Excerpt Reveal: A Chef's Kiss by Nina Crespo

Genre: Contemporary Romance 

Release Date: December 28th 

A satisfying, sexy romantic story from Harlequin’s Special Edition

imprint (28 December 2021)

A welcome second chance…Or a recipe for disaster?
After their ill-fated fling quashed her dreams, small-town chef Philippa Gayle’s onetime rival-turned-lover Dominic Crawford upended her life. But when Philippa’s forced together with the celebrity cook on a project that could change her life, there's no denying that the flames that were lit years ago were only banked, not extinguished. Can Philippa trust Dominic enough to let him in…or are they just cooking up another heartbreak?

Exclusive Excerpt: 

Philippa fastened the last black button on her crisp new lime-green kitchen jacket. So much for a simple staff presentation. Not only was she expected to introduce Dominic, per Zurie’s request, she now had to stay for his entire cooking demonstration. 

She snatched the empty packaging for the jacket from her desk. Underneath it was the bio for Dominic that his publicist had dropped off not too long ago.

Chef extraordinaire. Bestselling author. Star of an acclaimed cooking show. A pampered chef focused on his public persona. Was that who she was dealing with for the next few weeks?

As she stepped out of her office into the kitchen, a few of the staff walked by.

“I don’t care what he makes,” one of the servers said. “I just want to hear his voice as he describes it. He could make mud pies sound irresistible.”

Philippa kept her face neutral as she followed behind them, but inside, she gave an inner eye roll”

“I’m just glad he’s not like some celebrities,” a kitchen helper responded. “The way he stood up for us about where we could sit in the dining room proves he actually cares about people who work in the kitchen.”

Stood up for them? Was there not enough seats?

Philippa flagged down Quinn. “I heard something about there being a problem with seating for the demo. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, it’s fine now. There was just some mix-up with the publicity person. She said all the Pasture Lane employees would have to sit in the back and let everyone else sit up front. But Dominic set her straight.”

As Quinn rushed into the dining room, Philippa hung back and peered through the window near the top of the right-hand door.

“How does it look out there?”

The resonant tone of Dominic’s voice coming from behind ignited a frisson of awareness that moved along Philippa’s spine and tingled across her nape.

“It’s a full house.” She calmed an unsteady breath and faced him.

Up close, he looked even better than he had in the lobby. But hints of fatigue were in his eyes. She hadn’t taken his present work schedule into consideration when she’d asked him to do the cooking demo.

“Thank you...”

“I’m sorry...”

They both spoke at the same time.

Dominic gestured for her to speak first.

“I appreciate you adding this to your full schedule. And for making sure my staff have front-row seats. If they weren’t already fans of chef extraordinaire, Dominic Crawford, they are now.”

“Chef extraordinaire?”

She’d meant to tease him, but from his slight wince, her attempt had fallen flat. “That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I was just referring to the intro Amber gave me.”

“I should have guessed.” He smiled, but as he glanced at the paper in her hand a shadow of discomfort moved across his face. “You don’t have to say all that. Owner of Frost & Flame is fine.”

“And have Amber come after me? No, thank you.”

Dominic gave a low chuckle. “Yeah, she’s insistent.” He took a step forward and the subtle notes of his cologne wafted into the space between them. “About the changes with the demo. I—”

The door opened behind Philippa, pitching her forward, and her hand with the paper landed on his solid chest.

Dominic took hold of her arms. “You okay?”

As she looked into his eyes, familiarity washed over her. The automatic desire to lean into him almost overwhelmed her.

Amber peeked past the door. “Chef Gayle, good. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Mass Market Paperback | Bookshop.org

About Nina Crespo: 

Nina Crespo lives in Florida where she indulges in her favorite passions — the beach, a good glass of wine, date night with her own real-life hero and dancing.

Her lifelong addiction to romance began in her teens while on a “borrowing spree” in her older sister’s bedroom where she discovered her first romance novel.

