The Love Emergency Series Official Blog Tour
Meet Samanthe:
Connect with Samanthe: Site | Blog | Facebook | Twitter
About the Books:
EMERGENCY Engagement, Book One
Purchase: Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo
Add to Goodreads
Excerpt
“Our families might expect an
occasional display of affection.”
His right palm tingled with the phantom
weight of her breast, and his left hand twitched at the memory of cupping her
tight, round ass. “I’m sure we can muster up something convincing.”
“I don’t know. You’re blushing pretty
hard right now just thinking about it.”
The allegedly logical part of his mind
insisted she had a point. “You want a demonstration?”
She tipped her face up, shook her hair
back, and he caught a flowery hint of shampoo or perfume, or maybe just her drifting under the antiseptic
hospital smell.
“A dress rehearsal might be in order. I
don’t mean to criticize, but the last time you kissed me, your technique needed
work.”
He had no idea what she was talking
about, but he had a strong and unwise desire to trace every curve of her
teasing grin with his tongue. See if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. “I
think you’re confusing me with someone else, Smith. We’ve never kissed before.”
“My mom’s got a photo that tells a
different story.”
Another small step on her part brought
her body flush against his. The move produced a swift inhale from her, and then
her eyes rounded at the evidence of what he’d mustered up pressing against her stomach. He found both reactions
extraordinarily gratifying. She rested her palms on his chest. Having her hands
on him also didn’t suck. “Exactly how old was I in this alleged kissing photo?”
Her gaze traveled over his face and
came to rest at his mouth. “Fairly young…and fairly naked. We both were. To be
honest, if not for the nudity, I’d have a hard time telling us apart.” She
licked her lips.
“Well, brace yourself, Savannah. I’m
all grown up, and you’ll know which one is me, even with our clothes on.”
Purchase: Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo
Excerpt
The
capability to form thoughts in whole sentences fled, because Hunter stepped out
of the bathroom and into the hall. Single words exploded in her brain like
fireworks. Hunter. Wet. Towel. Please.
Madison
didn’t remember moving, but the next thing she knew, her hands slid across
smooth, damp skin stretched taught over bulging shoulders. She wanted to loiter
there, because the firm contours fit so perfectly in her palms, but his chest
distracted her. She fanned her fingers over the warm, hard muscles, and felt
the beat of his heart beneath her right hand. He drew in a breath, expanding
his chest and sending her hands on a slow slide downward.
Somewhere
in the back of her mind a voice scolded her to stop treating Hunter like her
own, personal playground, but the faint echo of conscience couldn’t stop her
fingers from following the slope of his pecs into the narrow channel etched
down the center of his chest. Another, more urgent voice cautioned her this
brewing attraction might involve riskier ingredients than hormones and
pheromones, but the warning didn’t override the compulsion to trace the spot
where the gulley flared into a diamond-shaped shallow, before angling down to
divide the hills and valleys of his torso into eight distinct parcels. A line
of crisp, blond hair led south from his navel. She stayed the course, dipping
lower, until she hooked the edge of the towel. A long, hard ridge jutted just
alongside her curled fingers. The sight sent hot, itchy flames licking under
her skin, something that could only be soothed from within.
“Hunter?”
“Goddammit,
yes.” The towel landed on the carpet with a hushed thud, but before she could feast her eyes on the prize, he slammed
his mouth down on hers.
Comments
Post a Comment