Notorious’s Drool-Worthy Cover!

Merry Monday Morning!

Notorious-Jianne_Carlo-200x320OMG, I drooled when I saw the cover for Notorious, Wind Dancer Book Two.

Isn’t it totally scrumptious? Truly Georgia Woods of Hartwood Publishing does the best covers.

What a bod! And he totally looks exactly like I pictured Terrence O’Connor, my bad-ass hero (save for the long hair).

Of course, I’m going to start off your work week with an excerpt from Notorious. 

Notorious Excerpt:

***

“While I appreciate the view of your sweet little body, darlin’, you do realize that this is the men’s steam room, not the women’s?”

Naked, lying on a neon orange beach towel, eyes covered by one forearm, Jenny Su-Lin Taylor didn’t react.

At first.

As the whiskied baritone rumbled into her foggy tranquility, she jerked to a sitting position. Frantic eyes darted left, then right, and took a frenzied sweep of the mists swirling around the small chamber. A thousand Japanese Taiko drums pounded a war beat in her ears. Blood surged to the rhythm, pulsing hysterical tattoos at her wrists, throat, and temples.

She stopped breathing, moving, thinking, when eyes the color of storm clouds racing across a typhoon sky manacled her gaze.

Fantasy and reality merged.

Submerged.

Thor, God of Battle and Thunder, materialized through dissipating, opaque steam curls.

Naked.

High, sculpted cheekbones, a square, stubborn jawline chiseled by anvils, her most erotic fantasy come to life sprawled on the marble ledge opposite. Wheat-streaked hair fired with auburn glints brushed the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. One knee bent, the man leaned on a thick, muscled forearm, Popeye biceps bulging.

He drained the oxygen out of Su-Lin’s lungs.

Out of the room.

All about her, magic pooled.

Balmy condensation caressed her shoulders, the barest sigh of enchantment escaped her lips, and the world, no, the universe, pivoted on the mythical deity reclining before her eyes, glorious in his nudity. She’s heartbeat cavorted into loud, insistent hammering, which swelled to fever pitch. She noticed small details—the way the faint dusting of golden hairs on his torso swirled to the right, a thick forefinger stroking peach-pink marble, his taut stomach lifting and falling.

Around his neck hung a gold chain, and a dazzling pendant with intricate engravings punctuated a chest so defined, so Norse god-like, her fingers tingled with the urge to trace each ridge…

Fire licked every inch of skin, flared up her spine, and connected with her brain, igniting a frenzied desire. She scrambled for the towel. Nails scraped the moist marble—she clutched shaky fingers around soft cotton and bounded off the bench. His size dwarfed all five–feet-five inches of her too-big-for-gymnastic-competition body.

A warrior-resolute gaze examined every inch of her roasting flesh, lingered on her B-cup breasts, and his mouth pursed as he studied her. The intensity of those slate eyes had her hands trembling, her fingers fumbling to drape the towel around her chest. She muttered a Mandarin curse when her waist-length, straight-as-a-pin black hair tangled with the wet material.

“You don’t have to leave, darlin’. We can always lock the door.”

Propped on an elbow, the man angled forward, full lips curling at the corners.

“I’m at your service, darlin’, whatever milady wishes.”

Her subconscious noted the slight hint of Irish brogue. Seconds later, his words registered, but their meaning took longer to comprehend.

She couldn’t manage anything more than a panted “Oh.”

The Pause button that had suspended her brain functions thus far clicked off. Fast-forward took over, and she twirled around, intent on escape.

“I like the view from behind too, darlin’. That’s one fine backside.” He ended his pronouncement with a chuckle, which made her skin smolder even more.

***

Now tell me you don’t agree—doesn’t the cover totally look like what Su-Lin’s just seen? Minus a particular body part, that is *evil grin*.

Have a marvelous Monday!

 

Manhandled, Wind Dancer Book One!

Manhandled, the first book in my contemporary series—Wind Dancer—releases in 4 weeks! And I have a cover. And oh yum, what a fricking cover!

