Sunday Smooch with Amy Andrews

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!


Today we have a smooch from Amy Andrews but first ....... the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is  Helen Sibbritt!  

Helen can you please contact bronwynjameson (at) gmail (dot) come to receive your prize!











And now for today's Sunday Smooch from Playing the Player........

After a long history with crappy guys, high school teacher Em Newman is going man-vegan. Four months of revirginization has opened her eyes to her doormat imitation but, baby’s got spine now, and some smooth-talking—even if he is sinfully hot—rugby player, won’t be adding her as a notch anytime soon.

Lincoln Quinn loves rugby, women, and poker. And he likes to win at all three. When his team mates bet him he can’t break through Em’s resolve, he’s more than up for the challenge. But this lady has a shoebox of stipulations before she’ll even go on a date with him, much less use that mouth for kissing instead of giving orders.

Something’s gotta give but this time Em’s not settling. And Linc’s questioning everything he ever knew about matters of the heart.

Em and Linc have just been to the wedding of Dex and Harper. They didn't go together but she's a little tipsy on booze and migraine pills and he's offered her a lift home. During their drive they've discussed why nothing is going to happen between them because Em is done with players and because Linc doesn't take advantage of inebriated women. After a couple of attempts to get out of his low, low car in her high, high stillettos, he's removed them for her so she doesn't break her neck and decided he'd better walk her to her front door as well.

“Come on.” He reached for her elbow again. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

            She didn’t argue this time. She figured his car was probably difficult enough to get out of sober, so she allowed him to help her out and guide her down the path. She didn’t notice the cold cement beneath her bare feet, conscious as she was of his hand on her bare arm, of the brush of his sleeve against her shoulder, and the occasional bump of their hips.

She was glad the distance was short because her resolve to go inside alone was weakening by the second. Ever since he’d mentioned kissing she could think of little else.

Oh, that’s right, she was the one who’d mentioned kissing.

            Em turned as she mounted the one step that formed a small alcove to her recessed front door. He stayed on the path, but he was well within touching distance. The overhead light shone directly on his head, spilling golden rays over his blond hair and making the snowy white of his expensive shirt glow. The open collar and the dangling tails of his bow tie added a whole extra dollop of sexy.

He was simply dazzling, and Em’s pulse fluttered madly at the sight of him.

Green. His eyes were a pale green.

“Thank you for the lift. And for the hand out of your ridiculously low car and your assistance to my door. And for not making a move on me.”

            “It was my pleasure. Or, you know”—he grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets—“not, as the case may be.”

Em grinned back, momentarily awed by the way his face moved in perfect combination to create such utter masculine beauty. It was hard to believe it was regularly driven into the dirt in the name of sport. She half expected to see a little fake sparkle shining from one of his front teeth like a toothpaste commercial.

Standing here smiling at each other like idiots under her front porch light, Em thought maybe they could actually be friends. She’d never had a guy friend, due to the whole desperately seeking daddy thing that had been occupying her psyche for far too long. It could be kinda cool, and Harper would like it. But then his gaze dropped to her breasts. And lingered.

Nope. Definitely not friends.

“You should go in. You’re cold.”

            He could have been referring to the goose bumps on her arms, but he wasn’t staring at her arms. He was staring at her fripples, twin headlights beaming at him, the tight points almost painful against the fabric of her bra. Those green eyes widened at the sight, the small dark blobs of his pupils dilating slightly. She might still be a little tipsy, but she knew lust when she saw it.

And just like that, she was back to wanting him.

Friends? She could never be friends with Lincoln Quinn. She was always going to want to tear his clothes off.

Damned if that didn’t send a frenzy of signals to all her good places. A flood of heat erupted from her pelvis and flashed like wildfire through her system. Her heart beat drummed through her head and throbbed between her legs—the perfect duff duff beat for her vagina party.

Em couldn’t ever remember wanting a man like this.

