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#1stKissfriday 5.3.19 Can’t Stand The Heat

There’s nothing I like more than an opposites attracts trope, and in Can’t Stand the Heat ( book 3 in the Will Cook for Love Series), I had a doozy of a bi-polar couple! And by that I mean they were at two opposite poles of the personality spectrum. Stacy, cool and calm, nothing fazes her and everyone loves her, and Nikko, angry, gruff, prone to outbursts and the air could make him mad! But there’s a reason for his arrogance and Stacy is just the gal to figure out what it is. This snippet is a little longer than usual but because of the dynamics of their budding relationship, I wanted to present it in its entirety.

He wasn’t looking at her now with his usual aggravated glare, or even the doubtful one he’d given her just moments before. Nor was his expression simple curiosity at her expertise.

No, what was in his eyes was something she’d never expected to see from this man: need.

A stab of unexpected hunger, so piercing and swift, sliced right through her midsection and dropped lower, tickling the area between her thighs.

And the hunger had nothing to do with the fact she hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

Nikko took a step forward, then another, until he stopped directly in front of her.

Stacy had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact with him. Hypnotized by the intensity in his eyes, she couldn’t look away from it; didn’t want to.

“Yes,” he said, his breath drifting over her, making her insides flutter like a flimsy curtain battling a sudden breeze. “I remember that. I remember you massaging my leg for some time.” He moved in closer, their torsos just a hair’s width from her breasts scraping along his chest.

“I remember the feel of your hands on my leg. Kneading. Rubbing. Your fingers, gliding along my muscles, up and down. Helping me. Easing my pain.”

“I—I…” She backed up a step and hit the dresser, her spine flattening against it. She braced her hands behind her, the tips of her fingers landing across one drawer. “I’m glad I did. Help, I mean.”

Was that her voice? It sounded as if she’d just run a marathon. Uphill.
 In thin air.

Nikko’s hands rose, slowly, purposefully, and came to rest on the top of the dresser, bracketing her between them, effectively imprisoning her. With every breath she took now, her torso grazed his.
His knees bumped hers as his head lowered, his eyes never moving from her own.
“Easing my pain,” he repeated softly, as if she’d hadn’t spoken, “and making me…want.” His lips floated a breath above hers, then touched hers once, just a brief buss; a sample; a promise. “Want…you.”

In the next breath he fulfilled that promise by resting his mouth fully against hers. Soft yet powerful, seductive and masterful, his lips glided over hers. Pressed. Savored.

Asked.

Stacy answered by relaxing against him, moving into the kiss without thought, without reservation, without worry.

He kissed like a man who knew what he was doing. He demanded nothing of her than to simply let him pleasure her mouth, and yet she poured everything inside her, offered every bit of herself into kissing him back without the slightest bit of hesitation or concern.

He shifted, changed the angle of his head, and lifted his hands from the dresser to cup her cheeks between them. Tipping her head back, her body arched as he deepened the kiss, greedily parting her lips with his tongue then forging between them, overwhelming her, claiming her.

Under the thin robe her nipples came to two hard points as his tongue tugged and wound with hers. He tasted like…nothing she could put a name to. Full-bodied, like the thirty-five-year-old port her father favored after dinner; sweet and refreshing like Grandma’s orange sorbet, her favorite dessert; savory and woodsy like air in a forest after a quick, unexpected downpour.

A fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, Nikko didn’t dislike her as much as she’d believed flew through her mind.

Her hands developed a will of their own as they danced up his broad, rock-hard chest, and wound around his thick neck to grip his hair. Fisting it, she hung onto the ends as if her life depended on it. As if she’d crash back to earth if she let go.

His fingers drifted along the column of her throat, across her shoulders, down her back, to settle, through her robe, on her butt. Molding his hands to her rounded flesh, he pulled her in closer, folding her into him and letting her know just how much what he was feeling wasn’t dislike.

Not even close.

Except for her thong, she was naked under the silk robe and as his hands glided over the material, whispered over her body, the luxurious feel of the fabric rubbing against her bare skin shot erotic flares all along her spine, straight down to her toes.

