I’t my turn over on the ROMANCE GEMS. Stop by today and find out the reason I love to be scared….
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Tomorrow I start my Goddess Fish Blog Tour for MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA, so I thought I’d whet your Holiday RomCom-reading appetite with a little sexy snippet from the book here, today. Enjoy. And consider preordering – the link is live in the above title!
After the third episode of a sitcom we’d both loved as kids, we decided to forgo a forth.
Tony shifted on the couch and stretched out next to me, slipping one arm behind my head the other palming my stomach.
“Wanna make out?” he asked, grinning, as his lips skimmed down my neck.
“How old are you, twelve?” I asked. But I have to admit I did nothing to discourage him from seducing me.
“When I was twelve I wanted to play with balls and bats. I wouldn’t have known what to do with a gorgeous woman in my arms.” He pulled my ear lobe between his lips and bit down.
“You learned pretty fast.” I might have gasped once or twice while saying it because the hand at my stomach inched up to cup a breast. He stopped under the edge of my bra the moment he touched the fabric.
He pulled up, leaving his hand in place, and asked, “What are you wearing under this? It doesn’t feel like regular bra material.”
“What’s regular bra material feel like?”
“You know. Cotton or something. What is this?” He tugged at the collar until my bra strap and cup were exposed. It was fascinating watching his face as he got a glimpse of my underwear.
“Is that a good holy shit, or a bad one?” I was sure I knew the answer just by the way his eyes widened to the size of bocce balls and his mouth dropped open like his jaw came unhinged.
Instead of answering me right away he pulled up and dragged me with him. When we were sitting, facing one another, he gripped the hem of my sweater and looked me square in the eyes as he asked, “Can I take this off?”
The fact that he asked almost made me start crying. I mean, really, how sweet was that?
I debated whether or not to slip it off myself, but he had such a look of boyish expectation on his face, I knew half the fun for him was to do it himself, so I lifted my arms above my head.
I don’t think any item of clothing I’ve ever worn was discarded so quickly or as deftly as Margaret Rose’s gift.
“Holy shit,” Tony exclaimed again when I was sans sweater.
I repeated my previous question.
This time for an answer he skimmed the lace top edge, then slid down over the red cups, his thumbs teasing over my hardened nipples. The material covering my breasts was a red mesh and completely see through. My nipples peeped between the interwoven curlicues. A satin bra would have kept them secure and hidden behind the material.
Tony’s gaze zeroed in on those two little distended points and then he rubbed his thumbs over them again.
My back arched, jutting them forward, and I almost came on the spot when Tony licked his lips, shifted, and sucked one of them into his mouth.
“If this is what you’re wearing on top,” he said, moving to the other breast for equal time, “what have you got on under your jeans?”
I gasped and clutched his head between my hands as the tug of his lips shot straight down to my core. Between breaths I managed to say, “It’s a matching set.”
Tony shot back and stared hard at me again, hope now adding to the expectation in his eyes. I could detect a little lust mixed in as well.
“Can I see? Please?”
He truly did look like a little kid waiting to open his birthday presents, hoping and wishing he’d get exactly what he’d asked for.
“Well, since you ask so nicely.”
Intrigued? I hope so.
Hope to see you all on the tour when it starts tomorrow. Check back here then for the stops!
Until next time, peeps ~ peg
And you can follow me here: FOLLOW ME
Madonna San Valentino, as the oldest child and the only girl of the six kids, is the most responsible and least annoying one of the bunch. Her brothers are, for lack of a better phrase, all pains in the ass, each and every one, and are so wrapped up in their own worlds, they don’t have time for things going on right under their noses, as evidence by this little snippet.
To set the scene, Madonna has just arrived at her parent’s house for the weekly family dinner. All her sisters-in-law are in the kitchen helping Mama get ready for dinner, while her brothers are all lounging around in the den.
Most Italian’s have big family dinners on Sundays after attending morning mass. Since our store was open from nine until three on Sundays, my mother had designated Friday evenings for family gathering time.
In the beginning when she’d first issued the edict, my brothers, in their typical pain-in-the-ass way, had voiced their objections loudly and obnoxiously. Thankfully, their wives had all adopted the most effective communication techniques to get through to them, learned from my grandmother. Guilt, and a well placed head slap.
The guilt was easy. A few ‘we don’t know how long we’re gonna be blessed at having your parents around. They’re not young anymore-s,’ from my sisters-in-law, aimed with a head tick and pretty soon my brothers stopped grumbling and found their way to Mama’s table once a week.