Check this out my peeps!

The Wind Dancer Series:

Take a group of drop-dead hunky, ex-military men. Give them a luxury yacht—Wind Dancer—in the Mediterranean. Add women from different cultures, India, Hong Kong, and Haiti. Enjoy the wild, erotic ride when three sultry females and tangle with three dangerous men.

Manhandled-Jianne_Carlo-200x320

Manhandled Blurb:

Rolan Paxton, the Boston Buffalos’ celebrated wide receiver, dominates the football world for twelve years. Fame, fortune falls into his lap. He rides the rainbow, collecting championship game wins and women.

Sarita never thought she’d see Rolan again. Notre Dame recruited him two days after prom, two days after he took her virginity. What are the odds of her son’s father chartering the luxury yacht she’s crewing for twelve years later? And that he still makes her burn like he did on prom night?

Sarita wants Rolan, but she wants her independence.

Rolan’s a control freak bent on domination. Determined to master Sarita, Rolan slaps on the manacles—and turns this trip to Monaco into a pleasure cruise.

 

Here’s a few Tantalizing Quips From Manhandled:

***

“I don’t have a dad, right. It’s not the end of the world.”

Surely she hadn’t thought…no, she had thought it was a one-night stand.

“He’s mine. I raised him. You were only there for the conception.”

“He’s mine,” he roared and shot to his feet.

“You leave my mom alone. If you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”

“Isn’t this just dandy? We’re already dysfunctional, and the family nucleus is in its infancy.”

“I took your virginity with all the finesse of a stampeding bull

“He’s my dad, isn’t he? You lied to me.”

Sarita stepped onto the deck and into an episode of rich and famous reality TV.

He was licentious, not her.

Who the hell was he to judge her?

Sarita did a little stripper’s sway.

Again,” he commanded. “Make that sexy noise again.”

“My fingers stay exactly where they are until I catch a second wind.”

“Right now, all I want to do is bring you off again.”

“I think I’m actually jealous of my fingers.”

“It’ll fit, Sarita. Just a matter of priming you first.”

“Rolan? You made up for that night.”

“Hell, I was having a hard time staying hard until I saw you.”

“Because you flaunt those titties.”

“You had little cupcakes. Where the hell did those tits come from?”

“Geoff wants to marry Mom. He’s got a castle, he’s rich, and he’ll take care of Mom.”

“Because he’s my son, and I’m proud of him.”

“You’re like a bulldozer, Rolan.”

“You think I’m a man-whore—”

“I’m not the ass I was three years ago.”

“I love your wickedly talented mouth.”

“How can you even think of food after that?”

“Because, Sarita honey, you’re dessert. And that’s my favorite course.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“But you did, right after we had dessert last night

“I can do things with a lobster that’d make your head spin

“I want to save that for our wedding night

“I want to savor this and go real slow

“Wrap your legs around my back. Hang on tight.”

“You’re so juicy and hot.”

“Tonight, we’re going to use both of these toys.”

Sex toys? Manacles? Blindfolds?

“Are you commando?”

“You’re afraid that you’ll like whatever I dish out, aren’t you?”

***

Hope you like!

Have a marvelous Monday!

Halloween Giveaway and The Romance Studio’s Spookalooza!

 

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From October 24 to 31st I’ll be parting with The Romance Studio at their annual Spookalooza Event! (whoever coined the name deserves a creative genius prize!)

First and foremost, The Love, Lust, and Laptops sizzling Halloween anthology, LOVE IN THE CARDS, is available FREE!

Love in the cards cover

Blurb:

A mysterious invitation…

Dacre House. A decadent Garden District mansion on Halloween night. Some are here to work, some to play, but all are here for a reason. Will old lovers reunite? Ancient conflicts be forgiven? Can strangers enter the house alone and leave as mates? How valuable is a friendship? What would they do to keep–or lose–a job? The answers are in the cards.

