It's time for another giveaway!
And if you win, you can choose whatever print book of mine you want
(unless you are outside the US, which means it will be an e-book)
Just trot on over to my blog and follow the easy instructions. I am in the giving mood as the holidays approach... :)
In the meantime, here are a couple of excerpts from my print book, Hard Work, Hot Boss:
copyright 2011 Fran Lee
She straightened her shoulders and headed for the curved staircase that led up to the third level of the huge house. She noted the heads that turned to follow her, and bit the corner of her lip. The sapphire-blue silk gown with its overdress of gold netting was certainly an eye-catcher, especially with the back of the dress practically nonexistent. Draping seductively from a crossover halter neckline that left barely enough room for the exquisite diamond and sapphire choker to rest above the material, it fell away to her feet in a sultry, swirling fall that brushed over breasts and hips like a soft hand. The matching tennis bracelet and the long dangle earrings sparkled under the track lights that lit the staircase with a soft glow.
She had not had time for a hairdo, so she had simply swept the thick red-gold curls up into a high-set ponytail at her crown, and had wound another bit of sapphire silk around the band to conceal the elastic. It gave the impression that her neck was longer and left the gorgeous earrings plenty of space to sway and glitter breathtakingly.
She stepped up the final carpeted stair and paused, glancing around the smaller salon that opened up over the gallery at the head of the stairs, before narrowing to the corridor that led to the bedrooms at the back of the level. The bronze and smoked glass chandelier at the apex of the vaulted ceiling cast warm light over the area, and made her shimmery gold overdress and glittering jewels look even more amazing than they had in the showroom. She decided that not a soul would recognize her unless she introduced herself, so she gathered her courage and moved slowly toward the center of the gallery, looking about for Furie.
Heads turned to follow her progress, but no one called out her name. She was not a familiar face to the beautiful people. Only his employees knew her well enough to recognize her. Her anonymity was assured.
And then she saw him, standing uncomfortably in a tight group of people, with a stunningly beautiful supermodel type holding onto his arm like she had grown there, her laugh a high tinkle of feigned amusement that never quite reached those gorgeous amber-colored eyes. She stood for a long moment, relishing the amount of discomfort he was experiencing, waiting for his eyes to swivel her way before she made her grand entrance.
A man turned to glance at her from a jovial conversation beside her, and gave her a keen once-over before sidling up to her and introducing himself. He didn’t have to. She would known his face from the magazine covers and the tabloids as Jerrod Lane, two-time Academy Award winning actor and heartthrob of millions of females the world over. She glanced at him with a cool smile and replied to his outrageous compliment with a simple thank-you, before turning her gaze back to her boss.
“I haven’t seen you around before. And from the look of that boulder on your hand, I’d say you were taken…but Heaven help me, I wouldn’t be a red-blooded male if I didn’t try.” Jerrod slid one lean hand around her waist, and tried to draw her closer. His reward was an acid stare that could have wilted the entire White River National Forest. He grinned and released her waist, and said in a husky tone that had dropped an octave, “Who’s the lucky devil who’s got you wrapped around his pinkie?”
The moment he spoke, Michael Furie glanced up, his ice-laden dark blue gaze locked with hers, and his body unfurled from the defensive posture he’d assumed, forcing the female hanger-on to loosen her grip. Jill tried not to look shaken. She tried not to react to the heat that ran through her like a shot of fire from head to toe-tips, making her wonder numbly if the Manolo Blahniks had melted off. She smiled across the room at him, and Jerrod followed her gaze, instantly whistling softly and backing off a step.
“I should have guessed, Gorgeous. But if you ever decide to trade up, I’m always around.” He vacated his spot beside her as Furie slowly extracted himself from the other woman’s grasp, with a quiet, “Excuse me.” Heads turned as he stepped out of the tight knot of bodies and moved across the gallery toward her, and she fought the urge to bite her knuckles and whimper. That man had such a walk!
She managed a brilliant smile up into his eyes as he stopped so close, she could feel his body heat through the silk of her gown, and she placed her hand with the blinding rock on it on his forearm, and said just loudly enough to be overheard for about ten feet, “Mike! Darling! I’m sorry I’m late!”
She noted the circuitous route those eyes took as they slipped over her gown, her jewelry, and the impressively breathtaking engagement ring she was prominently displaying, and a muscle twitched in the deep groove beside his mouth. He seemed to be fighting some dark and angry emotion that she feared she would hear about later, and in the most uncomplimentary tones possible, but surprisingly, he gave her a sexily crooked smile.
