at all. 

Granted, self-publishing has increased the odds that a writer can now earn beyond poverty wages, but the majority of writers out there are not making six figures. Many are happy to sell enough to take a nice vacation or pay the water bill. With as much offerings as are available lately, is it any wonder how difficult it is for a writer to stand out among his/her peers?

Some writers mandate that you throw yourself into social media. Others claim that does nothing, and you just have to write a good book. Some insist you need an agent, while others will tell you agents are obsolete. While yet another group hops on one foot, writes using a green pen, and praises Thoth, the Egyptian god associated with writing, because that worked for them. Everyone has a different story or way of doing things, and every writer thinks his/her way is the right way. Who the hell knows why one book sells and another doesn't? I sure don't. 

In the old days of the Big 6 publishers, agents and editors controlled what readers could read. If you weren't traditionally NY published, forget it. Then small presses, what used to be called indie presses, opened the doors. Places like Ellora's Cave and Samhain made erotic romance huge. And indie authors--small press authors--started making a lucrative living.

Fast forward a few years and self-publishing is the new "indie." Today's indie authors are doing well, sharing information, and making it possible for others who've toyed with the idea of writing to actually publish. Personally, I'm glad for the ability to stop relying on a select few to dictate who reads what. However, that said, I've also seen many, many projects that should have been vetted by someone other than the author's best friend before becoming published.

Writing is a very subjective field. But there are pros and cons to self-publishing and traditional publishing. This particular link highlights a great list of things to think about.

http://www.sarahwoodbury.com/im-a-new-author-how-do-i-get-published/
And this link details why you might not want to be a writer, when all's said and done. Hilarious, and very, very true.
http://www.booktrust.org.uk/writing/online-writer-in-residence/blog/575/

Happy Monday!

Monday, May 27, 2013

Memorial Day

In remembrance, and sincere thanks...


Sunday, May 26, 2013

Love In Electric Blue--Available for Preorder!!

Great news! Love In Electric Blue is now available at Samhain and Amazon for preorder. It should also soon be up at Barnes & Noble as well. *big grin* Click on the links below to take you to more information about the books.


Thursday, May 23, 2013

Harlem Shake, RT Style

Today, I watched my 4th grader flail around at school doing his version of the Harlem Shake during a talent show. Which reminded me... At this past RT Convention in Kansas City, I had the opportunity to join in with the latest craze, the Harlem Shake. I pop in after a few seconds on the left and am way in the back. I'm waving my arms like crazy wearing a blue shirt and jeans, but yes, I did participate. So I guess I can cross Harlem Shake off my bucket list. Ha!

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Wednesday Words: LOVE IN ELECTRIC BLUE

Today's Wednesday Words come from my soon to be released psychic romance, Love In Electric Blue. The book comes out June 4th with Samhain, and I can't wait! So to tempt you, here's a never before seen excerpt from Love In Electric Blue.

It’s more than chemistry, more than love: it’s electric.
Remy Davis does her best to live in the now, never sure when she’ll be forced to run again. She loves her work at Buchanan Investigations—there’s no better place for a woman with her special talent for controlling electricity—but she knows better than to let down her guard. And then everything changes when a man from her past, the man she never stopped loving, reappears in her life.
J.D. never thought he’d see the girl he’d once loved, the woman he thought had betrayed him. The chemistry he and Remy once felt is as strong as ever. Old wounds need time to heal, but time is running out on second chances.

A villain bent on returning them to his twisted experiments has resurfaced. But this time J.D. won’t let Remy face the madman alone: he’ll harness every ounce of his abilities to rescue the one woman who turns electric in his arms.