“Oh, screw it,” she muttered to herself, dropping her clutch, phone,  shoes, and wrap in a messy, noisy heap as she took a step forward, rose on her tiptoes, slid her arms around his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

            She didn’t know what to expect. There hadn’t been a plan, like so often when she kissed a guy.

Hell, she wasn’t thinking logically.

She just...wanted. Desired. Needed. Like a drink of water for a parched throat. Or a blast of oxygen to deprived lungs.

But Lincoln seemed to know what to do, opening to her straight away on a groan that vibrated through her belly, his hands sliding around her waist and pulling her closer.

He tasted like wedding cake and every bad thing she’d been denying herself. She had four months of pent up lust vibrating inside her, and she was giving it all to him.

Suddenly, though, he was tearing his mouth away, shaking his head. “Okay, wait,” he panted, pressing his forehead to hers. “Wait.”

Em sucked air in and out of her lungs, confusion muddying her thoughts. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to get out.

Wait?

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, his voice low and throaty, the light green of his eyes practically swallowed up by the dilation of his pupils.

He was right. They shouldn’t be. They should stop. If they didn’t, she was going to hate herself in the morning for her lack of control.

“I know,” she said huskily, trying to clear her head, trying to resist temptation, but failing as her hips moved restlessly against him. “I know,” she repeated.

But maybe, just for now, they could...

---

For a chance to *win a digital copy of Playing the Player (must have an Amazon account) leave an answer to the following question in the comments and yes, it may make us all blush a little so fair warning....

I think this is the first book - and I've written 60+!! - where I've actually used the anatomically correct name for the errr.....lady parts. I almost didn't. And then I thought - why not? Half of the world has one and it fitted perfectly into the scene.  But do "real" words drag you out of a book? Lets face it, they're not pretty words, right so is it an ewwwww moment? Would you rather read soft euphemisms or just have genitalia (another unpretty word) mentioned through implication rather than direct language?


*The winner will be gifted a copy after the Jan 30th release date!

Come back next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced and another smooch will be posted!

Smooch Graphic by WebWeaver

Sunday Smooch with Stefanie London

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!


Today we have a smooch from Stefanie London but first ... the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is Amy Casey!















Can you please contact amy(at)amyandrews(dot)com(dot)au to receive your copy of Tis The Season to be Kissed.

And now for today's Sunday Smooch from Millionaire Under the Mistletoe.


It’s so nice when he’s naughty

Stella Jackson would rather stab herself in the eye with her own stiletto than return to England. Especially in winter. But to fulfill her grandfather’s last wish, she has to spend Christmas at the estate she inherited from him…with the one man she wishes she could forget.

Self-made millionaire Evan Foss wants one thing from Stella—her estate. But thanks to their rocky past, he’s the last person she’ll sell to. So when she takes him up on a bet, with the estate as the prize, Evan can’t believe his luck. The only problem is that seeing her now, sexy and all grown up, tempts Evan to finish what started years ago between them.

Set up:
Evan and Stella were childhood friends, but their relationship dissolved four years ago when they decided to sleep together and things didn't go according to plan. Now Stella is staying at the estate while she plans to sell it to anyone but him. Evan isn't prepared to take no for an answer. But there's a lot of UST (unresolved sexual tension) between them, which is getting in the way of business...

Excerpt:

She placed the first few ornaments on the tree, spacing them out evenly and creating a subtle pattern. He followed her lead and they worked in silence. Occasionally, she would move one of the baubles he’d placed on the tree, if it didn’t look right. He smirked at the concentration with which she appraised their work. The process relaxed her. She knew each step and could focus on doing something rather than sifting through the confusion in her head.

You’re supposed to remember how it felt to be rejected. Not how good his hands or his lips were. Not how you were falling head over heels for him.

The tree came together slowly, piece by piece. They added the collection of old fashioned wooden ornaments that matched the set that Stella had back home; each piece finding its perfect spot among the bristles of the tree. The angel, the drummer boy, the rocking horse, the reindeer—they all had a place.

“I always put the decorations up here,” he said. “Though the staff aren’t nearly as fussy as you are.”

“Nothing wrong with doing it properly.”