“Don’t I even get a kiss after waiting all this time for you to finally show up?” His voice was a sexy growl that was just loud enough for everyone within ten feet to hear clearly, although he pretended to be speaking for her ears alone. Jill felt like they were in a fishbowl, the way all eyes were glued to them. She stood up on her tiptoes and aimed for his cheek. But before her lips made contact, he turned his head and she ended up planting one smack-dab on his smiling mouth. And oh, what a mouth the man had…
And he didn’t settle just for a friendly kiss. He slid his arms around her body and dragged her up against his chest, smoothly covering her jerk of shock by catching the back of her head in the palm of one hand and slanting his mouth to take hers completely. His strong, champagne-flavored tongue slipped easily past her lips as she opened them to ask what the hell he was doing. Her heart rate ratcheted up as he traced the inside of her mouth sensuously. If she hadn’t known her boss so damned well, that kiss might have fooled even her, but she figured he had paid through the nose to be kissed, and she decided that she might as well let ’er rip.
Warring with his tongue, she explored the warm depths of his mouth as she slid her hands up behind his head and arched her body into his tuxedo, pressing her hips against his suddenly burgeoning cock, ignoring the rush of excitement his highly obvious arousal gave her, as she did exactly what she had wanted to do for the past six-plus years.
She kissed him—savagely, hungrily, possessively! Giving as good as she got from him, even though with him it was just an act to discourage the positively fuming blonde who had turned and stomped off toward the stairs back to the second level.
His mouth was decadently hot and delicious. The expensive champagne was dry and heady on his tongue, and she could not possibly have imagined how it would feel to have him kissing her like this—not even in her wildest wet dreams! His hot, spicy masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her heart felt like a super ball that might easily zap its way straight out the front of her silk gown and go bouncing wildly across the carpet if he kept kissing her.
Tongues tangling voraciously, breathing uneven and heated, their bodies were plastered hungrily against each other as his arms pulled her so tight into his embrace she could almost feel his spine. And then his hand cupped her ass in a familiar, possessive squeeze, and she inhaled and tried to back away. He murmured huskily against her lips, “Relax. You’ll survive.”
Woman on Fire
Copyright 2011 Fran Lee
“Can I help you?” Her quickly pasted-on smile was polite and pleasant. Probably a parent, checking out the new teacher. Damn. They didn’t build single males like him these days.
Night-dark eyes slid past her, wandered around the classroom slowly, and then returned to her. Eyes that would normally have set her pulse off like a shot, but these held a cold, aloof quality that let her know she was beneath his interest.
“Is Ms. Red Wolf still here?” The dark-chocolate voice held a quiet, tense note.
“I’m Cheyenne Red Wolf.” She repeated the polite smile. “How can I help you?”
The look of shock in those obsidian eyes made her bite back a grin. It wasn’t an unusual reaction to her definitely un-Indian looks attached to a very Indian name. But the desire to grin dissolved the instant those eyes turned angry.
“You are Cheyenne Red Wolf? Our new Native American Studies teacher?” Every word was clipped and reflected a fury that was barely held at bay.
She moved away from the bookshelf and resisted the urge to cross her arms defensively over her chest. The animosity rolling off that man was enough to choke her. It was only through sheer willpower that she didn’t cut and run. He took a step toward her and she had to crane her neck to meet his glare. She drew herself up to her tallest possible height which wasn’t much over five foot six in shoes and lifted her chin slightly in answer to his unspoken but clearly heard challenge. Damn! She wished now that she’d worn heels.
Forcing her voice to remain softly calm wasn’t easy. “I am. And you are…?” she coached gently, refusing to retreat as he invaded her personal space with all that hulking, broad-shouldered menace he exuded.
His eyes moved from the copper-penny red hair she’d dragged back into a bun before her first class, all the way down her fuzzy blue cardigan sweater and travel-wrinkled beige linen slacks to her vintage fifties penny loafers, then back with a disbelieving insolence that was as insulting as it was scary. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to take a few steps back and get a desk between them, but she’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her.
