To celebrate the upcoming release of Surrendering to the Beast, Tina is giving away FIVE full-length, bestselling, award-winning romances to one lucky winner - 25 titles to choose from.
SURRENDERING TO THE BEAST
(Book Two – Taming the Beast series)
Erotic Paranormal - Romantic Comedy
by Tina Donahue
Available for pre-order September 13
Ready to read October 13
Warning: Not your typical bedtime story. May lead to indecent behavior, a taste for voyeurism, discipline, bondage, m/f, m/f/f and f/f action, which will result in screaming orgasms. Proceed with caution.
Excerpt:Heather steeled herself to do battle with Satan. Cautiously, she faced her webcam and his image on her computer monitor. This evening, he’d assumed the form of a European playboy, a snifter of cognac held casually in one hand, dark hair slicked back, his blood-red ascot contrasting nicely with his white shirt and navy blazer. He certainly knew how to dress. “Cara mia.” Heat smoldered in his voice and dark eyes. “What can I do to you?” “For me,” she corrected gently, wondering when he’d ever get that right. Grinning, he focused on her white peasant blouse and jutted nipples, her areolas tightened from the chilly weather, not him. Tonight was damp and cool thanks to a spring storm that continued to rage in the French Quarter. Lightning flashed and the office lights flickered. Flames flared briefly in his pupils. “We’ll do many things to each other, no?” Heather smiled politely, a knee-jerk reaction for a good fairy. Needing to get tough, she held up his overdue bill, hoping he’d look at it rather than her chest. Her hand shook so badly the paper rattled. “How you tremble,” he cooed. “How pale you are. Allow me to put some color in your lovely cheeks. Heat that will last an eternity.” Her skin got even clammier. “Please, just pay your account.” She waved the paper and talked fast before losing her nerve. “Your grandson failed to show for his last two appointments. I’m sure he had a good reason. Unfortunately, he didn’t call to cancel.” She offered an apologetic smile and pressed on. “Because you’re the cardholder, we had to charge you for the time. I’m so sorry, but it is the rule.” One she was honor-bound to enforce as an employee of From Crud to Stud, a makeover service for supernatural beings. Howls from weres, hisses from vampires and obscenities from demons poured from the treatment rooms. Those poor souls were going through proverbial hell to suppress their beasts. They longed to date mortal women without freaking them out, while also winning their hearts the normal way. With real charm, not magic, with integrity and love, not lies and manipulation. But these makeovers took the staff’s valuable time and clients needed to pay for the effort. Even Satan should understand that. He gave her an indulgent smile. “What charges?” Gasping, she dropped the flaming paper in her trashcan before it burnt her fingers. “Later,” he said and killed the call. Hurriedly, Heather put out the small blaze, chiding herself for letting the account get to this point. She should have been firm with Satan’s grandson when he signed up for the service. Determined to make up for being too nice, she brought up her bank account to pay the charges herself. She was about to transfer the funds when the lights flickered twice, thunder boomed and the front door flew open, banging against the wall. She flinched. A blast of dank air and rain blew inside, followed by a guy who looked to be thirty or so. He wore a black cowboy hat, snug navy tee, low-slung jeans and cowboy boots. Once he shoved the door shut, he slumped against it, breathing hard. Heather stood so quickly her chair rolled into the wall. He didn’t notice. He’d closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with his hard swallow. Alarmed yet intrigued, she regarded the short, dark hairs on his throat and took the rest of him in. His rain-dampened hair was the color of dark chocolate, thick and wavy, flowing to his broad shoulders. They heaved with his next ragged breath. Tall, possibly six-three, he was lean yet muscular. His wet tee clung to his well-defined pecs and abs, those bruising biceps. Stubble covered his strong jaw, upper lip and cheeks. His bronze skin spoke of days in the sun. Even from where she stood, Heather smelled his scent. Clean and masculine, a woodsy, fresh fragrance along with something else…the unmistakable odor of liquor. Uh-oh. It wasn’t often that mortals, drunk or otherwise, happened upon this place. When they did, Heather had ironclad rules to follow. First, buzz Constance, a voodoo priestess who could remove memories by laying her hands on someone’s head. Following that, Heather was supposed to buzz Becca, a half-mortal witch who owned this place. Heather leaned over her desk to press the intercom button. The guy turned to her, blinked slowly and stared. Her hand stalled. His eyes were amazing, the color of Lipton tea, ringed by long, sooty lashes, his attention riveted as he drank her in. Given his slow, sexy smile, Heather suspected he was undressing her with his eyes. She swallowed and was about to press the button when he groaned suddenly and mournfully, the sound of someone in serious pain.
Heather paused and decided not to call for anyone just yet. “Are you all right?”
*** CONTEST ALERT *** CONTEST ALERT *** CONTEST ALERT ***
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Musings from Michigan