Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Special PARTY ONLY excerpt!

Assassins Bite (Biting Love, Book 8)
Only her light can burn away his shadows.

On her first night as a police officer, Sunny Ruffles takes down three felons…only to be attacked by a gang of vampires who are a whole new level of hurt.

Then a mysterious shadow man intervenes, saving Sunny before he disappears. She runs after him, telling herself her pursuit has nothing to do with his sharp, stubbled jaw, his powerful shoulders, or his sexy-as-hell, kissable lips.

Rescuing the humans makes Aiden Blackthorne late for a critical meeting with the vampire Nosferatu’s daughter. Yet clompy, bumbling Sunny draws him back like wild honey. He kisses her, and he’s almost got her down to her underwear when a bomb meant for him explodes.

The last thing Aiden wants is to drag Sunny into his hellish conflict with Nosferatu. But Aiden’s a loner whose only friend has mysteriously disappeared, and the woman who smells and tastes like his mate is the only backup he has left. He’ll need her, everything he is, everything he was—and everything he might have been—to defeat his evil master and claim the love he never dared hope to have.

Warning: This book contains shadowy assassins shooping off vampire heads, cops bumbling in at the worst of times, and opposites attracting, colliding, and exploding in lust—a.k.a., explicit fighting, humor, and sex.

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I had less than an hour to clean myself up before Captain Titus arrived. That wasn’t quite enough time to go home and come back—at least, not if Mom was awake and talking—so I went to the restroom. I’d been at the MCPD before so I knew where they were. I put on my jacket and shirt to walk there. I wasn’t shy or particularly modest, but I didn’t like offending anyone else’s sense of propriety.

I regretted that decision. The cut blouse was no protection and each step rubbed scratchy wool against my poor skin. By the time I got to the restroom I was biting back whimpers, my eyes stinging with tears.

The first floor ladies was three stalls, scarred wood countertop, sink and mirror. Various sticky notes decorated the mirror, including a couple that read “Glock For Sale. Retired officer, rarely used. Contact Blatzky”. I stood in front of the mirror, peering at what showed of my pale, round face as I opened the buttons and peeled off wool and cotton. I set the shirt and jacket on the sink.

My chest was red and raw. Smeared blood streaked my skin. No wonder it hurt so much.

“Nasty.” Behind me, a shadow separated from the gunmetal-gray stall doors.

“Crap!” I spun. Aiden Blackthorne was right on top of me, his eyes burning. I swallowed hard. Inanely, I said, “Can I help you?”

The corners of his lips turned up, making me want to grab him by the ears and scuba dive. He said, “I want to help you.”

My experience with people trying to help was my mother baking brownies for my GirlGroup Troop, treats which sent us all running for the bathroom because she’d substituted sauerkraut for sugar because they both began with S. Not that I was doing so well on my own, but the pain made me whiny and he got the brunt of it. “Nobody can help me. Have you paid your parking ticket?”

“I have ten days.” His head tilted as he considered me. “Let me treat your wounds.”

I coughed. “No thanks. You’re not supposed to use ointment for burns—”

“Not ointment. This.” He seized my wrists. I was so surprised I let him lift my arms up and away from my body, exposing my chest to whatever he wanted to do. Which was to drop his head, open his mouth…and lick me, one broad swipe across the length of my collarbones.

My pain…lifted. Just along that swatch, so I knew it wasn’t coincidence. My belly fluttered. He had a magic tongue?

He licked again, and though his hot, rasping tongue should have been excruciating, it was lovely, exhilarating. As he continued licking, my pain melted away.

Gradually I became aware of how intimate this was. His rough tongue, the heat and moisture of his mouth, excited me—and he was heading lower. In a few more swipes he’d be tonguing the tops of my breasts. My belly thrilled at the thought.

So when he released my wrists, I slid my fingers into his black hair, thick and strong yet silky warm, and urged him to go lower. Faster. “More.” I moaned it.

With a satisfied growl, he complied, swiping heat into the valley between my breasts.
I sighed in pleasure and lifted my breasts, encouraging him to do more, again. My flesh tightened in anticipation.

But he raised his head and looked me in the eye, an unspoken question in his. How far did I want him to go?

In response I smiled. As far as you want.

He made a small, choked noise and dashed to the bathroom door. Before I could panic, he flipped a shiny-new thumb lock with an urgent click and stood before me again almost instantly.

That revved me hotter.

Cupping my chin, he asked another question with eyes gone velvety black. Are you sure?