She had no real reason to fear him, after all—it was broad daylight and they were in a school full of—empty classrooms. Oh, shit. As the realization hit her that regular classes had let out over half an hour ago, and most of the teachers were gone for the day, she inhaled slowly and wondered if maybe it might be wiser if she turned tail and sprinted for the still open door.
But her common sense returned after one panicky moment, and she frowned at her own silliness. What the hell was he gonna do? Attack her? He was understandably shocked to find a non-Native American woman teaching a class that should by all rights be taught by a Native American. There were a lot of Native Americans who resented what she did, simply because she was not one of them. Not really. And being one in spirit didn’t quite cut the mustard.
She made a point of glancing at her watch and lifted her eyes back to his face. “I really can’t take time to go over lesson plans right now. If you’ll just tell me which student is yours, I can give you a call tomorrow—”
“There’s been a mistake, Ms. Red Wolf.” The voice was low and controlled.
“A mistake?” She had to work damn hard to keep a tremor of anger out of her own voice.
Those almost-too-damn-sexy-to-be-real lips twisted into a sneer as he seemed to loom even closer in the suddenly airless classroom. “A big one.”
Her breath caught in her throat and she hated the fact that she was shaking under his glare. “If you have a problem with me teaching this class, you’ll need to take it up with Mr. Wyatt or Ms. Running Deer of the school board. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have someone waiting.” A lie was better than letting him think she had no backup here.
“He can keep on waiting.” The clipped statement startled her, but only because it was coupled with another forward movement of that intimidating body that had somehow moved so close she could feel the heat sizzling off him through her clothes.
This guy had absolutely no friggin’ concept of personal space.
She suddenly decided that retreat was entirely acceptable under such unfriendly fire. She took a quick step backward and felt the bite of a wooden desk on the soft flesh of her fanny. The startled gasp she gave seemed to make those nearly black eyes darken even more, and she blushed hotly to have let him know he frightened her. Her temper rose.
When under attack, counter attack, Frank had always said.
“Excuse me—whoever you are—but if you have a complaint about me teaching your child, like I said, take it up with the school board and the principal, who felt I was very well qualified—”
She gave a yelp of shock as a book that had been too close to the edge of the desk she was nearly sitting on fell to the floor with a resounding smack, and she jumped away from the desk automatically, coming into full frontal contact with her tormentor. And he didn’t miss a beat as he caught her around the waist with a pair of lean, strong hands and glared down at her.
His beautiful lip curled. “Just like a woman—trying to use any weapon at hand to avoid the consequences of her actions.” His voice was scathing and she blinked up at him, not getting his meaning.
“Weapon? Consequences? What the hell are you talking about?” she gasped and shoved at his hands without much success as she twisted to try to get free.
“Those weapons.” He hissed a breath inward through his teeth as her hips twisted against his. Her movements brought her generous chest tight against his. His rasping words instantly halted her movements as she realized what he was talking about and her eyes widened in horror, then narrowed in fury. Damn, but the man was blaming her for his own actions now.
“If you will take your hands off me, I will happily remove my weapons from your vicinity,” she hissed, her temper flaring at his insinuation that she was trying to use sex to escape whatever “consequences” he imagined were due her. It didn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to get his meaning and it didn’t take much imagination to realize their confrontation had produced a hard-on from hell on his part. It was jabbing against her belly quite insistently. It had already grown even larger and more dangerous in the several seconds they’d been plastered together.
For a moment, he didn’t respond, and in that tense moment she sensed that he was considering his next response with extreme care. Her incensed glare met his and she waited with lips compressed and indignant fury in her expression. Dark eyes warred with blue. It became a battle of wills as he remained tautly silent, staring down into her furious face without any change in his expression of angry disdain. His hands remained firmly clamped around her body, making it impossible to move away without a struggle, and she’d be damned if she was going to give him his jollies by wiggling and twisting against him to try to get loose again. His hands were long and powerful. The pads of his fingertips rested firmly on the upper swell of her buttocks. The sensations running rampant inside her traitorous pussy were indescribable.
After what felt like hours of silent, glaring antagonism so thick it could easily be cut with a knife, she irritably decided the only way she was going to get him to let go of her was to say something. She slowly drew a shaky breath and spoke in a low, careful tone like one might use when talking to a suicide jumper on a ledge. “How about you and me calling a truce? You take your hands off me, and we’ll both back away. Then maybe you can calmly tell me what the hell you are so damn bent out of shape over.”
This is just one of several print books you could win...so have fun!