EXCERPT

Dinner and a movie. A nice way to end a tension-filled Monday. Except Remy’s stress hadn’t gone down, but up since she’d joined Cole on their first date. She stood inside her living room and stared as he drew closer, their time coming to an end. She’d actually enjoyed the film, though her appetite had left her. Even the crème brulee hadn’t been enough to tempt her to overindulge.
She’d been frank with Cole about her expectations tonight—that this would be a friendly, casual, not-quite date, yet he’d acted overjoyed to take her out anyway.
“I really appreciate you doing this.” She wrung her hands as she stared up into his laughing eyes. He didn’t have the same perfection J.D. had, but Cole’s rough masculinity was its own kind of beauty. She knew his social life had never been less than active. “I hope you didn’t have to cancel any dates for me.”
“Don’t worry. There’s enough of me to go around.”
“So it says on the bathroom walls.”
He laughed with her. “I like you, Remy. Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on with you and J.D.? Because when I told him about our date earlier, he had visions of tearing my head from my shoulders.”
“He did?” Why that gave her pleasure, she didn’t want to think about. “I mean, well, we have a history. Young love gone wrong.” Way wrong. “It was all innocent and years ago. There’s nothing between us now.”
“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, looking a lot less than believing.
“Really.” Why did she have to explain herself? “I don’t appreciate the third degree. I had a nice time tonight. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cole’s lips quirked. “I know you hate to hear this, but you are so cute when you’re mad.”
“Shut up.” She tried to glare at him and ended up smiling. “You’re so annoying.”
“Yet women love me. It’s part of my curse.” He dropped his arms to his side and closed the distance between them. “Now tell me what you need. A friendly ear? A warm hug? For me to tell you again how cute you are when mad? Or how hot you are, and that all the guys at work want to do you?”
“Cole.” She flushed.
“Yeah. It’s that sexy innocence. You’re a beautiful woman, Remy. And I’m your friend. So come clean. What’s really with asking me out on a date?”
“I need you to kiss me.”
He blinked. “Why?”
“Because you’re handsome?”
“I am, but that’s not why.”
She rolled her eyes. “Forget it.”
“Now, now. I can’t have you telling everyone I’m a tease.” He drew her closer, his warmth welcoming. “You want a kiss? Okay. Just promise you won’t zap me if you don’t like it.”
She tentatively put her hands on his shoulders, amazed at how much larger he was up close. “I won’t, I swear.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “I won’t lie and say I haven’t been wanting to do this,” he confessed before settling his mouth over hers.
Remy stilled as his soft breath met hers. He kept his hands on her face as he deepened the kiss. A gentle trespass, but no more than she allowed as he sipped at her lips. She felt a spark of interest, but it was nowhere near the intensity of what she’d felt with J.D.
Cole tasted like crème brulee, and he kissed with a smoothness that spoke of experience. He moved carefully with her, and she appreciated his consideration. He was a good friend, but nothing more.
“Not bad,” he said as they parted. He studied her. “But not great either, hmm?”
Remy blushed, wishing she hadn’t been so obvious.
Cole laughed and pulled her closer for a hug. “I’m teasing you, Remy. Relax. Be honest—our kiss was pleasant, but it didn’t rock your world.”
“You could tell?” She swore she’d felt something hard brush her belly when they hugged, but she didn’t want to be presumptuous and think she’d aroused him. Could she? Had she?
“You kissed me back, but you aren’t breathless. No squirming, either. Definite tells. I have enough experience to know these things.” He touched her nose and pulled away. “I’m betting you don’t. Do me a favor. Make J.D. work for his kiss. Trust me, he can stand to give you a little romance. And you’re worth it.”
She blushed again but smiled as he left. The awkwardness she might have expected after their date hadn’t been there. Her friend at work—and outside of work, apparently—Cole remained her protector.
If only she could have felt a deeper connection with him. Who knew where their night might have ended? Not with sex, though she looked forward to that day. But intimacy with Cole wouldn’t have been outside the realm of possibility. She liked him. She knew him, and the fact that he had psychic ability made her feel at home.
She moved into her bedroom and slipped on a slinky nightie she’d purchased ages ago, her one concession to dressing sexy. The rose-colored satin gown ended at midthigh and had spaghetti straps. Wearing it made her feel like a real woman, and the matching robe that went with it would keep her warm while still letting her feel feminine.
She’d just filled a kettle of water for tea when someone knocked at the door. Setting the kettle down, she hurried to the peephole, wondering if Cole had returned. And if he had, should she let him see her like this?
She peered out to see J.D. staring over his shoulder. Her heart raced and she had to consciously catch her breath. What was he doing here? It had to be close to eleven at least. She unlocked and opened the door a crack. Before she could say anything, he burst through.
“Where is he?” he asked grimly. He looked around her living room before stalking down the hall toward the bedrooms. Remy followed in his wake, more than a little annoyed.
“What are you doing here?” She tried to tamp down the thrill at the thought that he might be jealous. She shouldn’t want that, yet she liked him not wanting her with anyone else. Because she felt the same way about him, even though she had no right to such possession. God, I’m such an idiot.
She waited in the hall while he stormed through both rooms, oblivious to the fact that he had no right to do so.
“Cole’s not here,” he said in confusion. He turned back to see Remy, and his eyes widened. “Good Christ. What are you wearing?”
It dawned on her that the sexy outfit might give the wrong impression. And then he was there, in her space, backing her against the wall.
“Did you wear this for him?” he asked, his voice husky—with rage or arousal, she couldn’t say.
“No.” She licked her lips, aware he followed the movement like a hawk. “Cole left before I put on my pajamas. We had dinner and a movie. I like him. He’s a friend.” She tried to move, but he caged her between his body and the hands he braced against the wall on either side of her head. “Move.”
“Make me.”
“J.D.…”
“That’s not what you used to call me,” he murmured.
“Joshua,” she breathed, feeling him with more than her body. Her heart and her energy, always confused and needy when around him, pulsed with desire. It didn’t help when his energy sought hers, like to like, and aroused her to no end.
He glanced down, shuttering his gaze. “I see your nipples, hard little buds. You scared, baby?”
“Of you?” she tried to scoff, but he ran a finger over her breast and she sucked in a breath.
“Of me.” He smiled before lowering his mouth to hers. He gave her every chance to pull way, but she waited, needy, hungry.
The kiss melted her into a puddle of “hell yes” in seconds. He groaned into her mouth and pinched her nipple. She gasped and ground against him, arching up when he cupped her breast and moved to the other one, giving it more attention.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so good.”
“You too,” she whispered, not sure when she’d put her hands on his shoulders, holding him close. The distrust, the anger, the pain—all of it paled next to this growing need. What she could never feel for Cole or any other man.
He stared into her eyes and she saw the same desire, the same baffled lust she felt. His lips parted, but his gaze never wavered. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I want to stay away. I need to, but I can’t.”
“So don’t.” No more talking. No past or future. Only the present mattered. Him and her. Finally together. Remy’s body demanded she take charge. She’d dreamed about this with him.
J.D. dragged her close and kissed her again. And that’s when she lost her train of thought, because though she might comprehend the mechanics, the nuances of his taste and touch scrambled the rational woman she tried so hard to be.
He deepened the kiss and pushed her robe to the floor. Just like their time before, except now she knew they wouldn’t stop. Not until she had him where she wanted him.
 Love In Electric Blue
Coming to Samhain June 4th

