FROST
A 1Night Stand Story by Taryn Kincaid
BLURB:
Dagney Night, a sought-after
succubus, is no stranger to blazing hot sex. But as Valentine’s Day approaches,
she longs for something more. When oddly erotic paintings arrive for display at
her art gallery, arousing everyone who views them, she wonders about the
mysterious artist who created the works.
Maxwell Raines, a fire-sex
demon, lives a life of solitude and seclusion behind the walls of his compound
at Sleepy Hollow, channeling his lustful impulses into his art—until his muse
deserts him and his temperature rises past the danger point. He needs sex. Now.
When Madame Evangeline arranges
a torrid Valentine’s 1Night Stand for them, will the flames of their encounter
be too hot to handle?
EXCERPT:
Dagney followed her sister’s
glance, and her heart flipped like a gymnast unable to nail a vault. Darkness
swathed the gallery with the exception of the lights above or below each of the
paintings. The large man emerging from the shadows held her rapt. Waves of
pure, unadulterated lust smacked her with such force she didn’t even see Lily
and Campbell leave. The blast of raw desire crumpled her to the floor. Her gaze
remained riveted on the tall hunk of ferocious male stalking toward her,
radiating undiluted carnality. He set something carefully on the floor and
grasped her by the elbows, his touch surprisingly gentle when he lifted her to
her feet.
“I’m Maxwell Raines.”
Yeah.
No kidding. Who else could a guy
so hot, so studly, possibly be?
She told herself not to swoon.
Ordered herself not to swoon. But, Goddess, that rumbling voice. More potent
than a train barreling over the tracks. And he smelled so good. Sinfully masculine.
A bit of musk, a bite of pine, an essence of dark, smoky nights. Sexy scents.
Reminiscent of tangled satin sheets that had been given a good work-out.
Her legs turned to rubber, and she
doubted they’d support her on their own. She’d be mortified if he’d have to
scrape her puddled body up again. But he hadn’t yet relaxed his grip. Could she
bullshit her way through the meeting without collapsing? “You’re late,” she
said.
“I’m never late.”
“Well, the party’s over, Mr.
Raines.” She waved a hand around the empty room.
“Depends on your perspective.”
“You’re big on perspective, are
you?”
“I’m a painter.” A brief shrug
accompanied his blunt words. “Obvious connection.”
“Right. But as you can see,
everyone’s left.”
“You haven’t.” He gazed down at
her, a black brow flaring. “And you’re what I’m here for.”
Taryn Kincaid lives in beautiful Bora Bora. Or
wishes she did. When she's not parasailing up and down the Hudson River, taking
care of her aging pet walrus, or volunteering at the local animal shelter
[oh, HELL, no], she loves to arrange her voodoo doll-pin collection and
practice chanting. Taryn is dedicated to eradicating the Kardashians and Honey
Boo-Book from the face of the earth, along with The Bieb and sparkly vampires.
At this moment, she is busy adjusting the tin foil to throw the CIA (Culinary
Institute of America) off her trail. She hangs around a lot on Facebook and
Twitter with her trillions of fans and pops in at Goodreads from time to time.
You can catch her on her website, http://tarynkincaid.com,
and her blog, http://dreamvoyagers.blogspot.com
where she lives for comments!
2 comments:
I am adding this one to my list.
debby236 at gmail dot com
I'd be right there with you trying to rid the world of those Kardashians and Honey Boo-Boos. Boo-Boo is right. BIG Boo-Boo.
catherinelee100 at gmail dot com
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