Let Nina’s sensual contemporary stories and steamy paranormal tales feed your own addiction for love, romance, and happily ever after.

Stay connected with Nina on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest or through her newsletter.

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Cover Reveal: Killer Runway by Daria White

(Bianca Wallace Mysteries, #2)

Publication date: January 25th 2022

Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery

Synopsis:

Bianca’s determined to live a normal life in Edenville with her family, and she has no intention of getting involved in another case. While attending a fashion show, a model, also a childhood friend of her sister, collapses off the runway. Dead. Not the show Bianca planned on attending.

Detective Sims shows up to solve the case, but Bianca can’t keep silent. Too many clues are surfacing, and with a long-term photo shoot in town, the suspects remain in Edenville. There’s no harm in Bianca investigating one more time, though Detective Sims wants her to stay away.

Can she discover the motive behind this unexpected death? Bianca’s life at risk with another killer isn’t wise. Not to mention the lives of her loved ones.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Daria has lived in Texas for most of her life. She never liked reading as a kid. In fact, she almost hated it. However, as she grew up that all changed. Though she received her degree in healthcare management, Daria kept her writing as a hobby. She meant it to be private and her own way of expressing herself. It never crossed her mind to publish until she was in college. She took a chance and published. It worked!

Connect:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7751720.Daria_White
https://dariawhite.com/
https://www.instagram.com/dariawhite90/
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Spotlight: This Is How I Spell Grief: A Guide to Healing from Loss and Finding Fulfillment by Erik Lewin

Publisher: Jeffrey Park Press
Pages: 126
Genre: Self-Help/Narrative/Nonfiction

Erik Lewin shares how he turned the profound loss of his mother and father into life-changing growth, with intimacy, warmth and humor. He offers a no-nonsense, commonsense way to create your personal path to acceptance of your loss.

Lewin became an expert in his grief experience twice over, encouraging readers to find their own way, as no two lives or losses are the same. He eschews expert opinions and general analyses of grieving in favor of common sense, letting you know you are not alone in how you’re feeling. He shares how he turned his loss into an impetus to personal change. A former criminal defense lawyer, Lewin is now a full time writer and standup comedian.

This Is How I Spell Grief takes a counter-intuitive approach to self-help; there are no eight simple exercises to get over it. Instead, you gradually learn to address grief on your own terms, to make true and lasting peace with your loss.

Excerpt

CHAPTER 5

The World Goes on But You’re Still Grieving

5.1 PEOPLE DON’T UNDERSTAND

One of the worst aspects of grief is it can feel like nobody knows what you’re talking about. This can make you feel emotionally alienated, and therefore reluctant to share your feelings with others.

Since losing my mom and dad, I’ve tried to share with family my feelings of alienation, but I suspect they’re convinced I’m something of an alien; as if the emotional frequency I am tuned into is like dog ears—one they cannot hear at all.

Hey, I’m now alone in the universe. “Oh okay,” they reply, “want to get a hot dog?”

Or silence. They’ll just ignore the subject. It’s flabbergasting! Especially when it’s an anniversary of loss, and the person is aware of this, it hangs in the air real thick and gloomy; they treat it as no more important to discuss than the weather, something far in the distance, passing us by. The longer the absence of their acknowledgment of the loss, the gloomier and thicker the air becomes, until it’s suffocating to not say something. It’s up to me to bring it up! As if it wouldn’t exist otherwise! I’m sorry to have made them feel uncomfortable.

I understand that no one wants to talk about death. In the first place it’s depressing, and its finality is just plain hard for a human mind to comprehend. It’s baffling, overwhelming, heartbreaking, traumatizing, debilitating, anxiety-inducing, and this list goes on.

