(c) January 2010, Berkley Trade
Sex On The Beach is Susan's newest release! It's an erotic contemporary romance featuring three couples who were brought together by a wedding in Belize. I haven't read it yet, but from the excerpts I've read, it's sure to be hot!
An exotic wedding turns into an erotic escapade for three unlikely couples who find lust—and maybe even love—on the white sands of Belize. Get ready to get wet!
"War of the Sexes"
When wedding planner Sarah McCann learns that the groom's best friend, Free Lafontaine, intends to save his pal from the mistake of marriage, it's an all-out war between the sexes. Turns out, the prize could be much more than either of them expected, and this war just may have two winners.
"Sex With the Proper Stranger"
Model Tamiko Sato comes to the wedding as arm-candy for the groom's deep-in-the-closet uncle. What's she to do when resort manager Ric Nuñez proves far too tempting? Ric just might be the man who can help her heal the wounds left by past abuse, and open her heart to love.
Giovanna Moncrieff and her ex, James, mix as well as Italian olive oil and English tonic water. How embarrassing—and exciting!—to find that their passion for each other still burns hot and heavy. Is it possible to find true love the second time around?
This is from the second story, "Sex With The Proper Stranger." Tamiko, a gorgeous New York model, has a history of abuse and is very surprised to find herself attracted to Ric, the owner of the resort in Belize.
She sank down on the towel on the moonlit beach, sitting with her legs curled to one side.
Ric sprawled beside her, a man at ease with his body. He held up the bottle he'd brought. "I'd have brought a picnic basket, proper glasses, but if anyone had seen me, it would have looked suspicious."
"What's in the bottle?"
White teeth flashed. "Sex on the beach."
"Is it too cliché?" He unscrewed the lid and handed her the bottle.
Not cliché, but it didn't help her nerves. Of course he was expecting sex, even though he'd said he would go slow.
She took a sip, hoping the alcohol would loosen her up.
When she handed him the bottle, he drank, too. She liked the intimacy of his lips covering the place where hers had been, liked the way he threw his head back, and his throat rippled as he swallowed. He was so physical compared to the men she knew in Manhattan, so outdoorsy and natural, yet just as intelligent and successful.
"I like your style, Ricardo," she said shyly.
"I like yours." He touched the flower she'd tucked behind her ear. "You're wearing a hibiscus again. It suits you." His fingers plucked it from her hair and brushed its petals across her cheek.
She'd worn it because it made her think of him. And in hopes it would make her feel new and fresh, sensual and free.
He drifted the blossom across her lips then down her neck, and she arched, shivering with pleasure at the gentle, sensuous touch. The hibiscus traced the neckline of her sundress, lingered in the cleft between her small breasts. He tucked it there, like a decoration, and the tight top of her dress held it in place.
His touch made her body hum, her nipples tighten, but she tensed. Would he reach under her dress, fondle her breasts? Did she want him to?
Instead, he used both hands to smooth her long hair behind her ears, running his fingers through it again and again. "Like silk," he said. "A waterfall of black silk."
She'd wanted to touch his hair since she'd first seen him, and now she did. It might be the same color as hers, but the texture was the opposite. It was so thick and almost wiry, she couldn't weave her fingers through it. She chuckled. "How do you comb it?"
"Fro pick," he said. "My dad was African American. When I was in my teens, I had dreads."
"I like it like this." The conventional choice for a businessman would have been to cut it short, but she was glad he hadn't. "It's sexy." Wasn't there supposed to be a tie between a man's hair and his virility?
"You're sexy." He leaned toward her and touched his lips to hers, light as a butterfly wing or hibiscus petal.
Nice. Not the least bit threatening, just tantalizing.
"More," she whispered against his mouth.
He began to kiss her the way he had in his office, teasing her flesh until she opened her lips and begged him to come inside.
The times she'd had sex, nothing had felt natural to her, not even the kissing and foreplay. She'd felt pressured and anxious. Inhibited, scared.
But with Ric, kissing was wonderful. He took things so slowly, she could savor, enjoy the heady pulse of growing arousal.
And she did the same things back to him, not because she had to but because she wanted to.
