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 Laurie! 


Can you please contact Helen Lacey on hjlacey (at) bigpond (dot) com to receive your copy of her book!

And now for today's Sunday Smooch from Playing With Forever........

 Country boy, Ryder Davis has the world at his feet. A stellar rugby career, a winning way with women and a beach view that keeps him in blue sky and bikini babes. He's living the dream. The last thing he needs is a Great Dane called Tiny destroying his feng shui. 

Dog whisperer, Juliet Morgan is about to start living her dream and she's counting down the days. In two months she'll finally be moving to Italy and no man's going to stop her this time. Not even a rugby superstar with a badly behaved pooch. 

But when Ryder skids into the animal shelter looking for help Juliet agrees to assist him with his canine issues. Pretty soon they're assisting each other out of their clothes and tumbling headlong into a sex thing with an expiry date. 

Neither of them expected it to become more. But when for now starts to feel like forever Juliet hits the panic button. Ryder knows he has to play the long game and let her walk away. After all it's not over until the final hooter sounds and all's fair in love and rugby. 

Very excited to share that Ryder and Juliet's book is out tomorrow! You can click on the cover to go to a preorder/buy link and have that gorgeous cover on your device pronto!

Scene set-up

Juliet and Ryder have just come from their first dog obedience class with Ryder's temporary flatmate and permanent homewrecker, a Great Dane called Tiny. He's, ostensibly, showing her around his goregous art deco apartment but both of them know there's going to be some canoodling going on. If only it weren't for Tiny....

***language has been tamed to spare blushes***


Had it not been for Tiny taking up all the room between them in the gorgeous, original— exceedingly small—lift, Juliet may well have made the first move then and there. But Tiny was right there, looking at her adoringly, and she had no desire to corrupt a puppy. 

His owner on the other hand... 

The lift eventually creaked to the fourth floor, and Tiny waited patiently for Juliet to exit before he leapt out after her, licking her arm enthusiastically. 

“I know just how he feels,” Ryder said, following at a more sedate pace. 

Juliet looked over her shoulder at him. “You want to lick my arm?” 

“I want to lick every inch of you.” 

She let her gaze wander over his chest and down to his crotch again. “Ditto.”  

Juliet thought she heard him groan or maybe curse under his breath as her head swivelled forward, and she smiled despite the ache between her legs becoming more and more urgent. Leaving here tonight without doing him was going to be torture. But, thanks to her ex, she’d learned to set boundaries with men. To start as she meant to go on. 

She’d told him no sex, and she meant it. If she didn’t respect her own boundaries, how could she expect him to? And it would just make their inevitable coupling the sweeter.  

She waited for him to open the door, the flex of the muscles in his forearm cranking her anticipation to fever pitch. They were mesmerising, the urge to make a start on the licking, strong. The door gave way and Tiny pushed it open, enthusiastically racing into the apartment ahead of them. 

Juliet wasn’t conscious of stepping inside or the interior of his apartment or the door closing behind her, just the thud of her heart, the warm slide of his fingers on her nape, his breath on her cheek, a tangy hint of passionfruit filling her nostrils, the loom of his body as he guided her backwards, the feel of the wall at her shoulder blades.   

Then it was the heat of his mouth, the hungry lick of his tongue and the rumble of his groan. The way his shoulders filled her hands, the solid cage of his chest, the firm span of his hands on her hips.  

The hard, thick length of him.  

Juliet moaned and rubbed herself against him shamelessly. He groaned again, deep and resonant, and she swallowed it up, her arms twining around his neck, her hands tunnelling into his hair, her fingers twisting into it liked she’d fantasised about earlier. Her lips pressed harder, opened wider, branding his mouth with her own. Desperate to take all he was offering and give all she had of herself. 

She clung to him, starving and drowning all at once.   

Two short, loud barks dragged her out of the moment. Ryder too, who groaned as he tore his mouth away.  

“Jesus.”


For a chance to win a digital copy of Playing With Forever, answer me this - ever had a pet ruin a special moment?

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

Smooch Graphic by WebWeaver

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 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