But the irony is laughable! Everybody on the planet dies, so presumably, many people have lost someone close already, and you would therefore think many could relate. The truth is somewhere in between; a lot of people still have not lost a parent, or child, or brother or spouse, someone integral to their life, and this often renders them incapable of meaningfully empathizing, or even sympathizing, with your experience. Likewise, certain people are simply incapable of dealing with the discomfort of the subject. In the end, there’s effectively not too much difference between the two, and so it just becomes too exhausting to examine the reasons why any particular individual doesn’t feel really “there for you.”

Nevertheless, as I grapple with the enormity of loss, I still do bristle at those who express scant empathy. I visited with a close relative, (whom I still love in spite of the following) shortly after my mom’s passing. I felt fragile and vulnerable, yet eager to commiserate with someone who knew my mother well. It felt like an opportunity to help with my healing process, and of course, listen to anything grief related my relative might have to share. When I arrived, to my shock, over the course of an entire day, he didn’t ask a single question, or say a single word regarding my mom’s passing.

We were outside his apartment later in the day already, and he looked at me with a certain intention. I figured this would finally be the opening salvo into the subject. He spoke.

 “Hey Erik, wanna smoke some weed?”

“No man, I’m good.”

“Drink?”

“Nope.”

“How about a little boxing?”

“Okay.” We plugged in the video game. My head swam with confusion. When is he going to say something? Then he suggested we go out for a burger. I thought I’d give him a head start.

“So how’re things with you?” I said.

“Pretty good, but tough sometimes, y’know.”

Okay, here comes the first mention of my mom’s passing.

“This place is a lot of fun on the weekend. . .”

OMG!!! At this point I paid little attention to whatever he talked about, none of which had anything at all to do with my mother. We hung out all day without so much as one solitary word on the matter. That my mom had just died. Not one question about it, not one question about how I was holding up. Nothing. We parted ways afterward, and as I drove off, the chance of any talk of it now gone, I was pissed.

I guess he was. . . unsure, uncomfortable, weirded out about how I’d react—

He maybe thought: So. . .  I guess I might as well say nothing. Yeah, ‘cuz if A, B & C options all mean saying something, and I’m not sure which one is right, then, uh, yeah, let’s go with D—say nothing. Can’t go wrong then. Besides, Erik’s here to get away, escape, have a little fun—what kind of dick would I be if I reminded him that his mom just died?

I promise you I haven’t forgotten that my mom has died! I also love when people say this sort of thing, like—I didn’t want to bring it up, I mean maybe you wouldn’t want to talk about it, and I’d be rude to put you on the spot like that, it’d be thoughtless and disrespectful of me to cause you pain like that.

Here’s a message to all humans who have said something like the above to someone in grief—THE PAIN IS NOT FROM YOU BRINGING IT UP. IT’S FROM THE FACT THAT MY LOVED ONE HAS DIED.

I say this emphatically, but with less anger and bitterness as my process of recovery deepens. In other words, it’s important to convert one’s frustration into an understanding that is cathartic. The message here is these feelings of dissatisfaction are perfectly acceptable and normal, though that doesn’t mean you have to hold them close to your heart. You can observe the reactions of people, as well as your own feelings, accept them and let go. 

There are friends who have gone so far as to have questioned what was wrong with me. Why am I not the same person? How I disappointed them. And from one point of view, who can blame them? They’re not the ones suddenly crying at a bar during a night out. It’s ME. That kind of behavior doesn’t scream fun to be with. I’d go out with friends and they’d be upbeat, living their normal lives, and I’d just kind of stare at them for long silences. After a while of that, I didn’t have to worry about turning down too many invites.

I didn’t mean to be dead weight. It’s just that whether or not your friend should switch to Dial soap to better moisturize their skin rash didn’t hold quite the same sway over my attention. All these mundane parts of life that everyone is so caught up with. How serious can I take any of it?

