Blog Stop: Stripped, Travesty #2 by Piper Lawson

 Ava Cameron has stars in her eyes. When the feisty designer moves to NYC after graduation with her best friend, things are finally clicking into place.

But now their brand new label, Travesty, is under attack.

The man leading the charge is the hottest hookup Ava ever had. One she never wanted to see again...

Nate Townsend might be from the right schools, the right neighborhood and the right family. But under the surface, his scars run deep.

When the society prince and the loud designer come face to face on a case that could decide Ava's future, sparks fly.

Nate's not about to let Ava forget she's the only person who knows his secrets. And Ava’s walking the line between getting Travesty back on track and being dragged into the gutter by one stubborn young lawyer planning to take her down.

If Nate Townsend didn’t make the gutter look so damn good...

I stretched forward an inch, breathing him in, then carefully touched my mouth to the corner of his. Any doubt about whether I was crossing a line evaporated as I felt his morning stubble under my lips. I’d crossed the line all right. Ran over it, naked, carrying flaming batons.

Guiltily, I tried to pull back.

The fingers at my hip slid further under the waistband of my pants, holding me in place.

We weren’t just close, I realized too late. We were really close. My nipples were tight from rubbing against his chest through the thin T shirt. The hardness of his body made me intimately aware of the softness of mine. His strong thigh slung over my hip held me down. At least he wasn’t—

“Did you just kiss me?” Nate’s voice was a sleepy groan.

Oh shit.

Why couldn’t I resist doing something impulsive for once?

“I—” I cleared my throat. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

His lashes raised enough that I saw slivers of blue beneath them. “I wasn’t. Some things are worth waking up for.” Nate muttered something I couldn’t understand, but didn’t release his hold. The hand on my lower back kept me against him, and the tighter he held me, the more I wanted to squirm. Squirming just made me rub against him more. It was torture.

Before I could say another word, think about what I could’ve or should’ve or would’ve done, I was on my back.

The air was squeezed from my lungs as Nate’s body pressed into me. I felt each part in turn. His hands pinning my wrists above my head. His chest resting squarely on mine. His hips and the awareness between his legs.

“What the hell, Nate?” My heart thumped wildly in my chest.

“Don’t tease me, Ava. If you’re going to kiss me, do it right. If you’re not …” He trailed off. His thumb stroked my wrist without releasing my hands. He must’ve felt my pulse explode.

His gaze moved between my eyes and my mouth. A dare.

I wanted his mouth on mine. There was no question. But …

I bit my lip.

He groaned. The sound went straight to my core, where I was already wet from pressing against him. “Every inch of you is telling me to take you right here,” he muttered. “The couch may not remember what we did here last year, but I sure as hell can’t get it out of my head.”

There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. There wasn’t enough oxygen on the planet for the way he was making me feel with his mouth and his hands and his … Nate-ness.

“I should go,” I managed. As if saying the words could make me move toward the door.

“Don’t.” His hoarse voice was a command and a plea.

Before I could raise myself up, Nate’s mouth crashed onto mine.

His tongue pressed at the seam of my lips and they opened for him, wantonly.

Yes. As much as I was terrified to admit it, this was what I wanted. Not stolen, half-asleep kisses. This. Him on me, over me, showing me.

It felt like he was desperate to prove this was what we both needed. He lowered himself to one elbow, releasing my wrists so his hand slid down to fist in my hair. He tugged on the strands, tilting my head back to give him better access.

I was drowning in an ocean of sensation. My resistance was burned away by his touch, and my fingers crept under his T shirt. A whimper escaped me. Nate nipped at my bottom lip, sending shockwaves through my skin. I grazed my nails across his lower back, which made him flex his hips into me.

Fuck.

Nate dragged his hungry mouth down, running hot kisses along my jaw and up to my ear. Catching my earlobe in his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. Sucking it. I arched against him on a moan they probably heard in Brooklyn.

Somehow it felt better than last year. Because I knew him now, or thought I did. And I wanted to let him in. Let him everywhere.

