Madison Layle & Anna Leigh Keaton

Lose Control

Anna Leigh Keaton — Fri, 17 May 2013 17:20:24 +0000

To save her marriage, she must learn to let go...

ISBN: 9781419945830

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Ellora’s Cave

Excerpt:

Kerri Anne Shields stepped through the door and pressed her back against the wall, trying to blend into the darkened shadows. Music, not too loud but with a beat that reverberated in her chest, surrounded her.

What am I doing?

The question, or a variation of it, had repeated itself continually in her mind since she’d slipped on the silk top and skin-tight, thigh-hugging leather skirt earlier.

The dim lighting of the club wasn’t low enough, she thought as she scanned the tables and lounge areas. It was a massive room with a polished bar at one end long enough to seat twenty, bottles of expensive liquor sparkling in the glow from the recessed lighting overhead.

The small round tables, fanning out from a darkened stage, were nearly full. There were men sitting with men, women with women, couples, and some tables with three or four in every state of dress from casual denim to leather to…Kerri gulped. Nothing. There were women sitting at those tables, some on chairs, some perched on men’s laps, others on their knees next to the chairs, completely naked except for collars around their necks. Some were attached to leash-like things that their… Oh dear God, what am I doing here?

Owners. Masters.

She dabbed her fingers over her perspiring top lip. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Sensory overload. Tension and lust filled the air, and she fought against their grasping, invisible fingers.

Her gaze shifted to the lounges, set up a few steps higher than the tables against the long wall. These rounded booths were surrounded on three sides by high backs, which kept them private from the other booths. But from her vantage point, she could see into each one of them. Some were totally dark, others had flickering candles on the tables. All had people in them. The place was packed.

What she tried not to see, not to stare at, were the couples engaged in sexual contact. But how could she ignore such a thing when she was surrounded by it? When the curiosity nearly consumed her? These people were doing in public things she refused to do in the privacy of her own bedroom.

In one booth, a woman was beneath the table, her head bobbing up and down, the man’s eyes half closed in obvious ecstasy. At a table not ten feet from where she stood, two men kissed, deep and with tongues while one of them fondled the other’s exposed penis. And at yet another table, a woman on the floor on her knees touched herself intimately while the man seated next to her watched and tugged at his erection.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Her heart thudded too hard. Her mouth was dry. Her body tingled every time she let her gaze wander to a new scene.

Kerri eased sideways toward the exit. She needed to leave before she lost the tight hold she had on herself.

“Hey, baby.”

She stifled a yelp as Malcolm stepped out of the shadows.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show.” He moved close to her, cupped her cheek in one big hand and lightly pressed his lips to hers.

That one little touch made her shiver as visions of what went on around them clouded her mind.

When he pulled back, she searched his dark eyes. Did he really want to have sex with her in public? In front of an audience? Surely she wasn’t the only one who stared so openly.

The strange thing was, the thought didn’t disgust her. In fact, looking into Malcolm’s eyes, taking in his dark Italian complexion, she felt a tiny wave of need she tried so desperately to quash.

Kerri raised her hand and touched his chest, the silk of his shirt, smooth and warm beneath her fingers. He was the epitome of walking lust, dressed all in black. With his dark hair, dark eyes and the build of an athlete, he was an imposing figure. But she’d been with him long enough to know he was as soft as a marshmallow on the inside.

She licked her lips with a quick flick of her tongue. If he was such a marshmallow, why here and why now? The Devil’s Den wasn’t a place for a tender, gentle man. She hadn’t known the place existed a month ago. Not until Malcolm told her about it and asked her to read a couple books he’d bought for her.

Books about submission and dominance. Bondage and discipline.

The lights dimmed even more, and a spotlight flicked on, illuminating the stage, drawing Kerri’s attention.

In the center of the stage, a woman stood, naked, attached to some kind of X-shaped contraption that kept her arms and legs spread wide.

“That’s called a Saint Andrew’s Cross,” Malcolm whispered.

