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Sunday, July 31, 2011
Jianne Carlo - Good Sunday Morning!
Good Sunday morning everyone!
Here in South Florida – it’s a gorgeous day. The sky is blue and clear, the humidity’s a mere eighty percent, and there’s even a slight breeze. So I’ll be bustling in and out of the blog today – the dh and I have the house to ourselves until four and we’re planning margaritas by the pool.
Two years ago my publisher, Loose-Id, sent out a call for romances themed around Christmas songs. For some strange reason my twisted mind couldn’t stop pinging the lyrics to The Twelve Days of Christmas lyrics. Thus was born, A Paratrooper in a Pear Tree.
The Hades Squad came about in Paratrooper – I never plan my books, so they were a total surprise to me too!
Sinner, Satan, Devil, Demon, and Lucifer, all ex- SEALs and acrobatic parachutists who served together in Iraq and Afghanistan start new lives and careers in Paratrooper.
Can you tell that I have a weakness for alpha males? Sigh. Nothing better than a SEAL – well Vikings come close - as do Highlanders (my next historical series).
A Paratrooper in a Pear Tree won Passionate Plume’s Best Contemporary of 2009. Isn’t the cover yummy?
Destiny Driven hasn’t used her real name in forever. It doesn’t exactly inspire professional confidence if you sound like a stripper. When she's ordered to “sex up” former bestselling author Angel Robinson’s latest manuscript, armed with whips, cuffs, “classic” (who knew?) porn DVDs, that hits a little close to home. So Destiny heads to a remote cabin in Healey, Alaska.
Deployed to fight an inferno, Master Parachutist Lincoln Chapman’s veers off course, his chute fails, and his reserve opens at the 10,000 mark. The paratrooper lands in the pear tree adjacent to Destiny’s cabin. The man’s massive and unconscious. The cabin’s cold and isolated, and Destiny’s no girl scout. Then Linc wakes to Destiny’s Madonna features, stripper body, sex toys, and 70’s porn DVDs.
Just as they're trying to leave, electricity fizzles. There's only one way to stay warm. Luckily they have all the supplies they need.
A Paratrooper in a Pear Tree – excerpt:
Destiny couldn't get thoughts to form, couldn't move an inch.
His chest rose and fell against hers, a sheen of sweat slicking their bodies. Her vagina throbbed, clenching the hardness stretching her walls. Her nose flattened on Linc's pectoral muscle, the muskiness he'd emanated earlier heavier and thicker. She filled her lungs with the delicious scent, memorizing the smell of Lincoln Chapman.
This is what all the fuss is about. Cripes, I'd never have imagined, not in a zillion years.
After her deflowering, which had been a total disaster, Destiny'd experimented with a vibrator, but the experience had left her feeling dirty and a total sexual failure. A brief affair with one of the Culinary Institute's chefs had afforded fantastic food and over-in-six-seconds, or so it had seemed, sex.
Her lungs struggled under his full weight; she stifled a wince but couldn't prevent a flinch as the tip of his elbow caught a bit of her skin.
Immediately he lifted onto his forearms, licked her cheek, and whispered, “Better, Baby Doll?”
Labored breaths, warm and wine scented, fanned her ear, blew a strand of hair across her cheek. Since her tongue didn't seem to work like it belonged to her, she nodded.
Slotting her eyes open, she blinked, and gradually her blurred vision cleared and she stared at the vein throbbing in his neck. Insecurity and a hint of mortification made her focus on a bead of perspiration riding the ridge of his shoulder.
“Destiny, look at me.”
Heat rose and mushroomed from toes to scalp. Dragging her gaze the length of Lincoln's neck, meandering as slowly as possible over his mouth, she sighed and looked into his eyes.
Pupils dilated, dark as midnight, irises the color of thinned molasses, he tipped his head back, forcing her to look up. “You okay, baby? I didn't hurt you, did I?”
His concern did her in. Her mind slowed and her thoughts pooled, and she felt as if she'd plunged into a sensual tropical lagoon, thick, heavy, and glazed. She couldn't get a word out. Her throat clogged like a kitten with a fur ball.