While his tongue mated with hers, his hands slipped under the hem of the short garment to cup the bare skin he found there.

As she’d massaged the muscles and sinew over his leg the night before, he returned the favor, squeezing and kneading her butt in his warm, firm grasp. For a heartbeat, Stacy tensed, her gluteal muscles instinctively tightening. The touch of a man’s hands so intimately pressed against her flesh wasn’t something she was used to.

In the next instant, spurred on by the gentle, thorough pressure of his fingers, she relaxed and pushed in even closer, nothing separating their bodies but their clothes.

Nikko slipped one finger under the strip of her thong, tugged it to the side, and with another traced a line down along the cleft between her cheeks. Her knees buckled when he thrust a knee between her thighs, forcing them to open for him, pressing intimately against her. She could feel the soft denim of his jeans through the tiny wisp of the thong’s lace panel and when he began rubbing his knee across her mound, her insides turned to melting gold.

Good Lord.

Every nerve fiber in the lower half of her body stood straight up at attention. Stacy widened her stance as much as she could. It was then she realized she was standing on the very tips of her toes. Nikko bore most of her weight as she leaned against him.

He shifted again, reached down, and dragged his finger along the heat pouring from her core, now separated and open to his touch.

A guttural moan, deep and filled with longing, escaped in the air as his lips left hers to trail down and nuzzle the sweet spot behind her ear. He tugged the lobe between his lips and bit down, while his wicked and persistent finger dared to dip into the long, wet length of her.

And she was wet.

Drenched, in fact.

His strong, steady finger glided from one end of her to the other, slipping across her flesh and through every defense she had.

A quick thought that nothing had ever felt so good, so god-blessed good as Nikko’s hands on her skin, came to her.

She clutched the ends of his hair tighter, her breaths shallow and fast as his fingers dragged along her, their rhythm timed to perfection with the movement of his tongue in her mouth.

The air around her exploded with the echo of a deep, reverberating groan.

Just as she realized she’d been the one to make the sound, the room was shattered by a blare of static from her walkie-talkie.

“Stacy? Stacy? You copy?”

Nikko jerked his head back, surprise and anger mixing on his face as he heaved his gaze from her face to the device resting on the bed, and then back to her.

A well of boiling heat suffused his half-closed eyes as he gazed down at her. His lips were swollen and kiss-slick-wet, and when his tongue flicked out and ran across his top lip and then the bottom, as if savoring the taste of her, Stacy’s breath caught.

He still had her pinioned against the dresser, one hand caressing the nape of her neck, the other burrowed between her legs.

“Stacy? You there?”
Reality washed over her like a tidal wave.
“I—I have to get that.” She pushed against his chest, tried to slide from his hold.
The man was as solid as a fortress. He stood, stone-still and immobile.

Intrigued? You can order your copy here, along with  the other WIll Cook For Love books,

COOKING WITH KANDY and A SHOT AT LOVE

     

and one thing before you go: I just found out ( yesterday!) that CAN’T STAND THE HEAT is a finalist in the Desert Rose RWA GOLDEN QUILLS Contest for 2019!

So exciting! ~Peg

 

 

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#TuesdayTeaser Dirty Damsels

Since I’ve got a library of new books coming out in the next few months-to-a- year, I thought I’d start a little sumthin’ sumthin’ on the blog called  TUESDAY TEASER as a way to get everyone interested in what’s coming down the book pike for me.

Why TUESDAY TEASER? Simple answer: I lovelovelove alliteration!

I don’t have my cover from the publisher to share yet, but here’s a little bit from my July 2, 2019 release of DIRTY DAMSELS from Limitless Publications:

When the bridal party fanned out around the altar, the organist signaled a music change, and the entire congregation stood as a unit. I turned to get a view of the bride and her father as the interior doors opened.

None of the drama that’d filled Carrie Ann’s world a few hours ago could be detected on her beautifully made-up, heart shaped face. Luminous blonde hair was coiffed in a waterfall of curls cascading down her neck and shoulders, and a tiara, its faux diamonds twinkling as the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, sat atop her head.