His warm breath on her ear made her shiver and fist her hands to keep from touching him.

She’d read about things like the St. Andrew’s Cross. It was less elaborate than she expected. “What’s going to happen to her?”

“Watch.”

From the right entered a man dressed in all black leather—vest, pants and a hood that covered everything but his eyes and mouth.

Kerri’s gut clenched, and she looked away. The figure was scary, but that wasn’t why she couldn’t watch. Kerri’s self-control was slipping, and she couldn’t let that happen. She was strong. She needed to fight the urges.

Malcolm’s gentle hand lifted her chin and turned her face toward the stage. “Watch.” His voice was firm yet soft, and she glanced up into his eyes once again.

“I want you to watch and tell me if what you see makes you wet.”

Her breath caught for an instant because her nipples tightened at his words. Who was this man? Malcolm didn’t talk to her like that.

He turned her head again so she looked at the stage. The hooded man held a riding crop, and he was teasing it over the woman’s breasts, flicking the little leather piece across her nipples.

Malcolm wrapped his arm around Kerri’s waist, his big, warm body along her side, his hand settled proprietarily at her hip. The position was common enough in their relationship, but right now, it felt different. Very possessive. Very sexual.

Those books she’d read talked about the give and take, push and pull of a discipline-submission relationship. All very technical. Scientific.

Logical.

The fact that her tummy quivered as she watched that horribly masked man fondle the woman’s breasts with a hard piece of leather was definitely not discussed in those books.

The shot of excitement at seeing a naked woman spread out like that was new and a little terrifying. Kerri was one hundred percent heterosexual, but that woman, with her big breasts, small waist and flared hips, was beautiful. Tantalizing to look at. The expression of rapture on her face as the man slowly lowered the tip of the riding crop, over her belly, to the neatly trimmed thatch of pubic hair, made Kerri yearn to let go and let herself experience all she tried so hard to avoid.

Did she, herself, want to be bound naked and watched by several dozen people?

Kerri bit her tongue and gave her head a small shake.

No, she was sure she did not. That was not who she was. This was not who she was. She was not leather and silk. She wasn’t a woman to submit to anyone, especially her husband. She’d worked too hard to maintain her independence, to never let her sexual needs dictate how she functioned.

When the woman’s soft moan carried to her across the room, Kerri’s core clenched, and she had to look away.

Tears stung her eyes and she tried to blink them back. She could not battle the urges when surrounded by so much brazen sexual conduct.

“Shh,” Malcolm whispered in her ear. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t try to make her look at the naked woman again. Instead, he stepped in front of her and laid his warm, soft lips against her temple.

“You’re not ready for this. Let’s go home, baby.”

Her heart ached; disappointment in herself weighed her down, but she nodded and turned for the door.

Malcolm needed more than she gave him. But to give him everything would ruin her. He was unsatisfied and it broke her to know it was she who kept him from being happy.

She was weak and it shamed her. She should be strong enough that she could watch such sexual congress without so much need building within her.

Malcolm held the door for her, and she stepped out into the night, sucking in the damp chill of early fall into her lungs. Malcolm slipped his hand into hers, and they walked to her car, where he held the door for her and she got behind the wheel.

Finally, Kerri looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Mal. I…”

He kissed her to silence her. “I’ll follow you home.” He kissed her again and then shut her door, smiled at her through the window and winked. He wasn’t upset with her.

He never got upset with her.

USA Today Recommendation!

Anna Leigh Keaton — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 20:56:34 +0000

I’m so excited to announce that USA Today’s Jessie Pots has recommended Falke’s Renegade!

http://www.usatoday.com/story/happyeverafter/2013/04/23/recommended-paranormal-romance-anna-leigh-keaton-madison-layle/2104443/

Falke’s Renegade

Anna Leigh Keaton — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 16:17:23 +0000

Falke’s youngest and only female in the family finds Javier, her perfect mate – if only he can admit it.