All at once, he tensed. “You're tearing up. Baby Doll, did I hurt you?”
“No, you didn't hurt me,” Destiny whispered. “I…” She swallowed. “I never knew.”
His wrinkled forehead relaxed. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Never knew what?”
Shame and embarrassment and shyness heated her cheeks; she knew color suffused her face.
“You've never had an orgasm,” he said. A swallowed-the-canary grin curved his lips. “I gave you your first orgasm. Hot damn, Baby Doll, I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas present.”
He looked like a rooster strutting his stuff.
“It's September,” she grumbled.
“Yeah, but I was your paratrooper in a pear tree. I reckon we're on day two of the twelve days of Christmas, and I was the first.”
Damn it—why'd he have to wear such a superior grin?
“You're not my first,” she blurted. “I've had sex before.”
“You've never had an orgasm,” he repeated. “And I just gave you your first fricking climax.”
She couldn't answer because his mouth was doing wonderful things to her bottom lip, nibbling, licking, making her giddy. Bereft when his heat vanished, she dared to open her eyes and found him studying her with the intensity of an editor trolling for plot holes.
“Sore?” A sandy brow winged up.
His penis thickened inside her. Automatically she glanced down between their bodies, then up to meet his gaze.
“Oh.” He's ready again? So soon?
The question finally penetrated. She stared at the pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. “A little.”
“I've just the solution,” he said, then licked the seam of her mouth and leveraged off and out of her. “Don't move an inch. I'll take care of everything. You need a long soak in a hot bath.”
Destiny tracked his movements as he hopped off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. His penis sported the red-colored condom she'd purchased in New York, the tip now filled with liquid. She couldn't remember him putting the rubber on, much less when he'd undressed her. Pulling the pillow over her face, she inhaled. It smelled of Lincoln and sex. She threw it off the bed and stared at the ceiling. Planked wood met in a high V above her head; the sound of water running distracted her from her scrutiny of the knots scattered here and there in the pine.
She'd just had the most incredible sexual experience of her life. Why, then, did she feel insecure and deflated? Turning on her side, Destiny curled into a ball. If they'd met under any other circumstances—at a bar, at a party—he'd never have given her a second look. Guys who looked like Lincoln, like bodybuilders, dated lean, thin models. Not ten-pounds-overweight women. Okay, okay, fifteen.
Clothes, she needed clothes. To cover up before he really saw her naked. Squeezing her eyes shut, Destiny clamped her lips together and struggled onto her forearms. The mattress was one of those sink-ins that grabbed and coddled and wouldn't set you free without a battle.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Flinching, guilt warming her skin, she blinked at the magnificent picture he presented. Large hands curled on hip bones, feet planted wide, pelvis and…
“Baby Doll, you'd better stop gawking at my dick. You're sore, and we have to wait awhile.”
As she stared, his penis jerked and a mouthwatering droplet pearled and hung from its slit. More of a cliffhanger than any suspense manuscript she'd ever read. Destiny counted seconds, and on “nine, Mississippi,” the glistening bead did a slo-mo fall to the carpet.
“You're dying to taste, aren't you, Baby Doll?” When he growled, Lincoln's voice dipped two levels, making her toes curl. As he gathered her into his arms, one forefinger lifted her chin. “First we have to make you better.”
“I'm hardly a baby,” she said.
“You're my Baby Doll. Don't you forget it.”
Fascinated by the way his cheeks hollowed when he clenched his jaw, the nine-second delay between his words and comprehension paralyzed her brain. Tilting her head, she met his gaze as he lowered her into the bathtub. She sat up and wound her long hair into a knot on top of her head.
His eyes traced her hands, cemented on her breasts, then her mouth.
“Baby Doll, your tits and mouth should be bronzed. When you raise your arms like that, I can't decide which part I want to fuck first.”
Publisher Link: http://www.loose-id.com
Available at: Amazon, ARe, Barnes and Noble
Release date: 12/23/2009
Genre: Erotic, multicultural, contemporary suspense: m/f
Hope you enjoy!