I didn’t know what this hot attraction between us meant, or if it was more than physical—after all, how permanent could an assassin get with a cop?

But for now? I nodded and smiled again.

With a sigh, he reached around and unhooked my bra with one quick flip. His eyes flicked over my revealed breasts as he tossed the bra onto the counter. Before I could wonder how interesting he’d find my small, tight body, his gaze went nova. “You’re perfect.” He bent, grasped my breasts, one in each hand, and lifted them to his mouth.

It was hard, hot and fast. As if he wanted to devour them both at once, he kissed and licked and sucked nipples in quick turn. Whichever breast he wasn’t lavishing with attention he stimulated with his thumb.

I gasped. His kisses were hot; his suckling was incendiary. His fingers were extraordinarily strong and clever. I’d been with older boys—these were a man’s hands fondling me, strong and sure. I closed my eyes and savored.

He finally settled on my left breast and suckled the nipple until it was diamond-hard with longing. My fingers threaded into his hair again and tightened in response to each tug, until I was practically pulling his hair out by the roots. All he did was make a tiny sound, half-pain, half-bliss.

He kept suckling. Each draw on my nipple yanked a silken cord of need deep inside. The sensations came closer together, hotter, deeper, until I was churning with them. My belly was heavy, my lips swollen, my legs yielding and my skin screaming to shed the rest of my clothes. All that, just from suckling.

My mouth ached with the need to suck on him in return. My fingers were still tight in his hair so I wrenched on his head, trying to lift him from my breast, to get my hands under his shirt and peel it off over his head.

He made another small sound, an uh-uh of undeniable not slowing, and continued to suckle.

With the last of my willpower I reached over his bent head, grabbed his sleeveless T-shirt as far back as I could and started winching it toward his neck.

I’d made about two inches of headway, barely enough to expose the small of his back, when the suckling drove me completely insane. I gave a throttled shriek and tried to rip the shirt off.

He chuckled. With a see-you-soon lick to my ripe nipple, he straightened and finished what I’d inadequately started, stripping himself of the shirt even faster than last time.

My eyes drank their fill. If he was a vampire it didn’t show in his skin, a sun-drenched bronze. His nipples were tight and dark. His chest was smooth and hairless. I reached for it.

He tossed his shirt on top of my bra and reached for me at the same time. As I palmed his pectorals, he crushed me to him. My breasts and palms flattened against male flesh, its warm scent filling my every quickened breath. He grabbed my mouth in a searing kiss and his taste filled me. I basked in him, touch, scent and taste, meeting his mouth and clutching his chest and rippling against him with the need for even more.

Opening his hands on my back, he went exploring, gliding along my skin until he met the thick wool of my trousers.

If I thought that would stop him, I didn’t know him very well. His hands continued to glide down, rubbing the cloth over my buttocks, then grasping me and pulling me into him. My hips met a large, firm and growing bulge. He backed off on the kiss, his tongue flicking and teasing. Now he was trying to go slower, but I wasn’t having any of that.

I stood on tiptoes and went after his mouth, thrusting my tongue between his lips and rubbing my hands over him, feeling the pinpricks of his nipples roll under my palms.

He huffed, and his teasing tongue got serious, diving back into my mouth to claim me. I thrust my tongue in return, finding much more of him to deal with. Lips that were thin but sexy when viewed were exquisite acres when tasting and licking.

He pushed a hand between us and for a moment I thought he was still trying to slow things down and moaned my protest. But a couple wags of those clever fingers managed to undo my belt and pants. The uniform slacks slid languidly open for him and coyly slipped off my hips.

With a satisfied purr, he opened one hand on the base of my spine to hold me in place—and thrust the other down the front of my panties.

I gasped.

His fingers unerringly found my clitoris, the bud already rising to meet them. I groaned. He stroked. His purr became more pronounced. He stroked again, and again, setting up a good hard rhythm. I whimpered. His purr became a rumble that shook my ribs.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him like I was going to mate his mouth. My naked breasts rubbed against his torso as he beat fingers against me. His hips rocked hungrily in the same rhythm. I dropped a hand to try to open his pants too.

He raised his mouth from mine. “Not yet. Don’t touch me, I’m too aroused. You first.”

It took my breath away.

He lifted me by the waist and swung me toward the wall. I thought maybe he was going to smash me against it but he set me on the broad tiled ledge under the window. He pulled my pants off over my cop black shoes and socks. Not very alluring—until he stepped between my legs. He looked damned good between my thighs.

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