ISBN: 9781426895388

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Carina Press

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Excerpt

“Son of the bitch.”

Lev Durchenko glanced into the rearview mirror to see the black Jag less than fifty yards behind his own much slower rental sedan. No mistake; the driver meant him harm.

How had he gotten so close without Lev knowing?

Damn him for believing he’d lost Montero weeks ago. He should’ve known better. The bastard was more like a bloodhound than a cat.

“Fucking bastard.” Lev pressed the accelerator, hoping to get into the nearest town. Montero would never attack him in public. From there Lev could blend into the crowd…make an escape…somehow. Live to fight another day, and onhis own terms.

He should have killed the shifter years ago, should never have left that house without finishing them all.

Taking curves too fast, he worked the car into the hills somewhere in the godforsaken wilderness of Washington State. And then it happened. The engine sputtered as he accelerated up a straight slope. “Nyet. Nyet! Not now.” His heartbeat surged, and a cold sweat popped out on his brow. He would have to make a run for it. Playing cat and mouse was much easier in cities. More places to hide.

He aimed the car toward a ditch, opened the door and jumped before it came to a complete stop. Running into the cover of the forest, he tore at his clothes, desperately removing them in order to change into his feline form before Montero could catch him. Only as a snow leopard did he have a chance of losing the jaguar.

His shirt removed, his slacks unbuttoned, he shoved at the material and transformed just as he heard a crashing in the woods behind him.

Lev ran. Leaping over fallen logs and branches, ducking under others, practically slithering through spaces too small for the oversized black cat on his tail, he searched for a place to hide. Hiding, out-waiting Montero was his only hope. The jaguar was too big to fight fairly in a head-to-head confrontation.

Damn it. Because of too many flights, too many airport security gates, he had no weapon. He’d been in a hurry to reach Seattle and hadn’t taken the time to search one out. Impatience and foolishness might have just signed his death warrant.

A gunshot echoed through the forest. Close. Too close. Startled, he ran harder. Was Montero shooting at him? Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe Montero had grown weary of their game after all this time and decided to end it the easiest way he could, even if that meant firing at an unarmed cat. Not Montero’s style, but Lev decided to not put anything past the jaguar that he wouldn’t do himself, and if the tables were turned…

Or perhaps there were other hunters in the woods… Not a very comforting thought. But were they shooting at him? At Montero? Or something altogether different?

No other shots rang out, but Lev wasn’t about to pause and investigate the matter. Neither option boded well for him in his current form.

His lungs burned as he pushed himself to an even faster pace.

The land gave way in front of him, and he tumbled down a craggy slope, splashing into deep, icy water at the base. The river the highway had been following for some time, he realized. He popped his head above the surface and searched the top of the slope for a sign of Montero.

No sign of yellow eyes or a black face peering out of the dense pines. No dark figure searching for a safer way down to the river than the one Lev took.

Had he lost Montero?

Ellora’s Cave, Here I Come!

Anna Leigh Keaton — Sun, 27 Jan 2013 22:20:15 +0000

Big news!

I’ve just signed my first contract with Ellora’s Cave for a novella called Lose Control, which should be released sometime within the first half of this year!

Blurb:

Kerri and Malcolm, a married couple, have only one major issue…their sex life.
Kerri believes that letting go and experiencing the passion her husband brings out in her will ruin her. Malcolm desperately needs a wife to show him he’s needed not only as a roomate and father to their child, but also a man in the bedroom.

The Professor Is In

Anna Leigh Keaton — Wed, 26 Dec 2012 20:15:56 +0000

Every marriage needs a little spice...

ISBN: 987-1-60088-808-3

Buy the eBook | Buy the Kindle version

Excerpt

Barbie Baker nibbled on the end of her pen while she watched Professor Ronald Langle scribble scientific formulas on the massive blackboard at the front of the auditorium. He talked as he wrote, though he might as well have been speaking Swahili for all she understood it. Chemistry had been a mystery to her in high school, and it was a mystery to her now in college. But if she didn’t pass this class, she’d never graduate. Convincing a high school teacher to “let her slide” was a whole lot easier than talking a college professor into it, though.