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

I'm Going Into Darkness Today

This is my afternoon today. And yes, I do deserve it. *grin*
I'll be sure to share my thoughts afterward.

Monday, May 20, 2013

Diamond Authors Today

I'm at Diamond Authors today blogging about the decision to write full-time. Check it out, and happy Monday.

Now, I'm on to a cup of Grin and Bear It. Ah, the stuff of life. 



Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Wednesday Words: STORMING HIS HEART


A Westlake Enterprises Story
Storm Buchanan’s talent for mind control comes in handy as an investigator for a private agency, but it’s hell on her love life. Men bow to her every whim, so there’s no challenge. Where’s the fun in that?
Maybe that’s why she can’t trust herself around Rafe Savage. The smug, sexy, annoying investigator for a rival firm is the one man who seems impervious to her power. Worse, when he kisses her, she all-too-willingly slips under his control.
Rafe’s gift for seeing into the future doesn’t usually blindside him…until it comes to Storm. The beautiful seductress assaults his control on all fronts, and the spontaneous flashes of her life in danger have his every instinct on alert.
When attempts on both their lives escalate, Storm and Rafe must stick together to find a madman bent on vengeance. While it’s no surprise that their enforced proximity has their bodies going up in flames, neither expects lust to melt into love. Or that they’ll need every ounce of their combined skills to fight for a future that could die before it’s born.

