|My Chocolate-Covered Cover! <3|
It's getting to be that time again -- release day for BEST MAN, WORST MAN is almost here!
Oh, what to say about this fun little project... BEST MAN, WORST MAN was the first project to be published, despite the fact that it is now my second release from Samhain. (Confused yet?:) ) BEST MAN, WORST MAN was pushed back thanks to my publisher's release schedule of the cyberpunk anthology, of which my novella ZERO FACTOR was a part.
|Is this too sexy to be sweet? Hmmm.|
So, without further ado, here's the blurb for BEST MAN, WORST MAN, the steamiest-but-no-sex-scenes novella around!
* * *
He’s the one problem she can’t solve.
From hysterical bridezillas to grooms with sub-zero feet, renowned wedding planner Claire Pomeroy has never met a disaster she couldn’t handle. Then she runs afoul of her client’s not-so-best man, a devilishly flirtatious rogue with a killer smile and a chest as solid as a concrete roadblock. Yet their sparks of attraction only highlight his obvious quest—to make sure this wedding knot never gets tied.
Confirmed bachelor Ryder Price knows one unshakable truth: marriage is nothing but a fairy tale. No way is he going to stand idly by while his wingman face-plants into the dreaded marital trap. But there’s a problem. A dark-eyed, dangerously curvaceous problem who’s bound and determined to pull this wedding off.
As her suddenly skittish clients teeter on the edge of cancellation, Claire challenges her nemesis to imagine long-term as something more than a quickie and a vague promise to call. Ryder counters with a challenge of his own. Let him give her a taste of just how fulfilling a little no-strings-attached passion can be.
And hey, since we're at it, why not a teeny excerpt of when Claire and Ryder meet? :)
Claire sighed and followed Rachel into the living room, only to have her vision filled with Rachel’s houseguest sitting on a sofa, coffee mug in hand as he chatted with Matt. He was impossible to miss. Even though he was seated it was obvious the man was built like a warrior of old, with wide shoulders and a chest you could play handball on, narrow hips and long legs that filled out his jeans in all the right places. His dark hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and the sweep of his shoulders was so breathtaking she couldn’t help but suffer the innately feminine desire to explore the muscular terrain with curious, wanting-to-squeeze fingers. The smile he gave Matt was a devilish white slash against bronzed, sun-kissed skin, made that much darker with a hint of a five-o’clock shadow. Then he looked up at their approach, and Claire found herself freezing solid, from the tips of her toes all the way to the orderly movement of her lungs.
He had silver eyes. God help her, silver eyes.
“Ryder, I’d like you to meet wedding planner extraordinaire, Claire Pomeroy. Claire, this is Matt’s best friend, Ryder Price. Since he and Matt are settled in so nicely here, why don’t you and I have our consult in the kitchen while the boys do whatever it is they do?”
Matt shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
“Absolutely not.” To Claire’s surprise, the man named Ryder pushed to his feet and crossed to them, and for no fathomable reason Claire’s heart decided to do its best impersonation of an 808 drum machine. “Please Rachel, I insist you go about your usual routine and just pretend I’m not even here. Remember, you swore I wouldn’t be a bother, so don’t let me get in your way now.”
“My goodness,” Rachel said through a tight smile that made her look like she wanted to bite something. “How considerate of you, Ryder.”
“And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your wedding planner.” Ryder turned the full brunt of his smile on Claire as he took her hand in his. “Claire, is it?”
It took most of her strength to get her tongue unglued from the roof of her mouth, mainly because the heat of his hand was branding her nerve endings with the glorious feel of him. “That’s correct.” What wasn’t correct was how her brain slipped its gears to plunge her into the heart of fantasyland the moment he touched her. With shocking ease she imagined how the glide of his hands, as big as baseball mitts, might feel against other, more intimate parts of her body. With one glance at his made-for-sin lips, she could almost feel them molding against hers, seducing her with the promise of dark pleasures. She had no doubt he would be a reckless lover. This modern-day gladiator looked as though he lived to conquer his intended target inch by tantalizing inch, unveiling her as he would a piece of fine art to revel in a slow, sensual exploration first by his gaze, then his hands, then his mouth…
A flush of heat rolled through Claire until she thought she glowed with it, and to her dismay sensual warmth bloomed between her thighs. Way to be professional, she thought, horrified. Apparently her little voice of reason was suffering an epic case of laryngitis. And the worst part of it—all he’d done was touch her hand.