He clasped her shoulders and tipped her backward until she was lying on the towel with him leaning over her, and for a moment she felt the familiar, instinctive panic. But he didn't quicken the pace, just nibbled her lips and explored her mouth with his tongue, and soon her tongue was slow dancing with his again.
Her arms circled his back, and his soft T-shirt brushed her chest. Last night his torso had been bare, and she wanted that again. She wanted to see him, to feel his firm, warm brownness. She tugged on the shirt, pulling it upward.
He broke the kiss, peeled the shirt over his head, tossed it aside, then waited for her to decide what to do next.
What she did was stare. Ric could have been a model. Put him in an ad for expensive cars, watches, or cologne, and buyers would flock to the stores.
But that would never be his world. Taking him to New York and sticking him in front of cameras and lights would be like caging one of those soaring black frigate birds.
She stroked his skin wonderingly. Her fingers weren't used to touching people in anything but the most superficial way, and now they lingered.
His skin quivered under her touch, but other than that, he didn't move, as if he sensed she needed to be in control.
Muscles, strength. And yet he didn't scare her. Power and gentleness were a potent combination, one that made a hungry pulse beat between her legs, a throb of arousal that was so rare, so welcome.
His skin was smooth, rich chocolate. She raised her head and licked his shoulder, almost surprised to find the taste of salt on her tongue rather than chocolate. "You taste good," she whispered. "You feel good."
Leaning on one arm, he lifted the hair that fell over her shoulder and kissed the skin he'd revealed: the cap of her shoulder, her neck, the vulnerable hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse fluttered.
He reached behind her and touched the top of the zipper that ran down the back of her sundress. "Yes?"
She wanted those kisses to move lower, wanted his tongue to lave her aching nipples. "Yes."
He drew the zipper down slowly, fingers brushing the knobs of her spine with soft deliberation.
As the dress loosened, the blossom it had held in place tumbled free, drifting down between her breasts.
When he'd lowered the zipper fully, he circled the base of her spine with his thumb, brushing the upper curves of her buttocks, the cleft between.
As he slowly drew her dress straps over her shoulders and began to ease the top of her dress over her breasts, she had a nervous impulse to cross her arms over her chest and stop him.
Yes, she wanted his touch, but she had a fashion model's body: skinny, with barely there hips, butt, and breasts. The camera loved her, but was she woman enough to please a vital man like Ric?
Time to find out.
As he stared at the body he was revealing inch by inch, she watched his face. She saw the glitter of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the way his lips parted.
The dress cleared her breasts, the cotton whispered across her ribs, her flat stomach. The hibiscus flower tumbled to the towel beside her.
She lifted up so he could keep going. Now her lower body, clad only in a tiny flesh-colored thong, was exposed, and then he was pulling her dress off.
"You lying there in the moonlight . . ." His voice was husky. "Someone should paint that picture. You're so lovely. A moon goddess."
"Not a goddess. Just a woman." A woman who had never, before coming to Belize, felt the breath of a tropical night on her naked skin or yearned for a man's touch the way she craved Ric's.
Interested to read more?
Buy Links (paper): Amazon, Book Depository, Barnes and Noble
Buy Link (ebook): Barnes and Noble Ebook
Enter for the chance to win an autographed copy of Sex On The Beach!
How to Enter: You can do any or all of the following:
1. Comment on any of the posts on January 13 and 14.
2. Ask questions. Susan will be dropping by the blog from time to time and will answer any questions you might have.
3. Answer any one or both questions below: ("stolen" from Susan's book discussion questions in Sex On The Beach. More on her website.)
From "War of the Sexes": Sarah believes that pheromones are a product of evolution, of centuries of Darwinian fine-tuning, honing the mating instinct. What do you think?
From "Sexy Eyes": What is the opposite of love: hatred or indifference?
Who Can Enter: Anybody on this planet.
Contest Deadline: 11:59pm EST on January 14, 2010
Winner Announcement: The name of the winner will be posted on the blog on January 15, 2010. Instructions will be given then on how to claim the prize.
* Check out our review of Sex Drive and Interview with Susan Lyons!