Warning: Beware a heroine with mind control, a sexy hero with attitude, annoying siblings, smug psychics, sexualized danger, and a psychotic villain who can’t be caught

An excerpt from Storming His Heart, the second in the Westlake Enterprises series.
“What’s for breakfast?” Rafe asked, all the while skimming her features. She didn’t look any the worse for wear, so perhaps last night’s odd happenstance had just been a dream. But dreams didn’t leave him feeling sick and dizzy. He normally controlled his visions though, and last night had hit him squarely between the eyes.
“Wh—what…why…?” Storm continued to stare, obviously thrown by his untimely appearance. “What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared.
“Storm Buchanan, I’m Rafe Savage. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you.” He turned on the charm and she blinked in bewilderment. Without asking, he reached for her limp hand and brought it to his lips.
Touching her made him hard as a rock. Thankfully, she continued to stare into his eyes, as if searching for answers there. He smiled, and her eyes widened. Her ripe lips parted on a breathy gasp.
He wondered if he’d gone overboard on the charm when she continued to say nothing. Then he noticed the rough abrasion on her palm. He turned her hand over, his heart racing.
“Where’d you get this?”
She pulled her hand away and moved to her sofa. Her movements were slow and clumsy, and he watched with suspicion as she carefully lowered herself to sit.
“I don’t know. Must have happened when I tripped the other day.” She settled into the cushions and gave him a wary look.
Not believing her in the slightest, Rafe followed her. He scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her protests, and moved as gently and quickly as he could.
“What the hell are you doing?” She didn’t try to leave his hold, conscious of her injury, no doubt.
“Where’s the bedroom?”
“The bedroom?” Her eyes flickered to the left. “Are you on drugs?”
He walked with her down the bright corridor to a bedroom that had to be hers. Done in soft blues, the room had feminine touches but wasn’t overly frilly. Her queen-size bed, to his disappointment, sported rumpled cotton, not silk sheets. He lowered her to the mattress and waited for her to try to escape.
She didn’t disappoint him.
He stopped her awkward attempt, pulled her to the edge of the bed and opened her robe.
Ignoring her stunned silence and his own heated reaction to her short nightshirt, he examined her first with his eyes, then his hands, conscious of her sudden stillness. Rafe felt the same curves he’d touched just Thursday night and shifted to relieve the building ache in his groin.
She flinched and he froze. A glance at the flesh under his hand told him the unfortunate truth. A large, purplish bruise covered her upper left thigh.
“We should get you to a hospital,” he murmured, still looking at the bruise. A surprising anger filled him. Storm had been hurt, and he was taking it personally, which made little sense. Conscious of what had to be extreme pain, he wanted to take it away, maybe kiss it better. His cock throbbed and he swore to himself, trying to get a handle on his suddenly whacked-out libido. This was no time to be lusting after the woman.
He wondered if she’d broken anything.

