Thursday, 6 October 2016

Romance and Erotica Reader Appreciation Giveaway

Welcome to the Romance and Erotica Reader Appreciation Giveaway!

We’re so glad you stopped by! A lot of great authors are giving away a HUGE Amazon Gift Card to one lucky Romance and/or Erotica reading fan! (Yes, we check, and only true romance book worms qualify to win! But there WILL be a winner, which will be publicly announced in the Facebook Party HERE on December 2nd!

VIEW BOOKS FROM THE SPONSORS HERE!

Here are a couple of sneak peeks from the EPIC Romance and Erotica Group with Rebecca Hamilton!

How To Catch Crabs - Demelza Carlton

I smelled smoke faintly on the wind and knew Mum wasn't the only one brewing up a morning cup of tea.  
When my basket was empty, I slipped under the lines of washing until I reached the outermost rank. A quick touch told me that these were far from dry, so I returned to the lean-to laundry to finish up the last load of boys' clothes. I'd already scrubbed these once, but they were so dirty, I'd given up and decided to soak them for longer.  
I wound them around the copper stick – actually an old cricket bat of Dominic's – and dumped the mess into the rinse water, praying that I wouldn't have to scrub them again. It wouldn't kill the boys to wear grey shirts to school, especially after they'd turned them that colour.  
I shoved my arms into the tub of water, weaving my hands between the shirts and shorts in an effort to untangle them. The smell of smoke intensified as I touched the bottom of the stone tub. No, this wasn't the clean, sharp smell of burning jarrah from a neighbour's chimney. This was the fug of tobacco that shouldn't be anywhere near my laundry.  
"Nick, if you're smoking again, I'll tell Mum!" I hissed, glancing over my shoulder. 
The masculine silhouette in the doorway was too muscular to be my fifteen-year-old brother. As if to demonstrate this, he removed the cigarette from his lips and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "Who is this Nick, streghetta? Your brother, I hope." 
Giorgio's deep voice stopped my heart for a moment, before it stuttered back to beating. How could one man have such an effect on me? I only hoped he didn't notice.  
"None of your business," I snapped. "What are you doing, trespassing here?" 
He laughed softly. "I am driving my sister-in-law to see her friend. My brother didn't trust me to mind his shop, so he gave me his wife and truck instead. So, this friend. Is she your friend, too? Or your sister, perhaps?" 
"My mother. And my father is pruning the grapevines, but he'll be back for lunch any moment, so you should get out of here and leave me to my work." I deliberately turned my back on him, concentrating only on the task at hand. I willed him to leave. 
"But you have bewitched me, streghetta. I've thought of nothing and no one else since I met you in the market last week." I heard the crunch of footsteps on the hard-packed clay as he entered the lean-to.  
He's right behind me, but I won't give him the satisfaction of paying him undeserved attention, I vowed, lifting a shirt from the suds so I could scrutinise it for stains.  
Something warm touched my neck and I dropped the shirt with a splash. Whirling around, I glared at Giorgio. "How dare you touch me without my permission!" 
"This new fashion of short hair drew my eyes to your neck, as I'm sure you intended, and I could not resist you, streghetta." He touched two fingers to his lips. "Your neck tastes of soap and salt, the products of your hard labour. Do your lips taste sweeter?" 
I drew in a sharp breath to shout at him again, but he seized my shoulders and kissed me. His lips were warm as he took me by surprise, taking advantage of my open mouth to mingle his breath with mine, before his tongue darted in to dance. It was a kiss that spoke of passion, longing and a desire for more as his body pressed mine against the sink. He tasted of ash and smoke, coupled with the warmth of a fire that could melt even the iciest heart. Even mine, I realised, as my knees weakened. I groped for the sink behind me to stay on my feet and my fingers closed on the copper stick.  

Deep Focus: Young Hollywood Book 1 by Madisyn Ashmore
I laid my head back across the couch and kicked my feet up over his strong thighs. My foot brushed across his lap as I stretched. I felt the hardness already forming in his pants, his bulge pressing towards me.
“Your parents, do they still live there?”
My chest tightened. I hated telling this part of my life story because of the pity it elicited from friends and strangers alike.
“My parents died in a car crash when I was fourteen. I went to live with my aunt after that. We’re not close.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, It’s okay. I was sort of a wild teenager, so I don’t blame her. But anyway, we don’t really keep in touch much anymore.” I paused. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”
He rubbed the soles of my feet and traced his fingers along my calves. My muscles relaxed against his firm touch. As he drew circles on my skin, an intense warmth washed over my body.
“I think LA is the place where outcasts, misfits, and lonely people come to find their soul.” He breathed the words like the they were meant for only himself. He looked surprised when my soft voice echoed a reply.
“Was that true for you? Did you come to Los Angeles searching for your soul?”
He thought quietly for a moment before his husky voice deepened. “I came here running. Running away from a past that…” His voice broke off. “I came here searching, and to start a new life.”
“And did you?”
“I found that money wins a lot of friends, but not the kind that you can count on forever. I’ve had a lot of women keep me warm at night, but none that would’ve stayed if all this vanished.” He gestured to the expensively decorated room around us, an ornate display of his opulence and wealth. For the first time, I saw the crack in his facade and the real Oliver Tate emerged.
“What was your life like…before.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “Before all this.”
“Not now, Scarlett. It’s long and boring and not worth discussing.” He shifted on the couch and breathed a heavy exhale.
There was still so much about Oliver Tate I didn’t know. With every detail I discovered, a thousand more secrets loomed in the distance. I wanted him to release to me and tell me every broken and damaged part of himself. I could take it. I could take it all.
He laid back, his youthful face glistening with a mist of perspiration. I ran my fingers down the front of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning him, exposing his ripped abs, slick and steamy. His fingers gripped my arm, pulling me up to his face as he sucked and kissed my delicate lips.
I ran my hand along his pants, the heat spreading from his dark denim. My fingers grasped the stiff metal zipper, his rock hard warmth burning into my touch. He swelled as my hand grazed him…


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