“Nothing wrong with a little mess,” he countered. “It keeps life interesting.”

“I don’t like mess.” She frowned. “It’s…”

“Messy?”

“Complicated.”

What were they even talking about anymore? He didn’t know just how much he’d shattered her poor, virgin heart back then…or maybe he did.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he said.

She opened her lips to reply but his hungry kiss enveloped her, hot breath filling her mouth where a protest should’ve been. He crushed her to him, one arm snaking around her shoulders so that there was nothing between them but the clothes on their bodies. He tasted of tea and cinnamon.

A groan passed between them as their tongues met, and Stella melted against him. His tongue danced with hers, probing and exploring her with a gentle yet insistent curiosity. She tilted her head back, feeling him catch it in one hand. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging her head back farther so that he could gain greater access to her mouth.

She was dizzy with lack of air and the pressure of his body against hers. Beneath her T-shirt her skin tingled, alight with the long-forgotten feeling. Her nipples beaded against the lace of her bra and she ached. Everywhere, she ached. 

It had been a long time…a very long time.

***

Ahhh sexy smooches and Christmas, what more could you want? I'm giving away an ebook copy of Millionaire Under the Mistletoe to one lucky winner. All you have to do to enter the giveaway is answer the following question in the comments below...

What's the best/wackiest/most unique holiday tradition that you partake in? If you don't celebrate Christmas you can absolutely pick a tradition from your favourite holiday :)


Come back next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced and another smooch will be posted!

Sunday Smooch with Amy Andrews

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!


Today we have a smooch from Playing It Cool but first 


... the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is Kim Martin!


Can you please contact rachel (at) rachelbailey (dot) come to receive your prize.


And now for today's Sunday Smooch from Playing It Cool by Amy Andrews.

Score one for the curvy girls!

Harper Nugent might have a little extra junk in her trunk, but her stepbrother calling her out on it is the last straw... When rugby hottie, Dexter Blake, witnesses the insult, he surprises Harper by asking her out. In front of her dumbass brother. Score! Of course, she knows it's not for reals, but Dex won't take no for an answer.


Dexter Blake's life revolves around rugby with one hard and fast rule: no women. Sure, his left hand is getting a workout, but he's focused on his career for now. Then he overhears an asshat reporter belittle the curvy chick he'd been secretly ogling. What's a guy to do but ask her out? It's just a little revenge against a poser, and then he'll get his head back in the game.

But the date is better than either expected. So is the next one. And the next. And the heat between them...sizzles their clothes right off.


Suddenly, this fake relationship is feeling all too real...Blurb and Cover

Harper is at work at the City Kids hospital where she's been employed as an artist to brighten up the old drab walls of the different areas with bright murals. Unbeknownst to her, Dex is also there with the Sydney Smoke on one of the team's charity engagements. He slips away from his duties to find her and say hi. When he does he finds her in her work clothes of paint splattered overalls and he's having a hard time concentrating on anything else other than the central zipper of said overalls that runs straight down the front of them.

“Well, come on woman, tell me about the damn mural before I do something impulsive.”

Impulsive? Like what?

The low growl twirled and twined itself around internal muscles with a gossamer touch, sparking to life all the pent up lust she’d been trying to control the last couple of days.

Harper wiped the scenarios in her mind’s eye with a quick clear of her throat. “This is my... under the sea mural,” she said, her legs jerking into action, wandering down to where it started, sucking in some much needed air as she fought to control the reaction of her body to the nearness of his.

It was insanity of the highest order how easily Dexter Blake could affect her body. No man had ever left her panting just from his presence alone.

Determined to keep this above board and professional in her workplace, she explained succinctly and methodically what she was trying to achieve. She pretended he was one of her school age art students and not a fully grown man who was emitting so much testosterone she was almost faint with it.

She discussed colour and technique and where she was going with the bare sketches on the unfinished section as her pulse fluttered madly. Some would have called it babbling. But she had to engage her mouth in something useful lest it develop a mind of its own.