It’s even harder when some friends and family continue to wonder why I haven’t “moved on.” It’s been so many years already, how come you still seem so burdened? How come you’re still not back to “normal”? I’d love to send a message to people everywhere who have made any bereaved person feel this way: MY FAMILY IS STILL GONE. As in, not coming back to life. How could I not continue to be deeply impacted by this irreversible fact? I am doing the best I can.

These frustrations are commonly felt by those of us who have lost a loved one. I hope other sufferers have the good fortune to benefit from support that is healthy, responsive and supportive. It is also certainly possible to make new connections and to develop friendships that can be quite nurturing. Unfortunately, if you’re bereft of such help, a certain sense of estrangement can arise.  

There are mourners who may momentarily have an attitude of well one day you’ll understand, but I’m confident no one actually wishes grief on anyone. But the truth is, wished or not, everyone will be next in line at some point. The time will come when everyone will lose a loved one and be overwhelmed with grief.  I think it’s an instructive question to pose: What kind of support would you hope for?

Buy on Amazon Paperback | Audible | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Erik Lewin is the author of three books – This is How I Spell Grief, Animal Endurance, and Son of Influence – as well as numerous essays published in Ponder Review, GNU Journal, David Magazine, Real Vegas Magazine &Literate Ape. Erik is also a stand-up comedian who performs in clubs and venues around the country. He formerly practiced law as a criminal defense attorney in New York City and Los Angeles. He is at work on a new one-man show loosely based on This is How I Spell Grief.

Erik lives in Las Vegas with his wife and their furry pets.

Visit his website at www.eriklewincomedy.com or connect with him on Facebook andGoodreads.

Spotlight: Warming My Winter Heart by Michelle Cornish

Publication date: November 22nd 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Synopsis:

You can’t run from love forever . . .

When Lexi Blair comes home to Little City from LA for Christmas, she gets the surprise of her life—the ex-fiancé she thought was dead is very much alive and wants her back!

It’s Christmas Eve and Lexi’s seen a ghost. Or . . . she thought he was a ghost until her mom admits to faking his death so Lexi would come home for Christmas.

After a humiliating run-in with her ex—which results in Lexi disowning her mother—she hides out at her best friend’s tree farm, babysitting a nameless puppy while her friend and hubby tend to a family emergency. 

But farm life comes with a few perks Lexi isn’t expecting—mainly a hunky farmhand who’s helping Lexi run the place until her friends return.  

While Lexi ran from Little City, John ran to it, and she quickly learns he’s healing from past hurts of his own.

Can Lexi and John stop running before it’s too late?

Excerpt

Before long, Mom has dinner on the table, and when we’re seated, she says grace. Mom’s always loved going to church on Christmas Eve, but after her big fight with Aunt Flora, she started going every Sunday and doing things like saying grace. 

Dad gives me a fully loaded, sideways look that says, “Yeah, your mother still hasn’t talked to your aunt and we still do these things to make it okay in her eyes.” I give him a nod. Does he know what they fought about that Christmas? He took a misdirected punch while he and Ian pulled Mom and her sister apart. That was before Ian became the biggest boob on the planet. Ugh.

“Oh, Lexi, I almost forgot.” Mom draws my attention back to the present. She grabs a box from the kitchen. “I got Christmas crackers.” Ooh. Seems hardly worth it for the three of us, but I do love Christmas crackers. Their gold and silver foil shines as Mom hands one to Dad and me then places one next to her own plate.

I look inside the cracker for the pull tab and grip it firmly then cross my arms, offering the Christmas cracker to Mom on my right and reaching for Dad’s cracker with my right hand.

“Ready?” Mom says. I’m transported back in time as I nod then Mom issues her standard Christmas cracker instructions. “On three. One . . . two . . . three!”

We all pull hard on our crackers against each other and our three little crackers pop and snap while bits of ripped paper scatter across the table. If Mom and Dad had a cat, it would have run for cover.

“Ooh, look,” Mom says. “I got a magnifying glass.” An urge to make a snarky comment about Mom’s eyesight and “how did the Christmas elves know?” pops into my head, but I let it go. I just got here, no need to start a fight just yet. 

