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Blurb: No more Mr. Nice Guy Magic is Becca Salt’s business, but it ain’t happening in her bedroom. The half-witch proprietress of From Crud to Stud performs miracle makeovers for paranormal creatures. Once she’s done with them, they’re out the door hunting for hot babes, not hanging around for a too-curvy, plain Jane like her. Her newest client is hot, hung, mouthwatering perfection. What could she possibly improve upon? Eric Diletto. Descendant of Cupid, bred for courtship, courtesy, and all that other gentlemanly junk. What has it gotten him? Dumped time and again for bad boys. He needs Becca’s help for an entirely different reason—regression therapy to release his inner beast. Grrrr. Two potions later, they’re crawling all over each other. Becca aches for a man who loves her as she is, not because he’s under the influence. But Eric isn’t as impaired as she thinks. And he intends to take Becca here, there, and everywhere—anything to convince her his desire isn’t just the potions talking.
Product Warnings A witchdoctor’s nightmare. Contains potions with weird side effects, a sorceress with limited magical skills and a yearning heart, plus a minor god who wants to get down and dirty. Bad, bad boy!
Excerpt:
Heat and humidity poured inside, along
with the racket from the street party. Drunken voices mingled with throaty
laughter, pounding drums and trumpets reaching then holding their highest
notes. Becca’s pulse thumped in her ears, drowning out the other sounds.
Damn.
The guy who’d come inside was something.
At least six-three, he had the build of an athlete, lean and muscular with
broad shoulders, narrow hips and powerful thighs. Without meaning to, Becca
stepped closer, drinking him in. Classically handsome, he wore his hair preppy
style, longer on the top, shorter on the sides. It was a warm chestnut brown
streaked by the sun and slightly tousled, begging for a woman’s fingers to
smooth it back.
Becca brought down her hand, suddenly
realizing she’d lifted it.
His golden complexion spoke of days
spent outdoors, possibly skinny-dipping in a pool, water streaming over his
firm pecs and abs, being trapped in his nest of dark curls…his rock-hard cock
jutting from it, inflexible as iron, sleek as a spear. Suppressing a shiver of
delight, Becca took in his leather loafers, beige khakis and white shirt opened
at the collar with the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm.
Masculine yet civilized. Very nice.
Zoe,
you did good. Aw, sweetie, more than good. She deserved part ownership in
this place for having done such a fantastic job on him. This guy had been made
over to the nth degree from…
Becca wasn’t certain what kind of demon
he was, or his level in Hell, never having met him before the makeover. Maybe
that’s why he’d taken so long to get here. He couldn’t pull himself away from
the god he now saw in his mirror.
While Becca ogled him, he regarded the
reception area’s feathery ferns and potted plants as though seeing them with
different eyes. A mortal’s eyes. The room’s faux brick floor, coral walls and
gas wall fixtures radiated warmth, an earthy, sensual feel in keeping with the
area’s culture.
It was also decidedly romantic.
And the reason most of these guys signed
up. They were having problems with babes and wanted a solution, even if it was
painful.
Hissing noises came from behind a door
on the right. On the left, a muffled groan sounded faintly sexual.
Could be that was why this guy was late.
He’d already seduced a babe and had been reluctant to leave her.
Becca glanced at his fly, the thick
ridge behind it. Some women had all the luck. She, on the other hand, had a
business to run.
Reining in her desire, she joined him in
the reception area. “Do you have any idea how late it is?”
He turned. His attention zipped from her
flame-red hair, cut in a chin-length bob with bangs, to her dramatic makeup.
Heavy black liner surrounded her blue eyes. Her maroon lipstick was just a
shade lighter than black and quite a contrast to her pale skin.
He lifted his eyebrows slightly, then
regarded the black silk top tied beneath her breasts, her silver navel jewelry,
black harem pants, anklets, toe rings and high-heeled sandals.
Even at five-seven, and with the extra
three inches the shoes gave her, Becca felt positively dainty next to him.
