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Sunday, July 31, 2011
Jianne Carlo - Manacled in Monaco - excerpt #2
Here are some reviewer comments about Manacled in Monaco followed by another excerpt.
Whew, this is an exciting and fast-paced erotic romance. The sparks and sexual tension between these characters are explosive and you will enjoy the snappy and witty repertoire. This is one spectacular tale and it is going on my keeper shelf.
MANACLED IN MONACO is an enthralling and addicting read. It takes the reader on a wild ride with some twists and turns that keeps them interested in the story as well as some very erotic scenes that will keeps panting for more from this unlikely love match.
Rolan Anthony Paxton, the Patriot's celebrated wide receiver, dominated the football world for ten years. Fame and fortune fell into his lap and he rode the rainbow collecting Super Bowl wins. Even now, he crooks his finger and women line up -- Hollywood stars, super models, beauty queens. But a decade later, disillusioned and unable to pinpoint exactly what's missing, he finds himself staring over the head of his latest arm candy at the end of his career and resenting the young buck gunning for his position. Then he runs into Sarita Khan, the nose-in-a-book classmate whose virginity he claimed on prom night on the fifty-yard line and whose memory has fueled his fantasies for over ten years.
Sarita Khan never thought she'd see Rolan Paxton again. The NFL drafted him two days after Prom, two days after he took her virginity. What were the odds of her son's father chartering the luxury yacht she's crewing for a decade later? And that he'd still make her burn like he did ten years ago?
Sarita wants Rolan, but she wants her independence. Rolan's a control freak bent on domination. Determined to show her who's master, Rolan slaps on the manacles -- and turns this trip to Monaco into a pleasure cruise.
Manacled in Monaco – excerpt #2:
Numbed, despairing, Sarita shrugged on a chintz-patterned cotton sundress, forced her legs into motion, and made her way to the deck.
Rolan stood there, hips braced against the deck rail, ankles crossed.
Although it seemed impossible, he’d become more handsome over the years. Six feet one of honed muscle, long legs, lean hips clad in black jeans. He wore a sable T-shirt, which amplified his broad shoulders and contrasted sharply against the platinum streaks in his chin length hair. The color of his eyes had always caused her lungs to stammer, and even though Anthony’s were the exact same emerald shade, it didn’t matter. His intent gaze caught and held hers, and her heart did a wild staccato beat hammering and thudding in her chest. She could eat him up; he looked like a marauding predator.
Captain Terry O’Connor had taken the yacht out for its daily spin and they faced the calm surface of the aquamarine Mediterranean. A brisk sea breeze whipped Rolan’s lion’s mane away from his chiseled jaw. On the short walk from her cabin to the deck, she’d changed her mind about marriage ten times, vacillating between him, Tony, and hard-won independence.
“I had Austen get me a special license. We can get hitched today.”
His words tilted the decision.
“No.” And sadness sank into her very depths. It meant nothing to him, nothing at all. And it had been all she had dreamed about these last ten years, the country club life with Rolan, being the blonde tennis-playing wife, the two-car family, having a husband who adored her.
It came down to getting hitched.
Not in her lifetime.
“I won’t marry you. Tony and I can live with you, try things out. He needs a male role model and I suppose you’ll do. But, I’m not signing away anything and I’m not giving you any rights. Tony’s mine. You weren’t there for his birth. You weren’t there for the first ten years of his life. I don’t give a damn about your biological rights and I’ll fight you every step of the way if you decide to take this to court. Got that?”
“Every word,” he growled. “If we’re agreed that Tony comes first, then finding some sort of balance is in order. He’s a savvy ten year old. He’ll know when we’re quarreling.”
“Right now, I really don’t give a damn. And I’d like to not see you for a few days, get this bad taste out of my mouth.”
“You conniving bitch, bad taste is it? Grab this and stomach it.” He hauled her into his arms and punished her, kissing her savagely, with no hint of finesse, plundering her depths, taking her like a pirate ravishing a maiden. Her mouth softened below his, opening to him. He tasted so great, so fine, like aged brandy all smoky and honeyed.
She couldn’t resist and molded her body to his, setting her pelvis against his erection.
Sarita purred, a little throaty sound.
“I remember that sound,” he whispered, his lips moving against hers. “I’ve listened for it for the last ten years. Sarita, if I’d known about Tony, I would have done the right thing. Let’s do it now.”
He nibbled her lower lip and the memories flared across her pupils. He’d kissed her for what seemed an eternity that night. Lazy, slow tastings, sipping at her mouth as if it contained life’s precious nectar. The star of the football team, the most handsome boy in town kissing her, wanting her.
She moaned as his teeth sank a gentle pressure on her lip.
“Again,” he commanded. “Make that sexy noise again.”
Unable to prevent it, she moaned again.
“Jesus, I’m losing it.”
He shoved her dress up, found the ridge of her thong and slithered a hand inside, growling when he found her moist, slick, needy. “Jesus. Purr for me, Sarita honey, purr for me. “
And she did, a little throaty sound coated deep inside, although she tried to bury it.
He slid two fingers in and she clenched around him, muscles spasming like a hot, tight little vacuum. She arched, spine taut, and mewled sweet sounds of rapture.
Right there on the deck braced against the rail, she had her first orgasm, convulsing around thick fingers, dress shoved up baring her ass.
His whole body tightened and he shuddered, and held her smothered tight to him.
An uncomfortable eternity elapsed, painted with uneasy silence and labored breaths. The sun beat down on her back and shoulders, the wind died, and waves slapped against the Glory’s hull rhythmically, like a drum beating to the humming of the ship’s engine. He gathered her closer, one hand stroking her spine, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
Sarita sighed and wanted to stay in his arms forever.
And then, he burst into a loud chortle, his lips nuzzling her nape, tickling the skin there.
Cheeks heating, her neck muscles knotted.
“That’s the second time. And only you do it to me.”
“I don’t understand,” she mumbled, her words muffled against his dark shirt.
“I’ve lost control completely only two times in my life. That night on the football field and a couple of minutes ago. Thank God, Terry had the foresight to take us out to sea.”
She wriggled her hips, all of a sudden aware his fingers were still buried deep inside her.
“Don’t even think of asking me. Right now, all I want to do is bring you off again. My fingers stay where they are until I catch a second wind.”
A little aftershock hit her and she drenched his palm.
“Jesus, I think I’m actually jealous of my fingers. At least my cock is.” He flicked one, then the other, and she tightened and whimpered.
Series Name: Mediterranean Mambo, Book #1
Release Date: 06/08/2008
Publisher Link: http://www.loose-id.com
Available at: Amazon, ARe, Barnes & Noble
Genre: Erotic, multicultural, contemporary suspense: m/f
Word Count: 70,225
Hope you enjoy!