When the grandkids started coming along, the table grew tighter to sit around and my brothers thought this was their get outta dinner free card.
Daddy bought a bigger dining room table at his wife’s request and then used the old one for the growing horde of kids.
You don’t get between an Italian mama and her family.
The house I’d grown up in was warm and inviting when I came through the front door, three boxes filled with a half dozen éclairs each, in my arms. The mouthwatering aroma of mama’s pork loin wafted around me and drew me straight to the kitchen, my nose leading the way.
As usual on family dinner night, the kitchen was a cloud of estrogen. My four sisters-in-law, two heavily pregnant, were all at various spots doing whatever task Mama had given them to get dinner ready and on the table by the time my father walked through the door.
Maria Louisa, my brother Costa’s wife, sat at the kitchen table nursing her ten-month-old son, Donatello. While one hand cradled the baby at her breast, the other sliced fresh, homemade bread.
Lisa and Haley, the twin’s wives – and my ready-to-pop pregnant sisters-in-law– were each chored with salad making. Lisa cut vegetables while Haley mixed the from-scratch salad dressing my mother insisted on serving from her own grandmother’s handed-down recipe. None’a dat bottled crap on my table was Mama’s motto.
Margaret Rose, my brother Giacomo’s wife stood at the stove, stirring the tomato gravy for the pasta. Her twins, year old Rocco and Carlo were nowhere to be seen. I assumed they were in the living room with their father and the rest of my brothers and nephews.
“Why are there never any men in here doing dinner prep?” I asked, giving Mama’s cheek a kiss.
“Idioti.” She clucked her tongue as I went around the room bussing the girls. “I don’t want them in my kitchen. They make more work for me because they can’t follow simple directions. The girls know what to do without being told fifty times.”
I put the boxes of éclairs on top of the refrigerator next to the cookies and cheesecake. Dessert was a course never missed in this household.
“What can I do?”
“Go open the vino that’s on the table. Let it breathe for a bit.”
As far as chores went this one was easy. I think she gave it to me because she knew I’d been on my feet since five. Her views on working women vs. stay at home moms, which my sisters-in-law all were, was pretty funny. While managing and running a deli wasn’t easy, it was way less exhausting than chasing after toddlers all day long, or being at the beck and call of nursing babies every hour or two. Plus, keeping the house clean, the meals made, and everyone safe. And let’s not forget having to deal with my brothers. The girls should be getting combat pay for that alone.
From the dining room already set for dinner with nonna’s wedding china, the noise level coming from the adjoining room clued me in to where my brothers were. I snuck a peek into the den and sure enough, all five of them were sprawled around the room on various chairs and couches, bottles of beer in their hands and the television playing some dvr’d basketball game.
My brothers were all blessed with mama’s fair genetic makeup. Varying shades of brilliant blue eyes, light brown-to-blond hair, and olive complexions encompassed them all. When I’d been a kid I always wondered if I was adopted because I didn’t look anything like them. As I got older and studied science in school it made more sense to me why I took after my father.
My brothers varied in age from twenty-nine year old Costa, the closest in age to me, down to the twenty-eight year old twins Vincenzo and Vito, Giacomo at twenty-six, and then the baby of the family and the only boy not married, twenty-one-year-old Rafael.
I was twelve years old when Raffie came into the world and it’s safe to say I was more his mother than his sister at times. A deep depression gripped my mother after she delivered him and she spent most of the first year of his life in bed. Thankfully, nonna came to stay with us and ran the house so daddy could work, while I helped in whatever way I could. Most of the time it meant taking care of the baby when I got home from the deli and making sure the other boys didn’t kill themselves, or him, with their horseplay and rambunctiousness.
One look in the den and I felt like history was repeating itself because Giacomo’s twins were face down on the carpet, lying on top of one another, their limbs all twined together, grunting baby noises coming from deep down in their little bodies. Rocco, or maybe Carlo, was on top, unintentionally smothering his brother whose face he was sitting on, smashed flat into the carpet and making breathing impossible.
My brothers, engrossed in the game playing on television, were clueless to the potential disaster right in front of them.
I’d learned long ago yelling at them served no purpose. They were all masters at the art of ignoring me.