Ten naughty stories of love and lust from the ladies of Love, Lust, and Laptops.

The Jack of Hearts
The Three of Cups
Two of Wands
The Two of Cups
The Star
The Strength of a Lion
Judgement Day
Empress
The Wheel of Fortune
The Lovers

Here’s an excerpt from the first tale (just so happens to be mine *smirk*:

The Jack of Hearts:

***

Ricco stared out the open window and willed Kata to walk through the gate.

He wouldn’t lose his mate twice.

Seth had won Kata once, but he was long dead and buried, and all bets and rules were off.

The gas lamp hanging from an iron post just inside the award-winning front garden of Dacre House highlighted the raven-blue woven into the fibers on the black hood and long cloak Kata wore. The cape swirled around her ankles, and the ancient iron creaked in a drawn out protest when she shoved the gate open.

He tracked her steps and inhaled the musk of her desire mingled with the night-blooming jasmine. He hadn’t been certain she’d come after their confrontation earlier today.

Kata climbed the stairs, her feet dragging as if she was about to put her neck on the guillotine block.

Ricco’s mouth watered. His canines tingled and his gums ached with the need to claim.

The door opened and the attendant said, “Card.”

Her graceful fingers reached under the cloak, and she opened her hand to display half of a torn tarot card. The half that matched his, the Jack of Hearts.

“Third floor. Last door on the left. Stairs are straight ahead.” The doorman hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

“I don’t understand.”

The man growled, “Those were my orders for anyone with that card. You in or out?”

For long moments Kata remained quiet.

Scenting fear tangled with her mounting excitement, Ricco waited, his fists clenched. If necessary, he’d reveal his other half of the invitation―and his identity―and drag her up to the prepared attic room.

Her face reflected indecision for a brief moment, but then she squared her shoulders and let the card drop into the servant’s outstretched hand.

Ricco sighed his relief, and his knitted neck muscles relaxed.

Kata sidled past the doorman.

Ricco splayed his fingers wide and rotated both wrists. He withdrew into a shadowed corner and, being capable of both place and form shifting, transported to the lair he’d prepared earlier. Dacre House required signed contracts from all participants before renting out a room for BDSM activities and said contract had shed a glaring spotlight on Kata’s secret fantasies.

He’d worked off most of his fury in the ring after overhearing Kata’s conversation with her BFF, Shauna, earlier.

It had taken all his willpower to leave Kata alone after Seth died. He’d signed up for another tour in Afghanistan to avoid the daily temptation of being around her. If only he had followed his instincts and teleported back often to keep an eye on her. But, no, he curled his lips. He had to be fucking honorable and give her space.

Tough titties. No more space.

Not once had he imagined Kata fantasized about bondage and submission.

***

Want to read more??? Simply click on the cover above or the link below—it’s FREE!

http://www.amazon.com/Love-Cards-Becca-Jameson-ebook/dp/B00GCRF61I/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top?ie=UTF8

Merry Monday,

*Warning* Love in the Cards includes bondage, bdsm, and m/m as well as m/f tales.

Returning From Social Media Hibernation!

Prymal_Hunger-Jianne_Carlo--200x320It’s amazing how much you can get done when you take a social media vacation!

Honestly, I never realized how much of a time-suck updating FB, my blog, and tweeting was until the last couple of months.

I’m finally up to date on most of my projects.

Manhandled is finished—YAY!!!

Notorious, Carnal, Prymal Hunger, and Wulf are in the works.

And I’ve started three new Viking books!

I should take social media holidays more often, right? Maybe. But while I hunkered down in my EDJ and writing caves, summer ended, pumpkins are now everywhere, and I just know before I blink—the holidays will be on us!

Swear to all the gods out there—the globe spins faster from September to January 1st!!!!

Who doesn’t agree with that?

Here’s a tempting tease from Manhandled:

***

“Rolan, sweetie. You’re not eating. The food’s gonna get cold,” whined Cindy-something, breaking into his reminisces.