The bridal gown designer’s creation of the sexiest dress I’d ever seen drifted down Carrie Ann’s delicate shoulders. The dress was almost completely see-through, strategic silk swatches placed in front of cut-out panels in swirls and circular designs lined with illusion material. At first glance, all I saw were the intricate, etched shapes. Closer inspection and I realized there was more of Carrie Ann on display than previously thought. The neckline was a delicate thread of lace baring her down to below her bellybutton. Again, illusion material gave the semblance of propriety. The deep neckline accentuated her beautiful, full breasts and showed more cleavage than should be seen in a house of God. I could stuff my bra with a box of Kleenex and still not achieve this girl’s natural endowments. The dropped waist was cinched tight, and I wondered how the poor thing was ever going to be able to sit. Or manage to pee. The material hugged her hips, thighs, even the backs of her knees all the way to the floor. One full breath, or pig-in-a-blanket too many at the cocktail party, and this dress was in serious danger of exploding off her. She walked, on the arm of her father, slowly up the aisle, and I knew it wasn’t because she was trying to ensure everyone got a perfect view of her dress. A sloth in a coma moved faster than this gown allowed the bride to.

A few pews in front of me, Carrie Ann’s mother sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a pink handkerchief. When dad and bride sauntered by me, I saw the back of the gown for the first time and gasped. Lined with the same illusion material, it dropped down to the gentle rise of the bride’s butt cheeks. Truly. You could see the top of the crack of her ass in full glory. But it was a superb ass, I will admit, something mine will never be. Full, tight, and round, the dress hugged every God-given inch of it.

At the altar, Casey took Carrie Ann’s hand, leaned in, and whispered something. She grinned from ear to ear. The guests sat and the ceremony began.

Peggy here – this is what I imagined when I came up with Carrie Ann’s gown:

You can see more images from what I “see” in the book on my Pinterest Board DIRTY DAMSELS

The idea for Dirty Damsels came to me when this tagline popped into my brain one, random, Sunday: What would happen if Cynderella had a one night stand with a man named Prince?
Heehee.

Hope you’re intrigued!

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#1stKissFriday 4.26.19 A Shot At Love

Today’s first kiss comes from the second book in my WILL COOK FOR LOVE SERIES,  A SHOT AT LOVE. from Kensington/Lyrical. Gemma Laine is a fiercely independent – some would say snarly – woman who wants nothing to do with the silent, albeit, hunky FBI agent assigned to protect her. When their forced togetherness gets to be a little too much to handle, Gemma finally gives in to the temptation to know what Ky  tastes like.

I love an opposites attract romance and these two are as different as chalk from cheese.

He told himself it was because her voice broke on the last word that he moved toward her and pulled her into his arms. She looked so forlorn, all he wanted to do was comfort her, keep her from falling apart. The moment she slipped her hands around his waist and laid her head down on his chest he knew he’d told himself yet another lie.

He shouldn’t touch her. He knew it. But the need raging within him to offer whatever he could to this woman was beyond something he could fight.

“I can’t live like this,” she mumbled against his shirt. “This isn’t my life. I’m not the criminal, but I’m the one caged and cut off from the world. It’s not fair.”

Because he agreed, he whispered against her temple, “No, it isn’t.” The delicate aroma of cherries drifted up from her hair. Ky closed his eyes and rubbed his hands down her back. She felt like a piece of porcelain against his fingers, delicate and fragile, her skin smooth and soft wherever he rubbed. But he knew the strength under that velvet covering, the backbone forged in steel. In all the time they’d been forced together, from the initial attack in her apartment, to the gun spree at the safe house, she’d never cracked. Even now, when he’d expect any other woman to dissolve in tears or rant and rave at the situation, Gemma was angry more than anything else.

Well, he could deal with anger. He didn’t know what he’d do if she ever fell apart.

“I promise, we’ll get him.”