She had her ways, of course. She’d emailed Professor Langle several times, even promising that her daddy would make a nice big contribution to the science department if he passed her with a C, but Ronny, there, was as straight-laced as they came.

Or so he professed.

He said he didn’t take bribes. Maybe it wasn’t money that he wanted. Needed.

The room erupted in shuffled papers and bag zippers as the class prepared to leave. Professor Langle said, “Chapter eighteen for Thursday. There will be a test.”

A collective groan went up from the students. Professor Langle loved his tests. They had one every week. Thank God the class was only twice a week! But Barbie kind of liked coming to Chemistry. Professor Langle was younger than most of the stodgy professors on campus. At barely thirty, he had the body of an athlete, and instead of the ugly brown suits so many other professors wore, he could always be found in jeans and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off muscular forearms and a really tight ass.

He lived in an apartment just off campus, and he rode his bike to work every day. He worked out in the gym with the students, and she’d heard he went mountain biking and hiking often with a couple of the other younger instructors.

Yeah, she’d been checking up on him. Because there wasn’t another guy on campus, professor or student, who made her as wet as he did. All he had to do was look her way with those gorgeous chocolate eyes, and her panties got damp.

The room cleared of students, but she stayed in her seat. She watched as Professor Langle gathered up the papers spread over his desk and shoved them into the brown leather attaché case he carried everywhere he went. Then he went to work erasing all his hard work from the chalkboard. His shirt pulled tight over his shoulders as he reached. His jeans hugged that delicious-looking ass and thick thighs. Thighs she wanted to bite into. To lick.

Her pussy clenched.

And then he turned and spotted her, halfway up the right side of the room, near the aisle, because she was usually the first to make a run out of class so she could get to work at the Student Union. But she’d taken this afternoon off. She had a grade to earn.

“Was there something you needed?” Professor Langle asked as he walked up the steps toward her, heading for the door at the back of the room.

She slid out of the chair and stood up, gathering her book bag. “Yes, Professor. I’m Barbie Baker. I emailed you the other day about my father making a dona—”

He pressed his sensual lips into a thin line and gave his head a little shake. “And as I told you via email, your father’s donation will not earn you a C. Passing this class happens only one way.” He glanced at her book bag. She hadn’t bothered to open it during class.

“Do you think you could help me out then? Tutor me or something? Because I just don’t get it.” She pouted prettily. The boys liked it when she did that.

He turned and continued up the steps. “I’ll have my TA contact you with a list of chem tutors.”

She ran after him. “Wait, Professor. I think I need more than just another student helping me. Seriously. I’m totally lost.”

He kept walking, his long legs eating up a lot of space. She had to nearly jog to keep up, her low-heeled boots clip-clopping on the tile floor of the hallway.

“Maybe you should have asked for help before the last two weeks of the semester, Ms. Barker.”

“It’s Baker, and, well…”

He stopped outside his office and dug the key out of his jeans pocket. Her eyes were naturally drawn to the bulge at his crotch. Such a beautiful bulge. One she wanted to see without the cover of denim.

“Ms. Baker then. I think it’s safe to say you’ll be repeating Chem 101 next year.” He pushed open the door, and would have shut it in her face if she hadn’t nudged her way in behind him.

The room was tidy and tiny. A desk, a couple of bookshelves, and a massive filing cabinet. He set his attaché on the desk and looked at her. “We’re done here,” he said dismissively.

Barbie shut the door and leaned back against it. With her right hand, she turned the lock. “No, Professor, we’re not. I really, really need to pass this class. I’ve fulfilled all other requirements for graduation, and if you don’t pass me, I don’t graduate.”

“And this is my problem how? It’s not as if you didn’t know you were failing before today. You’ve failed every test I’ve given. Have you even opened your textbook?”