She was too aware of him to relax. Too aware of his hands jammed in his pockets, his gaze on her mouth as she talked. His heated interest on her zipper.

His cursory questions and complete disinterest in the answers seemed merely an excuse to let his gaze wander freely over her. He didn’t touch her but she felt the hot, sticky fingerprints of his interest mark every part of her body.   

Christ. He was turning her on just by looking at her.

“Okay,” she said, her voice tremulous with desire as she ran out of scintillating factoids about the mural. He needed to stop or she was going to do something impulsive. “I think it’s time you left now.”   

To his credit he didn’t protest or pretend he didn’t know why she was kicking him out. He just nodded. “I really did come down here just to say hi but...Jesus...” His gaze dropped to her zipper. “Are you wearing anything under that?”

A twinge,  like the low sexy notes of a saxophone, undulated across her pelvic floor. Dex was looking at her like he wanted to peel her out of her overalls as if she was a ripe banana. God knew he could do it easily. He was only an arm’s length away. He could just reach out and yank if he wanted.  

Harper swallowed. Her breath hitched. “Well I’m not naked, if that’s what you mean.”

His low groan rubbed against her skin like the finest grade sandpaper, her nipples beading painfully against the fabric of her bra. “Damn.”

The word rumbled out of him, arrowing heat from her breasts directly to the bullseye between her legs. She should send him on his way for both their sanities. Push him out the door and tell him she’d see him on Sunday, but the desire darkening his usually light green eyes was a heady thing.

“I’m wearing underwear,” she clarified quickly as if it might give some protection from the incendiary gaze threatening to melt her overalls right off.

“Christ,” he muttered, his gaze zeroing in on the tab of her zipper as he reefed a hand out of his pocket and jammed it through his hair. “All I can think about is yanking that damn zip down.”

It was all she could think about too.

Harper’s breath was thick as fog in her throat, her pulse slowing right down. He took a step towards her.

“Tell me to go,” he murmured, his gaze almost feral on her mouth now.

Harper couldn’t. She was virtually paralysed with lust. How she was managing to stay upright under his thorough eye-fucking she had no idea.

“No.”

She should. But she couldn’t.

It was like there was an invisible string between them pulling them inexorably together, and she didn’t have the power or the will to break it. He was going to have to man up if he wanted out of here unmolested.

“Jesus, Harper,” he whispered, looking at her for long moments, looking into her eyes this time as if he was searching for some kind of lifeline.

She clocked the exact second he stopped searching.

“Goddamn it,” he swore, taking the one pace necessary to cover the distance between them, his hands grasping her upper arms, yanking her towards him as his mouth closed in on hers.

After days and days of sexual fantasies, the touch of his mouth was like petrol on a fire and she blazed with need. Harper had heard other women talking about hearing the hallelujah chorus when the right guy kissed you. Choirs of angels and all that jazz. But that wasn’t what she was hearing. There was music alright, but it was no glorious benediction. 

It was the bourbon-gravelly tones of Nickleback singing about pants around her feet and dirt on her knees. 

 She was vaguely aware of him walking her backwards in the direction of the wall, her legs moving automatically at the insistent push of his powerful thighs, and she had just enough sense in her rapidly devolving thought processes to protest.

“No, no,” she muttered, tearing her mouth from his. “The paint’s wet.”

Harper's job is one of the more unsual I've written. For a chance to win an e-copy of Playing It Cool, tell me if you've read any other heroines with unusual jobs or if there's a particular job/profession/calling you'd like to see a heroine doing. Who knows, I might just make it happen in one of my books! I'm always looking for intertesting things to write about!

Come back next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced and another smooch will be posted!

Smooch Graphic by WebWeaver

Sunday Smooch - Loving the Odds

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!

Today we have a smooch from Stefanie London but first 


... the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is ladiemarcie.!!


Can you please contact annie (at) annie-west (dot) com to receive your copy of A VOW TO SECURE HIS LEGACY.


And now for today's Sunday Smooch from LOVING THE ODDS.