Quite a feat considering she’d always been too tall and curvy. In school,
they’d called her the f-word.
Well, fuck ’em, right? So she’d never be
skinny or a beauty. Not like her mom. Unfortunately, Becca took after her dad.
A great guy, but no hunk in the looks department.
“We can’t wait forever,” she said.
“Let’s go.”
She headed down the hall. Hearing only
her footfalls, Becca stopped and looked over.
He hadn’t taken one step in her
direction. He was far too busy studying her ass. Intently. Appreciatively…if
his crooked smile was any indication. How awesome was that?
Was it something Zoe had taught him?
“You coming?” Becca asked.
He actually blushed beneath his tan.
What appeared to be carnal hunger blurred his expression as he regarded her.
“Where?”
His voice was even deeper than the
howlers that came here for treatment. Way huskier than Zoe’s when she got
riled. Becca moved toward him again, drawn by his potent masculinity, until she
forced herself to stop and pointed over her shoulder.
He approached with the grace of a
well-behaved panther. Loose limbed and composed, not cocky or predatory. Shit.
Zoe was a miracle worker.
“Sure,” he said.
Becca swallowed. His eyes were the color
of honey with flecks of green. Given his laugh lines, he looked to be in his
early thirties—if she was using mortal time—just a couple of years older than
her.
Not that their ages mattered. Why should
they? Once his photo shoot was over, he’d be gone. Back in bed with his babe.
“There.” She pointed to the side, trying
not to drool over him.
He kept checking her out too and gave
her another crooked grin. “There what?”
Damned if she knew. His adorable smile
continued to tangle her thoughts. Becca lowered her head and took a deep
breath. “Door on the right. Go in that room. Take off your clothes. I’ll get
the photog—”
The rest of her words and all the spit
in her mouth dried up as his fingers curled around her wrist, keeping her from
moving away.
He murmured, “What?”
That voice. His touch. Her knees sagged.
With great effort, Becca turned back to him.
He gave her a questioning look and
waited.
Becca wanted to ruffle his long, dark
lashes, kiss his silky eyebrows, then suck his lower lip into her mouth while
she crawled all over him. “Briefs or boxers?”
He pulled back slightly, but didn’t let
go of her wrist. “What?”
She cleared her throat. Her voice still
jiggled and rasped. “What are you wearing? Briefs or boxers?”
He looked down as though to check.
“Boxers.”
“The
stretchy kind or the baggy ones?”
He let go of her wrist. “They’re not
that baggy.”
Hmm. She’d hurt his feelings. A nice
human touch Zoe must have taught him. Like having him stare at a female’s ass,
rather than simply grabbing it, to make her feel sexy and desired. “I’m sure
they’re not. Still, we prefer the snug ones.”
The kind that would hug his fleshy balls
and caress his rigid cock. On wobbly legs, Becca went to the hall closet and
pulled out a navy pair.
“Here.” She flung them at him.
They landed on his deliciously broad
shoulder.
Becca backed away. “Strip down, then put
those on. We can’t screw around any longer.”
“Sure about that?”
*** CONTEST ALERT ***
__________
About Tina:
(You know you want to know!):
I’m an award-winning, bestselling novelist in erotic, paranormal, contemporary and historical romance for Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Siren Publishing, Booktrope, and Kensington. Yay! Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised my work, and trust me, I’m forever grateful for that. I’ve had my books reach finals in the EPIC competition, one title was named Book of the Year at a review site, and others have won awards in RWA-sponsored contests. I’m actually featured in the 2012 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Talk about feeling like a freaking star. Before my writing career, I was the editor of an award–winning Midwestern newspaper and worked in Story Direction for a Hollywood production company. Outside of being an admitted and unrepentant chocoholic, I’ve flown a single-engine plane (scary stuff), rewired an old house using an electricity for dummies book, and have been known to moan like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally whenever I’m eating anything Mexican or Italian. Yeah, I like to eat (burp).
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