“But see, I have a job waiting for me in New York starting in July, but if I don’t graduate, I don’t get the job.”

He sat down in the chair behind the desk and unlocked the side drawer, withdrawing a laptop from it. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Ms. Baker, but I have a class to prep for. Please, let yourself out.”

He didn’t even look up at her as he opened his laptop and turned it on. Tears prickled her eyes, and she rushed around his desk, falling to her knees at his side.

“Please, Professor. You don’t understand. I need this job. I need to graduate. I’ve worked so hard for the last five years…” She gripped his thigh and swiveled his chair so she was between his knees. “I’ll do anything, Professor. Anything. I will. Just pass me. Just enough so I can graduate.”

Falke’s Peak On Sale

Layle and Keaton — Thu, 20 Dec 2012 22:10:31 +0000

Harlequin’s Carina Press is running a promotional sales event during the months of December and January, and our title, Falke’s Peak was chosen to be a part of it!

So, for a limited time, look for the first book in the popular Puma Nights series on sale for just $2.99 at participating distributors, such as Amazon!

~*~ Madi

PS. Anna and I just saw the conceptual drawing for the cover of Falke’s Renegade, which is book #3 in the Puma Nights series. We LOVE the book’s cover and are so excited to see it all coming together. We’ll post the image as soon as we receive finished artwork from the publisher’s Art Dept. The book, by the way, is slated for release in April 2013. Can’t wait!

The Mercenary

Madison Layle — Fri, 14 Dec 2012 18:48:08 +0000

ISBN: 978-1-60088-809-0

Buy the eBook | Buy the Kindle version

Excerpt

A curse yanked her back into the moment and made her aware she was not alone. In a slot at the edge of the lot, there was a guy kneeling down, changing a tire, or rather fighting with a stubborn lug nut. He hadn’t been there before, but she immediately liked his style. His convertible, a red Mustang Shelby Cobra, was the dream car she’d never had the guts or cash to buy. With her driving record, bright red muscle cars were not exactly on her insurance agent’s list of acceptable modes of transportation.

“Nice ride,” she said, stopping to admire the muscles of his back flex beneath his cotton T-shirt.

“Thanks.” He glanced up and smiled.

Damn, his eyes are so blue! Some women had a thing for tight asses or bulging biceps. She was not one of them. Not that she couldn’t appreciate a tight ass or toned physique—both of which this guy had—but she really had a thing for blue eyes…and a nice smile.

“Need some help?”

He earned points by not laughing or looking her over as if she were too petite to lend a hand. At only five-foot-four, most men towered over her, but that didn’t make her weak or useless.

With another brief flash of pearly whites, he said, “Sure,” and stood up.

Yep. A solid six feet at least.

“Name’s Ryan.” He held out a hand, then chuckled and withdrew, wiping his palm off on his jeans. “Sorry, I’m a bit grimy.”

She took his hand regardless, shook it with a firm grip, and said, “I’m…Raquel.” The name didn’t roll off her tongue as smoothly as she’d hoped it would by now, but her hesitation didn’t seem to affect his smile. She relaxed a bit.

Since she wasn’t on her fantasy date yet, she didn’t know why she chose to use Raquel instead of her real name. Well, yes she did. She liked Raquel Dubois better than plain ol’ Ronda Davis. And the way this guy looked…

“Nice to meet you, Raquel…?” He continued to hold her hand, drawing her name out in question and awaiting an answer. How was it possible for the utterance of that name, not even her real one, to turn her on so fast?

“Dubois,” she replied barely above a whisper, looking at him through lowered lashes. Damn, he was too handsome when he grinned.

“Raquel Dubois,” he said, at last releasing her hand. “Pretty name.”

How to respond to that… She knew how she wanted to respond. She fisted her fingers to fight the urge to kiss the daylights out of the stranger. Her fake name sounded much better when he said it, and the way it sounded…all breathy, husky even…made her insides quiver deliciously.

Before she could come up with a polite and less X-rated response, he knelt down again, facing his flat tire.