Rolan stifled another groan as he took in the clothes strewn across the burgundy Persian rug, the rumpled bed sheets, Cindy’s naked double-D breasts, the platinum nipple rings, and the diamonds dangling from her navel.

What had Sarita seen?

Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the scene she’d interrupted—Cindy on her haunches, one palm on his groin, his semi-erect prick. He choked back a howl. What a disastrous way to reunite with the girl who’d haunted his dreams for  the last twelve years. Shame had him stumbling back to the bed.

His knees collapsed and his butt slammed onto the mattress.

What a f**king man-whore he’d become. When had it happened? When had he gone from shiny and idealistic to contemptuous, egotistic, and unscrupulous? At least where women were concerned.

Elbows jammed onto his thighs, forehead propped in his palms, he closed his eyes against the mortifying ignominy burning his flesh. Sarita had once adored him, but now she must despise and scorn him.

And rightly so.

He didn’t even know Cindy’s last name. Didn’t care to know. The Rolan Sarita had known in high school might’ve been bigheaded, but never would he have sacrificed his morals. Shit to that. He’d abandoned any sexual ethics after his first Super Bowl win.

Twelve years ago, he’d taken Sarita’s virginity.

And on each twenty-ninth of May for every year since, he’d awoken aroused, with her face burned on his pupils. He’d learned after the first couple of years not to bother with substitutes, not when their faces were replaced by hers at the height of his climax.

He downed a glass of orange juice.

How had Sarita ended up on Sir Geoffrey Stanford’s yacht in Monte Carlo? Where had she been all this while?

***

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt

Merry manic Monday everyone!

Guest Author – Marcie Boudreaux & The Road Leads Back!

Marci Boudreaux, authorMy guest author today is Marci Boudreauz (aka Emilia Mancini). Marci’s celebrating her latest release The Road Leads Back with a fabulous contest & a tantalizing excerpt. Take it away Marci!

***

Thanks for having me today, Jianne!

I’m so thrilled that The Road Leads Back is now available!

As many of you may know, I not only write contemporary romance as Marci Boudreaux, but I write steaming hot erotica as Emilia Mancini.

When I am writing as Marci, I sometimes struggle to tone the steaminess down a bit because, well…I like sex. The hotter the better as far as I’m concerned. Which raises an interesting question considering the characters in my new series are all mature adults (and by “mature” I mean 40+). Why, does it seem, romance books with characters over 40 seem more difficult to come by?

I love being almost 40. I feel like I finally fit inside myself. Like I’ve finally stopped trying to “figure things out.” I don’t know it all, but I know enough.

I also know that sex is better now than in my 20s. Sure, I’m not as flexible, but I also don’t have to try so hard to impress my husband. When I was twenty the “let’s try this” wasn’t quite as quick to turn into “nope, that’s not working for me” but now that I’m older, I think that’s because I’m more aware of what doesn’t work for me.

So, when I am writing these contemporary romances, and that Emilia part of me starts trying to sneak in, I can do so with much more confidence I think. The sex scenes in my Stonehill Romance series may not be quite as graphic as in Seducing Kate or The Rebound, but I feel like they are definitely just as steamy and probably a bit more emotionally developed than in my Emilia works. It feels great to be able to combine these two sides of myself for a moment within the text and bring a contemporary spin to these scenes. I also like that the characters are free enough, and confident enough with themselves, to all the steamier side to show without it coming off as fake.

I hope if you join me in my contemporary romance journey, you see what I’m talking about. Sex at 40+? Just as good, if not better.

the-road-leads-back_coverBlurb:
Kara Martinson and Harry Canton weren’t exactly high school sweethearts, but they did share one night neither will ever forget. Twenty-seven years later, Harry surprises Kara at an art gallery opening and discovers he left her with more than just memories when he went away to college. Desperate to connect with the family he never knew existed,

Harry convinces his son to move to Stonehill—and pleads with Kara to come, too.