Risk analyst Bailey Reuben might be in Las Vegas, but the last thing on her mind is sin. She’s there to find her jerk of an ex and get her grandfather’s watch back. Instead, she finds a smoking hot stranger. A stranger with a crazy plan to help her retrieve her family heirloom and get revenge. It’s a bad idea—she calculates risks for a living, after all—but she can’t say no.

Bad boy PR guru Lance Fulton is all about helping the gorgeous, quirky Bailey. She’s in desperate need of some fun, and pretending to be her new boyfriend is the perfect way to help her see how sexy she is, get the watch, and show her ex what he’s missing. But the more they get to know each other—and the hotter their attraction burns—the higher the probability one of them will end up with a broken heart…

Set up: Bailey and Lance are sharing a hotel room after her spontaneous decision to stay in Las Vegas for the weekend. There’s a lot of instant attraction between then, but Bailey’s been burned before and she’s unsure how to deal with her attraction to Lance. Luckily for her, Lance isn’t to shy about going after what he wants.

“I’m not one of those people who uses literally when they mean figuratively,” she said.

“I’m sure you use the correct word at all times.” His lip twitched but he managed to keep a straight face.

“Oh, I try to. Grammar is very important and not enough people take care with it.” She paused. “Hang on; you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Me, never.” He put a hand to his chest in mock sincerity. “I’m a total gentleman.”

The fine arch of her brows said it all. “Riiiight.”

“You wound me.”

She laughed. “Want me to kiss it better?”

It was a saying, a colloquialism…he knew that. But those six little words managed to suck all the air out of his lungs and disconnect his body from his brain. He stepped forward and her breath hitched. The blacks of her pupils ate away at the electric rim of blue around them.

“What did you say, Bailey?” His voice came out roughhewn. Edgy.

“I just meant…” She sucked in a breath and mashed her lips together.

Desperate desire rushed through him. He wanted to press his lips to her throat and see if her pulse was racing the same as his. What would it be like to drag his lips across her skin? Would she taste as clean and fresh as she smelled?

“It was a joke,” she whispered. Her tongue darted out to touch the corner of her mouth and that flash of pink totally undid him. “I think.”

The space shrunk between them as he closed in. “You think?”

“I don’t know.” She stood rooted to the ground. “What if it wasn’t?”

“Are you saying you want to kiss me, Bailey?”

Her lips parted as if in invitation and her hands came up to his chest automatically. The soft, feathery touch of her fingers through his T-shirt stoked the fire inside him. She moved her hands over his pecs and up to his shoulders. The movement was gentle, but passion flickered across her face like a flame.

“I’m still deciding.” She pressed her sweet little body against him, her bare thighs lining up with his.

The delicate swirl of her hips forced his blood south. He was hard as f**king steel. “You’re still deciding?”

“Well, I don’t usually kiss random men. Actually, I’ve never been one to kiss much and there’s a chance I may not be good at it.” Her brows creased but her hands fisted into the cotton of his T-shirt. 

“At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“You’re giving me some very mixed signals right now.” His face hovered inches from hers, their breath mingling in the air between them.

“I want to kiss you, but…” Her lips quivered. “I’m scared.”

“Why don’t we take it slow?” Lance brushed his mouth over hers. It was more a whisper than a kiss. 

“Glacial, even.”

“Glacial,” she sighed as he slid his hands up the back of her neck to cradle her head. “I like that.”

His thumbs stroked her ears as he kissed one corner of her mouth and then the other. Slow.  Soft. Her fresh scent curled around him.

“That feels good,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut.

He traced his tongue along the seam of her mouth and she opened for him, her lips glistening and shiny like ripe fruit. When he leaned in again, her tongue came out to meet his and he moaned into her mouth.

I love the idea of having a crazy story about how people met their significant other. Lance and Bailey will certainly have quite the tale for their grandkids one day!

How did you meet your significant other (or anyone else important in your life, like a best friend)? Leave a comment below to be in a running to win an ebook copy of Loving the Odds.

Come back next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced and another smooch will be posted!