Sunday Smooch with Amy Andrews

Welcome to another LoveCats DownUnder Sunday Smooch!


 
Today we have a smooch from but first....... the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway is Lyn Williams...







Can you please contact hjlacey (at) bigpond (dot) com to receive your prize. And now for today's Sunday Smooch from Troy........

The first time local Doc Joss Garrity meets Troy, she’s brandishing a lug wrench. The second time, he’s dragging her delinquent teen son home. The third time, he’s in her ER. How he ends up convalescing at her house she’s not quite sure. But it does make it hard to ignore him and their simmering attraction.

Cocky, young Aussie bull rider Troy Jensen has been busted down to the pro-circuit. He needs wins and points to get him back into the big league and a shot at being crowned champ but an injury forces him off the circuit and into the arms of the woman fate keeps putting in his path.

As Troy gets to know Joss, he starts to see a life after bull riding for the first time. But can Joss risk her heart on another man who may not come home one day?Blurb and Cover

Scene set-up

Somehow, injured cowboy Troy Jensen has wangled his way onto Joss's couch and then into the spare room above her garage. Thinking him out, she's ducked up to the room to give it a bit of a spring clean only to discover that Troy is still at home. Very much at home in nothing but a towel and a bunch of fascinating water droplets! 



           She didn’t notice the partially fogged vanity mirror as she walked toward the bathroom, either—two thick fluffy towels in hand. Not until she was inside anyway and a pair of jeans and fringed leather chaps tossed carelessly over the edge of the vanity came into view.

She almost dropped the towels as she spun around.

“Hey.”

The Dixie Chicks crooning, there’s your trouble, straight into her ear was a particularly ironic twist.

Joss yanked the earbuds out as she gaped at the man standing in the open doorway of the shower cubicle. Thankfully he was wearing a towel—even if it was positioned sinfully low on his hips.

But that still left an awful lot to look at. An awful lot. Like the scattered droplets of water on his shoulders and chest and abs. And his nipples. Flat and brown and so evenly spaced she wanted to get out a ruler and measure them.

Or possibly use her tongue.

He cocked an eyebrow, the tiny white scar stupid sexy in the daylight. “Finished?”

“I…I…”

She swallowed but it was no good, the ability to talk seemed to have deserted her. He took a step toward her and Joss took a hasty step back, bringing her right up against the vanity. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest.

Sweet baby cheeses. He was big and it was a very, very small bathroom.

The aroma of soap and shampoo had replaced leather and rope and her stomach clenched. She’d always been a sucker for that man-just-out-of-the-shower smell. She clutched the towels to her chest as if they might protect her from it.

“I thought you’d gone with Gus?”

“He had to leave in a hurry and I really needed a shower.” He took another step toward her. One more and they’d be hip to hip. “I was really dirty.”

The way he was crowding her back, his provocative choice of words should be horrifying and intimidating. She should be mad as hell, demanding he stop. Demanding he take a step back. But with his long, lean body looming, her body was melting down.

She didn’t want him to stop or step back. She wanted him to come closer. To press his body along hers. To feel all his heat and hardness right up in her face.

And parts much lower.

She shouldn’t want it. It was…pure madness. But she did. Her hands trembled with the effort not to touch him.

“If I’d known you’d be along,” he said, his voice low and lazy, “I would have waited for assistance. It’s not easy showering one-handed.”

A slew of images all involving him wet and naked and soapy and the things he could do one-handed, cluttered up her brainpower. “And yet you managed.” Her voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper.

“Sure. I’m a self-sufficient kinda guy. But…” He took the last step, an inch of air separating his thighs from hers. “It’s much more fun with two.”

Joss’s heart was pounding so furiously she was sure he must be able to feel the vibrations hitting him in the chest. “I just came to give the loft a bit of a spring-clean. Bring some sheets and towels.”

She clung to the last bit of sanity she had and hoped like hell he’d do the right thing and back the hell up.