I check the table for my prize while Dad holds up a giant sparkly paperclip. “Not sure what this is about,” he says. 

“It’s a bookmark, dear.” Mom touches Dad’s hand as she says it. She must have splurged on the premium crackers that encourage you to spend more money by showing you on the back of the package what you’ll get. 

Something shiny catches my eye on the floor. “Ooh,” I say, leaning over in my chair to pick up my prize. “I got a pen.” I hold it up like it’s some kind of trophy. At least it’s something useful. I place it on the table right next to the fuschia paper crown that also spewed forth from the Christmas cracker.

“Put on your crown.” Mom flutters her hand in my direction. She’s already wearing hers. Dad somehow “accidentally” ripped his, so it won’t stay on his head. Lucky guy. I put on the crown. My cheeks burn a bit, and I feel like I’m ten again—the last year I remember actually liking these silly crowns. I scan the table hoping a bottle of wine has materialized in the last few minutes. Nope.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Paperback

About the Author

Michelle Cornish is a recovering CPA with a passion for stories. Writing mostly romance and women's fiction with strong female heroines, Michelle's books often include nods to her former life as a CPA. When Michelle’s not writing, she’s hanging out with her two boys and husband in the beautiful Okanagan Valley, BC, Canada.

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Spotlight: Your Vileness by R.R. Orange

Publication date: November 18th 2021
Genres: Fantasy, Mystery, Romance, Young Adult

Synopsis:

Amandine Klinghoffer is a daring young detective working on her first independent case in the fabled kingdom of Glamwein.

Was there a murder in the royal palace? And if so, who stands to benefit from plaguing the prince with ghosts?

Prince Ivan, the lazy, cowardly, good-for-nothing embarrassment of the realm is hiding something.

He would rather profess his undying love for Amandine than give her any useful information. He is obviously using romance to distract her from finding the truth.

As Amandine investigates with Ivan’s “help” she begins to suspect a plot that threatens the fate of the entire kingdom and its magical beings. 

Excerpt

The staircase terminated in a heavy wooden door that concealed whatever lay ahead. It looked like an ordinary door, but she sensed foreboding and gloom as if they were etched into its wooden panels.

Amandine pushed it open.

A rush of cool air caressed her face, bringing the scents of burnt sugar, oranges and gingerbread treats the spectators were enjoying below. She stood in a broad, open-aired gallery just below the belfry—the rope dangled down through an opening in the ceiling, and she could have reached for it to ring the bell. 

Without wasting another moment, Amandine drew the pistol from her left pocket and fired a bolt of energy behind and above her. The crackle of electricity was brief, but as she turned around and beheld the octopus-like limbs of the Strangler writhe wildly and fade into nothingness, the piercing scream of the ghost went on for quite a while until it too faded along with any traces of its physical existence.

“In broad daylight,” she muttered, “the nerve of it.”

Then she remembered someone else had quite a nerve.

“You knew this was here,” she stated, facing Prince Ivan, who stared at her with his big blue eyes, dumbfounded.

“That was impressive,” he finally said, his charming smile returning.

“You led me here on purpose,” she continued.

Stranglers were not dangerous and technically, being incorporeal, could not really strangle anyone. They did like to wrap their tentacles around a human victim, instilling a sense of dread, misery and damp coldness. No one had ever died from it, but some people had been known to faint from sheer terror.

“Damn, Klinghoffer,” Ivan said, evidently forgetting his resolve not to swear and walking into the dark corner where the spectre had been moments ago, “You destroyed it without a trace.”

“I should hope so. The electrical charges in this weapon are strong enough to unbind the faint energy keeping ghosts in our physical world. And it’s Mademoiselle Klinghoffer to you. Actually, I don’t even feel like speaking with you after you lured me here, hoping to embarrass me.”