I made my way to the babies and, silently, lifted Rocco – or maybe Carlo – off his brother with one hand, the other flipping Carlo – or maybe Rocco – so he was supine. His little face was pale, his lips ringed with blue, but he took a huge breath, startled once, and then let out a bloodcurdling screech sounding remarkably like the wail his father had made back in his own baby days.
All five pair of male eyes turned to me at the sound. Not one of them moved from their comfy positions.
“Hey, Donna,” Giacomo said. “Everything okay?”
“Marvy,” I mumbled, hoisting a boy onto each hip, one of them silent, the other screaming like he was spewing out a lung or being dismembered. “I’m bringing the boys to their mother,” I said, wincing from the earsplitting shrieking. I wouldn’t be surprised if my left ear went deaf before the night ended.
Giacomo toasted me with his beer and said, “Thanks, sis,” his attention already focused back on the game.
In the kitchen I handed the screaming baby over to his mother and told her how I’d found her sons. It wasn’t my job any longer to discipline or try to guide my brothers. They had wives for that now. And from the look of abject fury on Margaret Rose’s face I knew Giacomo would be getting his comeuppance later on when they were home.
I didn’t feel an iota of pity for him.
With the fratricidal wannabe glued to my hip, I went back to the dining room and finally opened the wine bottle single handedly.
Intrigued? If so, you can preorder your ecopy here : mmm
The print copy will available in October.
Don’t forget to add it to your GOODREADS Want to read List
Until next time, peeps. Happy reading! ~ peg
Typically on this date I would say HAPPY TAX DAY to my American brethren. Not this year, since Tax day has been pushed to July 15.
So, HAPPY WEDNESDAY everyone! hee hee. Today’s topic is another goodie: Characters I’d invite to a dinner party.
I entertain in my home. A lot. Dinner parties, holiday parties, dinner get togethers, are all part of they way I keep connected to my friends. So, if I was to host a dinner as soon as the new normal of quarantine life ends, here’s a look at the guest list. I’m thinking this is gonna be a girl’s night in and invite just a bunch of ladies.
Elizabeth Bennet. Not only is she witty, quick, and an engaging thinker, I’ve wanted to ask her a question forever. Over dessert of carrot cake and macaroons, I’d find a way to grab her attention and find out once and for all if she married Darcy because she was truly in love with him, or if she was in love with being the mistress of Pemberley.
Stephanie Plum. A New Jersey girl, I know Steph would bring a unique perspective to the table conversation. And I really want to just give her some plain old advice and tell her to pick a man! Choose between Ranger or Morelli, for pity’s sake. It’s been 26 books and she still can’t make up her mind!!
Eve Dallas. Come on, you knew that was coming!! And no, I don’t want to dish on Roarke ( although…) I want her to have – at last – a relaxing dinner without having to worry about social graces, if she’s putting her foot in her mouth, or embarrassing her hubby. Plus, I’d like to discuss some of her cases with her and her thought processes on how she solves murders.
I have to be a little conceited here and say the final guest would be Nell Newbery. Even though I know her like the back of my hand, there are still so many things I want to discover about her. But most of all, I want to feed her a good meal and hug her.
With me that adds up to 5. A good table number for sure because you can hear everyone and no one will feel left out!
Let’s see who some of the characters the other authors in this challenge would invite to dinner: L&SR
And here’s a sneak peek at the trailer for my 5.20.2020 release of VANILLA WITH A TWIST, on preorder now and at the sale price of just #99cents
Until next time ~ peg
I am super excited because I just found out that my May 20,2020 release of VANILLA WITH A TWIST is ON SALE NOW – for #99cents – as PreOrder on Amazon.
Click here to preorder your Kindle Copy now because the price goes up on release day!!!
Tandy Blakemore spends her days running her New England ice cream parlor, single-parenting her teenage son, and trying to keep her head above financial water. No easy feat when the shop’s machinery is aging and her son is thinking about college. Tandy hasn’t had a day off in a decade and wonders if she’ll ever be able to live a worry-free life.
Engineer Deacon Withers is on an enforced vacation in the tiny seaside town of Beacher’s Cove. Overworked, stressed, and lonely, he walks into Tandy’s shop for a midday ice cream cone and gets embroiled in helping her fix a broken piece of equipment.
Can the budding friendship that follows lead to something everlasting?
Intrigued? Find out the answer to that question on MAY 20, 2020!
*****The ebook will be across all digital venues, but only available for preorder at 99cents on Amazon.