Oh, right. Get a grip, Davis! She shook her head and bit her bottom lip. This latest Pleasure Club fantasy date was going to make her do something completely embarrassing if she wasn’t more careful.

“Give me a sec, and when I say so, can you step on the other end of this?” He positioned one end of the cross wrench on the stuck lug nut and held two of the other three ends. “Okay.”

She placed both hands on the car for balance, put a foot on the other end of the wrench, stepped up and bounced at the same time he pulled up. The nut slipped.

“Great, that did it. Thanks.”

“You’re—”

His cell phone rang, interrupting her reply. He quickly retrieved it from his back pocket and, holding up a finger, checked the caller ID.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this.”

She gave him a smile and a nod.

“Hey, I was just going to call you,” he said, pausing to look around while the caller spoke. “Umm… Well, I think you know.”

She turned away to give him a little privacy. Should she stay or go? She hesitated.

“Yes.” He chuckled, and she glanced his way once more. “I know, hard to believe, but true…” Ryan’s gaze met hers, and that sexy smile flashed for a brief instant then was gone again as he concentrated on the call. “Listen, I’m on my way. I just had a flat—”

Drat. He was eager to get somewhere, but maybe they could exchange phone numbers.

“No, seriously… I don’t know, ran over a nail or something, but— Oh, yes, our date’s still on for today. Definitely… Now’s good. I’ll have the tire changed here soon and head straight there.”

Date? Damn. With an awkward smile, a quick wave, and one last glance at his wheels, she headed for home. Why were all the sexy, blue-eyed hotties in Florida always taken?

She’d just turned the corner of her building, the American muscle car and its sexy-but-taken owner no longer in sight, when a black van screeched to a halt beside her, its side door open. Two men dressed in black leaped out at her, and before she could draw breath to scream, they had her mouth covered and her body inside the vehicle.

Panic flared.

Adrenaline surged through her veins.

She fought the kidnappers with every ounce of terror-filled energy surging through her.

“Ow, fuck!” shouted one of the pair when she somehow managed to strike a vulnerable target. Unfortunately, the small success didn’t gain her release. They had her pinned down in short order, bound and gagged soon after, and then blinded with a cloth hood over her head.

“Feisty isn’t she, for one so little?” one man said to another.

“Yeah,” the other grumbled. “My thigh will be bruised for sure.”

“Lucky her aim sucks, or she could’ve bruised your ego,” a third said with obvious amusement, the sound coming from the driver’s seat.

Pissed she hadn’t nailed him in the family jewels, she squirmed and bit down on the ball gag they’d stuffed into her mouth. Now that her initial struggle had ended, she could tell the van they were in was on the move. Two assholes who nabbed her and the driver made three perpetrators at least. Where in hell were they taking her? And what did they intend to do with her once they got there? She kicked and bucked again in frustration.

“Settle down, Ms. Dubois, and this will end better for you.”

Ms. Dubois? Oh shit…her Pleasure Night. It had begun.

Falke’s Renegade Update

Anna Leigh Keaton — Thu, 27 Sep 2012 16:31:53 +0000

Just a little news to share. We have a tentitive release date of April 2013 for Falke’s Renegade from Carina Press! Yeaaa!!!

The Happy Housewife

Anna Leigh Keaton — Sat, 08 Sep 2012 01:27:15 +0000

: Fantasy turns into reality when hubby brings home Joe.

ISBN: 987-1-60088-781-9

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Excerpt

Tiny bubbles popped, tickling Monique’s skin as she scooted lower into the steaming hot bathtub. With a sigh, she let the trashy romance novel fall from her left hand onto the floor, and she closed her eyes, taking a sip of the crisp, cold zinfandel in her right.

Finally, silence. Just the sound of Andre Bocelli’s sexy tenor floating in through the door from her bedroom. The kids were gone on overnight sleepovers, hubby was on a plane, and here she was, in her favorite place in the world.