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I love reading and writing stories about sassy, sexy, smart girls and the guys who fall hard for them. My main household expenditures include books, shoes, and chocolate, not necessarily in that order. Coffee = life (and I’ll defend it accordingly, especially when cornered). I have two business degrees, neither of which I’ve managed to turn into a fashion label (boo).

Home is Canada plus sunny winter escapes. Feel free to stalk me @piperjlawson, facebook.com/piperlawsonbooks, or write to me at piperjlawson(at)gmail.com. Hearing from you would make my day (for real – I’m not just saying that.)!

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New Release Spotlight: Murder Mansion by M.K. Scott

Enter to Win a $40.00 Amazon eGift Card

MURDER MANSION

The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries #1

M.K. Scott

Released November 9th, 2015

Sleeping Dragon Press

Donna’s dream of running a Victorian Bed and Breakfast is almost a reality. Her lack of inn keeping expertise, a shabby house in need of dire renovation and lack of money has slowed her down a bit. The murdered man in the upstairs parlor is her biggest obstacle. Less determined people might give it up, but not Donna.  No killer is going to stop her from serving apple crumb cake to high paying guests.

Her natural skill at the Clue board game, along with the grudging assistance of veteran detective, Mark Taber, an overweight Puggle, and a chatty octogenarian neighbor should help her sniff out
the killer unless she’s snuffed out first.

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Mr. Smoky eased up next to her. “I heard what you said about the dead man.”

Her eyes cut to the man beside her. His skin, upon closer examination, appeared weathered and wrinkled, not at all the appearance of a reporter. Too old, too rough, not one of the pretty boys who ended up in front of the camera. His tweed coat sported wide lapels, indicating the man was no slave to fashion, or he was cheap, or possibly both.

Surreal. Everything had shifted at some point in time to left of normal. It could have happened while she slept. The man puffed away on his cigarette, getting the last drag before he dropped it and ground it underneath his loafer. Good thing they were standing in the neighbor’s yard and not hers.

She tried for the world-weary voice of a sexy 1940’s silver screen siren. “Yeah, what about it?” The scratchy tone of her coffee-less voice grated. Somewhere, between finding a deceased trespasser and calling the police, she’d put down her hazelnut coffee.

Her eyes remained on Daniel as he effortlessly charmed the older couple. Why couldn’t she do that? It would be a useful skill for running a Bed and Breakfast, but her practical nature saw small talk as a waste. She had considered making her brother a partner, but his wife Maria quickly put the kibosh on that plan.

The man spoke, reminding him of her presence by her side. “You have a good eye. You remembered a great deal while only seeing the man briefly before you called the police.”

Yeah. True, she tended to remember things. Was he complimenting her or accusing her? “When a dead stranger shows up in a newly purchased house, it makes a big impression.”

“Understandable.” The man agreed, patting down his jacket. Finding a box-like bulge, he pulled out his cigarettes. “Do you mind?”

“Yes.”

Her quick answer stopped him in the middle of shaking out a new smoke. He pushed it back in with his index finger, replaced the pack, and shrugged his shoulders. “Need to quit. Nasty habit.”

Her top teeth rested on her bottom lip, keeping her from agreeing as much as she wanted to. She didn’t know who the man was. It would be rude behavior anyhow. As an innkeeper, she’d have to learn to hold her tongue. Critical B and B owners probably earned very few return customers.

“Name’s Mark Taber, detective.”

“I’m Donna—” She never got to finish her introduction before the man finished it for her.

“Tollhouse, the owner, I know.”

Her top teeth clamped down on her lip again. While she could use some lessons on the art of small talk and social etiquette, Detective Taber could benefit from an extensive four-year course. At one time, she played with the idea of naming the inn The Tollhouse Inn. Daniel discouraged her by pointing out most people didn’t associate the words Tollhouse and cookies together. Besides, customers might believe there was a hidden charge if the word toll appeared in the name.

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M.K. Scott is the pen name of husband and wife team, Scott & Morgan. This is their first cozy mystery together, although Scott has worked with several of the Morgan K Wyatt books.  The couple has several books planned for the series. In an effort to give the series an authentic touch, Scott and Morgan participated in cooking lessons, winery tours, and stayed at several Bed and Breakfasts. Research is a hard job, but someone has to do it.

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