“Just another test of your skill,” Ivan said, looking completely unconcerned by her anger.

Her face moved of its own volition into a cynical smile. “Your surprise at my success tells me you expected me to fail.”

“But how did you know where to aim?” he asked, ignoring the accusation, “You fired the shot without even turning around.”

She shrugged, trying not to be softened by his admiration for her skill. “After a while, you develop a sense for these things.”

Amandine did not feel hurt exactly but perhaps slightly saddened by the fact that he was just as predictable as her schoolmates had been. Even his ruse of luring her into a haunted church proved fairly weak and pathetic.

“I wonder what sort of thing died to create that?” he asked.

“It’s not one thing but two or three people whose fates were intertwined in unfortunate ways. If they’re unlucky enough to die at the same time or in fairly close succession, the resulting ghost is a Strangler.” Amandine explained. “Anyway, I shall make my way to the royal palace now. I don’t suppose you actually brought me up here to see the Fairy News.”

“Of course I did. Come on!”

He made to take hold of her hand, but Amandine dodged his grasp. She had little interest in being led about by this royal manipulator. He looked hurt, or pretended to.

“Oh, come now,” he coaxed, “haven’t you ever heard of letting bygones be bygones?”

“A very Glamweinian sentiment,” she remarked, standing aloof and folding her arms close to her body.

“True, we don’t like to hold on to grudges. We like to say, ‘if you look back, you get a smack.’ Isn’t it a wonderful tradition?”

“Sounds a little violent,” Amandine said, “I think it’s wise to look back and learn from your mistakes, especially when the most recent incident only happened a few seconds ago.”

Ivan kneeled down on the grey stones, opening his arms dramatically.

“I beg your forgiveness, fair Klinghoffer,” he said in a solemn voice, his lips quivering as he suppressed a grin, “and I promise, no more pranks while I show you the Fairy News.”

“All right,” Amandine said coldly, “Please rise up. You’re being ridiculous.”

He leapt up and rushed to the edge of the gallery where a tall arch framed his dapper figure. “It’s already started!”

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback

About the Author

R.R. Orange has a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. She has worked as an English and Creative Writing instructor, a marketing writer, and a dog walker. Although she loves dogs, she is not a dognapper, unlike some of her characters.

Fun fact: she is also fluent in Russian, French, and intermediate in Portuguese.

Connect:

https://amzn.to/328zRch

https://twitter.com/RROrangeAuthor

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21833435.R_R_Orange

Spotlight: Merry Ex-Mas by Elizabeth Janette

Publication date: November 10th 2021

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

Synopsis:

It’s been ten years since Delaney Silverman last stepped foot on the Silver Bells Christmas Tree farm her family owns and operates, but when her father dies, she has no choice. Even if it means mending fences with her estranged mother. The last thing this reformed wild-child-turned-Manhattan-marketing-pro has in mind, though, is a second chance at first love. But after life brings her face to face with the sexy, ex-fiancé neighbor boy, she realizes he’s everything she never knew she needed.

Travis Harper knows two things to be true: 1. It’s time to adopt his foster daughter and build a custom home life for themselves, and 2. Laney Silverman is the last woman he’d ever trust with their hearts, even if she is everything he’s ever wanted. Especially since she has a bad habit of walking away from him.

Will twelve days be enough to give two former lovers a Merry Ex-Mas?

Excerpt

Perched on one of the wooden stumps that doubled as a seat, Laney watched Travis expertly stoke a fire into life. The flames crackled and popped, sending sparks flying into the air. He’d done the same thing to her heart, she realized with a start. He’d nurtured the small flame, fanning it until it threatened to engulf her. 

Satisfied with the fire, Travis pulled a stump close to Laney and took a seat. He unfurled the blanket, draping it over their laps for added warmth, not that either of them were cold, before retrieving his bag. Laney had to stifle a laugh as he reached in and pulled out a pack of marshmallows, graham crackers, and two chocolate bars. All the fixin’s for s’mores. A favorite from her childhood. She was touched. “You remembered.” 