“Calgon…take me away.”

She giggled to herself, took another sip of her wine, and laid her head back while lifting one foot onto the rim of the tub and curled her toes as those itty bitty bubbles popped and tingled along her freshly shaved flesh.

“So this is the life of the housewife.”

Monique yelped and sloshed water over the rim as she jerked into a sitting position and dropped her wine into the tub with her. “Damn it, Eddie, what the hell are you doing home? You’re supposed to be in Portland.”

Her husband leaned against the door frame, ankles crossed, arms crossed, and the hell if she could stay mad at a man who looked that good. All six foot three of milk chocolate muscle. His black slacks were a little wrinkled, and his white shirt wasn’t as crisp as it had been early that morning when he left for work, but with his sleeves rolled up showing off those sexy forearms, he looked good enough to eat.

He dropped his arms to his sides and ambled over to the tub, sat down on the edge, and reached into the water, covering her right breast. “Change of plans. The meeting in Portland was moved to next week.”

Monique shivered and her nipple puckered, causing her pussy to clench. Even after a decade of marriage, his hands could bring her body to life with just the simplest touch.

He pinched her nipple.

“Hay!” Slapping his hand away and covering her breast, she said, “What the hell?”

His eyes narrowed a little, his grin looking just a little sinister. He reached into the water again, his shirt sleeve getting wet, and tickled his fingers up her leg and between her thighs. “You shaved.”

“So? I always shave before I take a bath. You know that.” Her breath caught as his middle finger skimmed over her clit once, twice. She sank back and spread her legs, giving him access to her pussy.

One finger, then two invaded her cunt, and she moaned. She pinched her own nipple then, and dropped her eyes closed.

“What were you thinking about before I got home?” Eddie asked, curling his fingers upward and skimming her G-spot. “You’re wet.”

“I’m in the bath tub, silly,” she said with a little gust of laughter even as her skin tingled and her body raced toward grabbing the orgasm. “Of course I’m wet.”

He chuckled, the soft sound sexy. His thumb toyed with her clit even as his fingers rubbed that magic spot. She gasped, arched, reached for the release.

He pulled his hand away. “Get out of the tub. I have something for you.”

Monique growled. “What the fuck?

He laughed. “Just warming you up, baby.” He winked. “Come on. Get up.”

He stood and reached for her hand.

With a scowl and a good huff of frustration to let him know she wasn’t amused, she took his hand and stood up, her body covered in globs of bubbles.

Eddie grabbed the fluffy bath sheet from the back of the door and wrapped it around her, drying her. When she tried to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a kiss, he ducked and turned her, drying her back.

“What’s with you tonight, Ed? You’re acting weird.”

He kissed her shoulder, making her tingle. “Come on. I’ll show you.” Sliding his hand into hers, he tugged her toward the open door into the bedroom, her still slightly damp skin cool and prickling with goose bumps.

Monique jerked to a stop and jumped behind her husband when she glimpsed the man standing near the window in their bedroom. “Eddie…”

Eddie put his arm around her shoulders and physically urged her in front of him, even as she tried to jerk away and make a dash back to the safety of the bathroom. He wound up wrapping his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and looking down into her face. “Stop fighting, baby.” He smiled that sexy smile that had made her fall in love with him so long ago. “Remember that thing we talked about last week? I had a talk with Joe, and he’s delighted with the idea.”

She glanced at Joe, the Nordic god who lived three houses down the street. Single father to a sweet fifteen-year-old girl who often babysat for their boys.

“That was between you and me,” she whispered to her husband. “A fantasy.” Her face heated when she remembered the night she and Eddie had a few too many margaritas and they shared with each other their thoughts about Joe. As tall as Eddie, but built like Thor all the way to the shoulder-length blond hair. She’d learned things about Eddie that night she still hadn’t quite processed. He was as attracted to their sinfully sexy neighbor as she was.