He didn’t.

Instead he spread his arms out—his injured elbow hampering the movement on the left. “I found one. As you can see.”

Which automatically dragged her gaze down.

Down. Down. Down.

Over his neck and his chest and his abs. Oh yes he had. And didn’t he wear the hell out of it.

He reached for the towels she was using as a shield and prized them gently from her grasp, shoving them on top of his jeans and chaps.

“You smell great,” he murmured, his good hand sliding onto the vanity near her hip, his injured arm bent and skewed awkwardly out as his lips dropped to the side of her neck.

She smelled great? This from the man who smelled like a deodorant commercial.

Joss shut her eyes as his lips buzzed her skin. For a ridiculously light touch she felt it everywhere. In her breasts and thighs and deep behind her belly button.

“Like candy canes.”

Part of Joss recognized it was probably just her mouthwash he could smell but the other part—the part that was already tipping her head to the side to give him better access—was thinking maybe she should start bathing in the stuff.

His hand left the vanity and crept up her side and around to her back as his thighs pressed against hers, lean and hard. His fingertips grabbed the end of her ponytail and gently tugged, angling her head back even further.

“I love candy canes,” he muttered, his breath warm as his tongue stroked the sensitive skin at the angle of her jaw. “I love sucking on them.” His lips closed over her earlobe and tugged.

A sound came from the back of her throat. Something quite unholy—half wanton, half feral. It joined the jungle beat in her head and the rising urge to submit. Joss was powerless to do anything other than turn her face and seek the heat and oblivion of his mouth.

“Troy.”

“What, Joss?” His hand grabbed more of her ponytail, elongating her throat, his mouth taking full advantage as his body settled against hers, the hard jut of his erection pushing urgently against her belly. “What do you want?” he whispered against the thick thud of her carotid pulse. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

No one had ever called her baby. The fact that it had come from a guy seven years her junior should have been ridiculous. But it wasn’t. It curled her toes.

“Kiss me.”

Before even the next beat of her heart, his mouth was on hers. Not slow and sweet but fast and urgent. Joss moaned, her body flooding with the wild sexual thrill of it, her hands circling his waist to pull him closer.

Oh yes. She remembered this. The soft and the hard of a man’s mouth, the frenzy of tangling tongues, the pulse-fluttering excitement of a big, firm body unapologetically violating personal space.

The kiss deepened. Joss slid her hands to Troy’s butt, stroking him through the towel. His glutes tightened. Her nipples hardened. His hand fell to her upper thigh, slipping behind to where leg met ass. He squeezed and lifted, opening up her hips, stepping boldly into the gap, notching himself between her thighs, his hand urging her up onto the vanity before sliding to the base of her spine.

He held her there tight as he ground his erection into her, a bolt of pure pleasure striking her core. Joss moaned, tightening her thighs around his hips, locking her ankles around his ass, silently demanding more.

He gave it, grinding slow and deliberate against her center as his tongue slid down her windpipe. She shivered as his lips made their way to the spot just below her ear. “You’ve made me so hard, Joss,” he whispered.

She whimpered deep in her throat at the dizzying compliment. She wanted to see that. Feel it. Even the thought of it tripped a switch inside, her lips seeking his in reckless abandon. He took them, groaning into her mouth, his head twisting, his lips hunting, owning her and the kiss within seconds.

If anyone had told Joss last week that she’d be dry humping a twenty-seven-year-old she’d met only five days prior in the bathroom of the loft above her garage, she’d have committed them for psychiatric evaluation. But here she was and she could not get enough.

Her body throbbed with need. Maybe she needed committing?

Joss's music of choice to do a spot of housework to, is the Dixie Chicks. For a chance to win a digital copy (must have an Amazon account) of Troy, tell me what's your go to music when you're toiling away at whatever it is you'd rather not be doing?

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

Smooch Graphic by WebWeaver