Storm wondered if she’d been hit on the head, or worse, maybe suffered from some strange delusion. She hadn’t moved a muscle while a near stranger—albeit a darkly handsome one—groped her. She wanted to attribute most of her response to shock, to deny the fact she actually liked the sensual pleasure of his touch.
She swallowed as his large, callused hands left trails of heat in their wake. She prayed he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t wearing any underwear. But if he inched her shirt up any more, he’d see an eyeful.
“What are you doing?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless. He crouched beside the bed, on the floor between her thighs, and studied her bruised leg. “And who gave you my address?”
Rafe ignored her. He grasped her leg at the knee and slowly pushed her thighs apart. Her hip protested, but the pain wasn’t so bad if nothing directly touched her skin. He ran a hand over her leg to the bruise. The sensation gave her goose bumps until he reached the injury. When she sucked in a breath, he stopped and trailed his hand back to her knee.
His gaze met hers. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m no doctor. You should see someone.”
Storm took a calming breath, trying to sound relaxed and not horny as hell for a Westlake agent. “First of all, my leg is fine. It’s a little bruised. Okay, a lot bruised,” she amended at his raised brow. “But who the heck do you think you are, busting into my house, issuing orders, touching me…” Her world centered on the large hand still covering her leg. His fingers stroked her knee and she had trouble breathing.
God, he is making me so hot.
He forestalled her next comment with a finger across her lips. It was all she could do not to taste him.
“I’m glad you’re all right.” He looked away from her face and examined her nearly naked body with burning interest.
Storm knew she was pretty but didn’t consider her looks anything out of the ordinary. Thanks to good genes and a steady exercise regimen, she had a slender build and long, toned legs. The thought of them wrapped around his waist made her wet, and she prayed Rafe wasn’t a mind reader. Talk about embarrassing.
His eyes darkened and he traced her lips with his thumb. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now.”
Thank God. Not a mind reader. But— She gasped when he slid his other hand to her uninjured leg.
“Hmm. Does it hurt here?”
“N-no.” Move, Storm. Tell this guy to take his grabby self and leave.
“How about here?” Rafe’s hand slid between her thighs. He teased closer and closer to her clit while subtly pushing her legs farther apart, careful not to hurt her. By now her lack of undergarments had to be apparent.
“I’m okay,” she rasped. Her nipples beaded under her shirt, needing to be touched.
Rafe glanced up at her face with a concentrated hunger. “Like I said, I’m no doctor. But I really think you need to be looked at.” He shoved her shirt up, exposing her from the waist down. She’d completely shaved for her date with Hank, on the off chance she got lucky. She couldn’t have imagined Rafe Savage’s indrawn breath would be her reward.
He eased his fingers along her folds, spreading her arousal over her responsive flesh.
“Does it ache?” he rumbled in a low voice.
Hell yes. She closed her eyes, unable to answer.
Then his finger found the heat of her. He pushed inside, knuckle-deep.
“Oh my God.”
“Damn, that’s hot,” he breathed and pulled his finger out, only to push it back in again. “You have to be really hurting here, hmm, Storm?”
She needed to tell him to stop, to demand this man that she didn’t know leave the house and never look back. But everything inside her told her that this was the man she’d been waiting for. Never before had she lost control from a man’s touch or been so ready to have sex.
He rubbed her clit with more and more pressure, manipulating her body as if he owned it. The ease with which he mastered her responses bothered her on a distant level. But she couldn’t think past the need to come hard all over him.
“This is insane,” he said, his voice thick. She opened her eyes to see him gazing between her legs. “Fuck me,” he swore, then removed his hand and covered her clit with his mouth.
She cried out and clenched his thick hair, holding on as desire burst through her in a torrential wave.
Rafe sucked and nipped, licking her like a starving man. He shoved one finger inside her pussy, then added another, thrusting them in a rhythmic pace that had her battling her climax all too soon.
“That’s it, baby. Come all over me. Let me eat it up,” he growled and resumed his course.
He drew harder on her clit and pushed deeper into her, sliding against a sweet spot that sparked stars behind her lids. She arched closer to his mouth and pumped her hips, needing what only Rafe could give her.
“Yes, yes,” she gasped as she came hard.
He devoured her response, licking and stroking with a tongue that wouldn’t quit. When the sensations became too much for her to bear, he eased off and planted kisses along her thighs.
Storm opened her eyes, sated, confused and helplessly caught in the rich brown gaze staring back at her with what looked like possession. “I, that, I—” She had no words to express the bewildered joy infusing her tired mind and body.
Rafe wiped his mouth and sucked the fingers that had been inside her, a gesture that had her licking her lips, wanting to know how he tasted. He stood and she unconsciously sought the erection straining his jeans.
In a thick voice, he said, “I’m going to make us some coffee. We need to talk.” He turned and walked stiffly from the room. She heard the hall bathroom door shut, then silence.
Storm didn’t know what to think and lay back on the bed in a daze. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard Rafe exit the bathroom. The sounds of the kitchen cabinets opening and closing penetrated while she stared blindly at the doorway, her legs wide open, her sex wetter than wet.
Embarrassed she could barely remember her own name, she rose from the bed, grabbed a change of clothes and limped to her adjoined bathroom to clean up. She emerged fresh but no less embarrassed in loose-fitting sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Rafe stood in her kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. He said nothing, but his eyes darkened as he watched her near. When she reached him, he pushed a cup her way.
Baffled by what to say, and more, what to think, she went through the mundane process of fixing her coffee. She poured a cup and stepped toward the refrigerator when he shook his head.
“I’ll get it. Cream? Sugar?”
“Yeah. Sugar’s in the—”
“Top cabinet. Go sit down. I’ll join you.”
Both annoyed at his arrogance yet glad of it, she huffed and left the kitchen for her dining table in the open living area. At least now she felt the same aggravation she normally felt for anything or anyone connected with Westlake Enterprises. For a minute there, she’d confused incredible sex with affection.
He joined her at the table with a tray carrying their drinks, cream and sugar.
She frowned. “Where’d you find that?” She nodded at the tray, which had been missing for weeks.
“Next to the fridge. Drink up.” He downed his coffee like a thirsting man, and she had the distinct notion he wished it was something a lot stronger.
She fixed her coffee the way she liked it and took a sip, then ran a hand through her hair. It didn’t escape her notice that he followed the movement with intensity. She wondered if he imagined running his own hands through it.
Storm stopped that train of thought and cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?” And why don’t I want you to leave?