Kara hasn’t stepped foot in their hometown since the day she was sent away to a home for unwed mothers. Now Harry’s back in her life and as they put together the pieces of their parents’ betrayal, old heartaches start to feel anew. She wants to be near her family, but returning to Iowa means facing some things…and some people…she isn’t quite ready to.

Can Harry convince her to forgive the people who betrayed her so they can embrace the future they were robbed of so long ago? Or will the pain of the past be too much for Kara to overcome?

Excerpt:

***

Kara squeezed her way toward the crowded bar, nudging between two kids who she couldn’t quite believe were old enough to be legally drinking in public. Shouldn’t they be funneling cheap beer in a college dorm somewhere? Or sneaking shots from Daddy’s liquor cabinet?

Art gallery openings used to be much more sophisticated than this. When she was a young artist, openings were about appreciating the art and the artist, not the free booze.

Shit.

Had she really gone there? Kara shook her head at her bitter thoughts.

The bartender, a walking tattoo with spiked black hair, leaned close so she could hear him. “What’ll it be?”

She realized all she wanted was wine. And quiet. The kids around her were acting more like pre-teens jacked up on sugar than art aficionados. One made a face, squished and reddened, as he held up an empty shot glass as proof of his triumph.

She wondered when she had gotten so damned old. She never used to snub her nose at a good drink. Actually, she completely understood what her problem was, and it had nothing to do with age. She’d conformed. She’d fallen into line. She’d done what she was supposed to do. Agent? Check. Gallery opening? Check. Interviews with all the local fancy-pants magazines? Check.

But this wasn’t her. None of this was her.

Frowning, she leaned in as well, making sure he heard her over the jeering of the kids next to her. “Tequila.” Within seconds he set a glass in front of her and filled it with amber liquid. He started to walk away but she held up one hand and lifted the glass with the other. She downed the drink, slammed the glass down, and gestured for another—one shot wasn’t nearly enough to numb the misery of this evening.

The young man lifted his brows and smirked as he gav¬¬¬e her another shot. He laughed as she motioned for him to fill the glass a third time. “I can’t do this all night, lady.”

“One more.”

“Some of the crap in here costs more than my car. No puking. Got it?”

Kara chuckled. Clearly he didn’t recognize her as the artist who had made the crap. “Honey, I was doing tequila shots before your daddy dropped his pants and made you.”

The barkeep threw his head back and laughed, then filled her glass one more time. “Nice one, babe.”
Babe? Kara snorted as she lifted the glass. It was almost to her lips when a hand squeezed her shoulder.

“Kara?” asked a deep, smooth voice as if the man wasn’t certain who he was touching.

She turned. Her eyes bulged as she looked into an intense dark gaze she hadn’t seen since the night she’d lost her virginity.

The music had been loud, the beer lukewarm, and everybody who was anybody—and several nobody’s like Kara and Harry—in their senior class of Stonehill High was at the graduation party. The only person she had cared about, though, didn’t care about her. Or so she’d thought. Until she’d somehow ended up on Shannon Blake’s disgustingly pink- and ruffle-covered bed with Harry Canton, book club president and algebra superstar, clumsily removing her clothes, leaving slobbery kisses in their wake.

Kara swallowed hard as the flash of a memory faded, and the man standing before her, looking as shocked as she felt, came back into view.

She downed the liquor, slammed the glass against the bar, and sighed before she announced, “I’ve been looking for you for twenty-seven years.”

He sank onto the vacant stool next to her and lifted his hands as if he were at a loss for words. Something that appeared to be guilt filled his eyes and made his full lips sag into a frown. She’d be damned if temptation didn’t hit her as hard as it had when she was a hormonal teen.

“I wanted to tell you I was leaving,” he said, “but I didn’t know how.”

“You should have tried something like, ‘Kara, I’m leaving.’”

“You’re right. But I was a kid. I didn’t have a lot of common sense. All I could think about was how I finally had my freedom.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “You had your freedom? You selfish prick.”