Gemma pulled her hands from around him and shifted back. Her gaze scrutinized his face, darting back and forth between his eyes, looking for what, he didn’t know. She seemed fascinated with his mouth all of a sudden, her attention focused on the lower part of his face.

Her tongue slipped out and fanned her bottom lip while she regarded him. Why hadn’t he noticed before how it was so much plumper than the top one? It glistened with the moisture her tongue had drawn across it. Ky tensed, every nerve in the lower part of his body firing with longing. He knew he shouldn’t, but the need to know what she tasted like was too powerful a temptation to defy.

Ky bent, just a fraction, as Gemma pushed upward toward him, their gazes locked.
With eyes wide open, his lips pressed against hers, gently, just a slow, thoughtful graze. He thought she’d push him away, verbally castigate him—or worse. But she didn’t. She leaned into the kiss. Soft and smooth and warm, the feel of her lips pulled him closer. He wanted more than just a simple taste he realized in that moment. He wanted to devour her.

A tiny sigh pushed from somewhere deep within her. Gemma slid her hands around his waist again, her lips exploring his—sampling, wanting.

He could feel her heart jackhammering against his chest, or was that his own pounding against her?

A quick swipe with his tongue and she opened for him, inviting him in, the warmth of her accepting response urging him on. He tasted spice and sugar, arousal and need all mixed together in a heady blend that had him reeling.

The hands at her back slipped down to cup her perfect ass, molding her to his body, showing her everything that was happening to him. He nipped at her mouth, skimmed his lips down her chin, across her jaw. He swallowed a chuckle when she palmed his head between her hands and dragged his lips back to hers, telling him what she wanted without words.

And he was happy to give it to her.

He felt her tug his shirt from his pants, the feel of her soft, strong hands on his bare flesh sending him into orbit. He hissed when she raked her nails across the small of his back and then slipped them under his waistband to hold on, grinding her body against him.

Her hot and impatient mouth never left his, her tongue caught around his own as she sucked it into her mouth. He pushed her back until she hit the counter and then snaked his knee between her legs. A whimper whistled from her lips when he ground his thigh against her heat and felt her pulsing response.

Ky snaked his hands up under her shirt, up her torso, sliding his thumbs across hard and pebbled nipples through her bra. Her breasts were heavy in his hands, filling them with each breath she took. While his tongue wound around hers pulling her deep into his mouth, he squeezed those perfect mounds of flesh and felt Gemma’s response when she double fisted his hair and tugged.

Every warning bell he possessed sounded and pinged in alarm, but he ignored them all. This is what he wanted. She was what he wanted.

It would be so easy to simply haul her up in his arms and to his room where he could help them both disappear into one another for a few hours. Just as the thought to do so bloomed, they were wrenched apart by the piercing shriek of the house alarm blasting through the air.

Intrigued? You can get your own copy here:

Amazon // Apple // Google // Kobo // Nook 

Goodreads Reviews for A SHOT AT LOVE

Want to read a preview? Click here.

Nothing’s impossible when love is on the menu. In Peggy Jaeger’s luscious series, the only thing more tempting than a delicious meal is a truly delectable romance . . .
Look for exclusive recipes in each book!  
 
Photographer Gemma Laine is looking for arresting faces on the streets of Manhattan when her camera captures something shocking—a triple murder. In that moment, she becomes a target for the mob—and a top priority for a very determined, breathtakingly handsome, FBI special agent. With deadlines to meet and photo shoots on her calendar, Gemma chafes at the idea of protection, but every moment she spends under his watchful eye is a temptation to lose herself in his muscular arms . . .
 
With two of his men and one crucial witness dead, Special Agent Kyros Pappandreos can’t afford to be distracted. But Gemma is dazzling—and her connection to Kandy Laine’s high-profile cooking empire makes her an especially easy mark for some very bad people. Keeping her safe is much more pleasure than business, but as the heat between them starts to sizzle, Ky is set to investigate whether they have a shot at love . . .

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Filed under Kensington Publishers, Lyrical Author, Strong Women, The Laine Women