Joe came toward them, and she pressed up against her husband, trying in vain to hide some of her nudity, though she was sure he’d already seen it all when she sauntered into the bedroom. She wasn’t shy in her nudity…around her husband.

“Monique,” he said in a soft, southern drawl that always made her melt. “One word is all it takes, but I do not think ‘no’ is what you will be screaming tonight.”

A shiver ran through her, and all her bits seemed to swell, tighten and tingle.

Train Me

Madison Layle — Thu, 16 Aug 2012 01:39:11 +0000

He can make any tough workout fun, frisky, and orgasmic.

ISBN: TBD

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Excerpt

“Ready for your workout?” Taylor Morgan said with a grin, the kind of grin a man should patent. His smile always made my insides quiver with untapped longing and ensured that I would return to his gym time and again despite the exhaustive workouts the man put me through.

Of course, that smile and everything that went with it was one reason the man was so successful. He was the perfect poster boy for his company. I’d been a gym bunny long enough to notice I wasn’t alone in my admiration of Taylor’s finer attributes. Whether he noticed the eager glances cast his way from countless female clients was questionable. He always treated me and others with the utmost professional courtesy, even when the advances were over the top.

I took a breath to steady myself, tried not to succumb to an overwhelming urge to let my gaze fall below that delicious smile—an impossible feat—and replied, “I’m a glutton for punishment, so give me your best shot.”

Taylor became my personal trainer a year ago after I’d decided at age thirty-nine that I would not spend my next decade in as poor physical condition as I had my thirties. I wanted to return to those golden years, back when a double bacon cheeseburger and fries didn’t add inches to my thighs and I didn’t cringe at the idea of taking the stairs when an elevator was at the ready.

“Oh, I will,” he said, chuckling at my sarcasm while I dropped my gym bag in its usual corner and yanked off the oversized T-shirt I’d worn over my workout attire. But when I glanced up at him, the passion I witnessed in his gaze made me do a double take.

A flash of fire. Dark. Hot.

I stilled, disbelieving the vision before me. I’d seen that look in many women at the gym, aimed at him. Never had I witnessed it in his eyes toward anyone, much less me.

He blinked, and the moment vanished, his perfect, businesslike smile back in place.

Had I truly seen what I thought I did, or were my wishful fantasies playing tricks on me? I shook my head and stowed my shirt.

Taylor was a fine man with a capital F.

F. I. N. E. Fine. All six-foot-two inches of him.

Of course, a toned physique is to be expected of any fitness instructor, and Taylor didn’t disappoint, but he was much more than a hot body.

Inside and out, the package was complete. During my workouts that he supervised like a drill sergeant, I discovered a lot about him and our shared similarities.

He’d been a college gymnast with aspirations of Olympic glory until a knee injury shattered the dream. I’d grown up in ballet classes with similar hopes of a career on Broadway until a broken foot ended any possibility of performing en pointe. We both grew up the youngest of three, enjoyed an eclectic taste in music from classical to reggae, and we both loved authentic Italian cuisine.

While I’d become a legal assistant in a law firm, he’d stayed true to his healthier background and started his successful fitness center that catered to plump desk jockeys like myself. He had a way about him that made a woman want to please him, to be the best she could be, and I was no different from any of his other clients.

Except today I had him all to myself, which was very different.

Be still my heart. I’m a lucky woman!

At the click of a deadbolt, I glanced around the gym to discover we had the whole place to ourselves. My lips twitched as I watched him turn the Open sign to Closed. My pulse sped, but not from fear. Far from it. Adrenaline pumped pure desire through my veins, although I tried to keep the need from my eyes. I wanted more from him, to be more for him, but I was too afraid to be the first to cross that line between trainee and trainer.

Too afraid of rejection.

“Okay,” he said with a let’s go clap. “Start with warm-up.” He took my hand. “Over here.”

I stared at our hands clasped in union. An innocent touch. Friendly. Sensual. How would those capable hands feel on my body?

“I have everything set up for you.” He cast a sideways glance at me. “Ready to have fun?”