His eyes widened. “Well, that might be a little harsh. I was just a kid, Kara. Yes, I should have told you I had no intention of staying with you, but I was a little overwhelmed by what had happened. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, as if he had given up justifying sneaking out on her in the middle of the night. “Look, I saw a flier for your gallery opening, and I wanted to say hello. I thought maybe… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He sounded hurt, dejected even. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He stood. She put her hand to his chest and shoved him back onto the barstool. The move instantly reminded of her their one night together. All of seventeen and totally inexperienced, she’d fancied herself a seductress and pushed him on the bed before straddling his hips like she had a clue what she was doing.

Touching his chest now, warmth radiated through her entire body.

She glared, pulling her hand away and squeezing her fingers into a fist. “Are you living in Seattle?”

He shook his head. “I had a conference in town. There were fliers at the hotel. As soon as I saw your picture, I knew I had to come.” His smile returned and excitement oozed from his face. “I can’t believe you have a gallery opening. This is amazing, Kare.”

She wasn’t nearly as thrilled by her accomplishment as he seemed to be. She felt like she was selling her soul instead of her art. She’d always preferred to go the indie route, but that crap agent had cornered her at a particularly vulnerable moment and convinced her she needed him…just like he convinced her she needed to be in a gallery. Although, now she was glad she’d conceded on the open bar.

The tequila swirled through her, making her muscles tingle, preventing her from fully engaging the near-three decades of anger she’d been harboring. She had spent an awfully long time wanting to give Harry Canton a piece of her mind.

Even so, hearing him say she’d done something amazing warmed her in a way very little ever had. If he had come looking for another one-night stand, she hated to admit that she would consider reliving that night again—only this time with more sexual experience and less expectation of him sticking around.

He might be almost three decades older, but his face was still handsome and his brown eyes were just as inviting as they had been when he was a high school prodigy and she was a wallflower.

She smirked at a realization: he was in a suit, probably having just left a corporate meeting, while she was wearing a red sari-inspired dress at her gallery opening.

He was still the straight arrow. She was still the eccentric artist.

“Did you hear what I said, Harry? About looking for you for the last twenty-seven years.”

His shoulders sagged. “I never meant to sleep with you that night. I mean”—he quickly lifted his hands—“I was leaving and should have told you before taking you upstairs. I shouldn’t have just left like that, but I didn’t think you wanted to see me again anyway. If it’s any consolation,” he said giving her a smile that softened the rough edges of her anger, “I’d been working up the courage to kiss you since junior year when you squeezed a tube of red paint in Mitch Friedman’s hair after he made jokes about Frida Kahlo’s eyebrows in art class.”

She frowned at him. That hadn’t been her finest hour. Then again, neither was waking up thinking she was starting a new life as a high school graduate and the girlfriend of the cutest boy she’d ever met, only to find the other side of the homecoming queen’s bed empty. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman embracing her natural beauty.”

His smile faded quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding sincere. “I shouldn’t have left you like I did. I hope you believe that I regret it. Not being with you,” he amended, “but leaving without explaining.”

She laughed softly. He’d had that same nervous habit in high school. He’d say what was on his mind and then instantly try to recover, afraid his words had come out wrong. Usually they had. For as awkward as she’d been, at least she’d always been able to say what she meant and to stand behind it. Of course, that ability got her in trouble more often than not.

She’d told herself a million times that Harry didn’t owe her an explanation. They hadn’t been in any kind of relationship. She’d drooled over him from afar, but other than an occasional smile in the hallway, he’d barely acknowledged her existence in high school. Even if he hadn’t gone off to start his Ivy League college career the day after graduation, he likely never would have looked at her again. Well, at least not until she could no longer hide the truth of their one-night stand from the world.

“I expected so much more from you, Harry,” she said sadly, the sting of what he’d done back then numbed slightly by the tequila.

His shoulders sagged a bit. “I know.”