“Of course, I did.” He handed her a wire stick, fingers grazing her hand. His gaze, dark and unreadable, cut her to the quick and her breath lodged in her throat until she had to look away. 

She took the fat marshmallows he offered and pushed them onto her stick before hovering it over the flames, close enough to soak up the heat but not so close to catch fire. A surge of nostalgia swelled. How many times had they sat side-by-side, roasting marshmallows for s’mores and laughing? She turned to study him. 

Shadows cast by the flames danced across his face. As a boy he’d been gangly, nothing more than lanky arms and legs. But he’d filled out nicely as a man. Lean muscles molded by years spent working in construction. If she closed her eyes, she could easily recall the smooth expanse of his muscular back, the hard planes of his chest, the slight dusting of hair. 

“You’re on fire.” 

On fire for him maybe. The man didn’t have to touch her to set her skin on fire. All it took was one look in her general direction and her entire body felt ready to combust at a moment’s notice.

“Earth to Laney. You’re on fire.” He pointed to her flaming stick. 

Sure enough, her mallows were indeed fully engulfed and a total loss. They melted and dripped into the fire. She set the stick aside. “Crap on a stick.”

Travis chuckled at her odd expression and offered up the bag of fluffy treats. “Try again?”

Her stomach growled. She eyed Travis’s perfectly toasted marshmallows. They’d skipped dinner and gone straight for dessert. She watched as he sandwiched them between two graham crackers and slid them off the stick. Adding a thick hunk of chocolate to the mix, he took a tentative bite. Strings of gooey marshmallow stuck to his lip and melted chocolate dripped down his fingers.

Oblivious to the naughty thoughts running through her mind, Travis said, “You know, this might make a great added feature for Silver Bells. Make a s’more while you wait for your tree to be chopped down. Customers love nostalgia and being fed. As an added bonus, no hangry customers.” 

Laney sucked in her bottom lip and eyed his dessert. Her stomach rumbled again. His treat did look awfully good. 

She leaned over and stole a bite of his ooey gooey s’more for herself. 

“Oh my God, so good.” She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the sugar rush. 

A rich laugh tripped off his lips. Travis took another bite of his s’more, and then offered her a second bite. He waggled his eyebrow at her. “I’ll share.”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. She popped the whole treat into her mouth. 

“Hey!”

Mouth full, she said, “Sorry, I don’t share.” 

The smoldering look Travis gave her, the way his gaze slipped to her lips as she finished swallowing her stolen s’more, was all the invitation she needed. She leaned over and licked the gooey strands from his lip, the tip of her tongue grazing the corner of his mouth. 

Between the moonlight and the light from the fire, Travis was a mesmerizing sight. One that turned her insides to molten lava. 

In silent offering, Travis touched a chocolate-coated finger to her lips. 

Now this was a game she could get behind. She licked the chocolate from her lip, then sucked his finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip. 

What was happening to her? Who sucked the chocolate off a man’s fingers? 

But damn, if it didn’t taste heavenly. Would his lips taste the same way? She tilted her head and leaned in to find out. 

Buy on Amazon Kindle

About the Author

Born to parents who loved to read, it’s no surprise Elizabeth Janette’s lifelong love of literacy led her to become both a teacher and a writer. In fact, writing about getting RIF’d from her teaching job in the 2008 recession is what led her to publish an essay about the experience. From then on, she was hooked. Now days, when she’s not teaching sassy 5th graders, Elizabeth Janette writes romance that both sizzles and thrills. And when she’s not teaching or writing, she works for her local chapter of the National Writing Project teaching teachers how to teach writing. Visit www.elizabethjanette.com to connect and sign up for her newsletter.

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https://twitter.com/AuthorEJanette

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7429184.Elizabeth_Janette

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