“Why didn’t you ever write me back?” Her voice sounded hurt and pathetic. She was surprised that after so many years of being angry, there was still pain hiding beneath her fury. “I must have sent you a hundred letters.”

He creased his brow. “Letters? I didn’t get any letters.”

Kara searched his eyes. He looked genuinely confused.

“I sent them to…” Her words faded. Suddenly the tequila-induced haze wasn’t so welcome. “Your mother said if I wrote to you, she’d make sure you got my letters.”

“My mother? I never got any letters.”

“But you sent money.”

Harry shook his head slightly. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would I send you money?”

She stared at him as realization set in. He hadn’t responded to her letters because he hadn’t received her letters. And if he hadn’t received the letters, he hadn’t sent her money. And if he hadn’t sent her money, he hadn’t known that she needed it. Sighing, she let some of her decades-old anger slip. Her head spun, either from the alcohol or the blurry dots she was trying to mentally connect. Leaning onto the bar, she exhaled slowly. “She never told you, did she?”

“Told me what?”

Kara couldn’t speak. Her words wouldn’t form.

An arm wrapped around Kara’s shoulder, startling her and making her gasp quietly. She turned and blinked several times at the man who had just slid next to her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I need to get home.” Leaning in, he kissed her head. “Congratulations on the opening, Mom. It was great.”

“Um…” She swallowed, desperate to find her voice. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She flicked her gaze at the man sitting next to her. The longer Harry looked at her son, the wider Harry’s eyes became.

Phil cast a disapproving glance at Harry then focused on his mother again. “Don’t forget that Jess is expecting you to make pancakes in the morning. You promised.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Kara returned her attention to Harry. His jaw was slack and his cheeks had grown pale.

Phil nodded at Harry as if he were satisfied that he’d made the point that his mother didn’t need to be staying out all night and walked away. Harry watched him leave while Kara waved down the bartender and pointed at her glass. The tattooed kid hesitated, likely debating the ethics of giving her another shot. She pointed again, cocking a brow for emphasis, and he finally filled her glass.

“Kara…” Harry’s voice was breathless, like he’d been kicked in the gut. “Was…was that my…son?”

No. His mother definitely hadn’t given him the letters Kara had written. She lifted her shot, toasting him. “Congratulations, Harry. It’s a boy.”

***

Buy links:

The Road Leads Back
http://www.amazon.com/Road-Leads-Back-Stonehill-Romance-ebook/dp/B00UAYL4HE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1427302429&sr=8-1&keywords=marci+boudreaux

Seducing Kate
http://www.amazon.com/Seducing-Kate-Emilia-Mancini-ebook/dp/B00U30U6SS/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top?ie=UTF8

The Rebound
http://www.amazon.com/Rebound-Emilia-Mancini-ebook/dp/B007QPOT2C/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Contest:

bloghopcontest

Sorry, but I do have to put in one little rule here. International shipping is crazy expensive. If the winner is not in the Continental US, you will receive an e-copy of The Road Leads Back and your choice of one of my backlist.

About Marci:
Marci Boudreaux lives with her husband, two children and their numerous pets. Romance is her preferred reading and writing genre because nothing feels better than falling in love with someone new and her husband doesn’t like when she does that in real life.

As well as writing erotica under her pen name Emilia Mancini, Marci is a content editor for Lyrical Press, an imprint of Kensington Publishing. She earned her MS in Publishing from University of Houston-Victoria in 2014 and worked with Des Moines publishing company Big Green Umbrella Media, Inc. as a freelance writer until she recently opted to focus on working in books.

Contact Marci:
Blog: www.marciboudreaux.wordpress.com
Website: www.marciboudreaux.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorMarciBoudreaux
Twitter: @MarciBoudreaux

What an incredible excerpt, Marcie! And did you leave us hanging or what…now I have to click on that Amazon link and download The Road Leads Back.

Don’t forget to check Marcie’s site for the contest image and leave a comment!

Thanks bunches for visiting Marcie.

Have a tempting Tuesday everyone!