Friday, November 29, 2013

#FrostonFriday 3

Hi Everyone!

I hope you had a fabulous Thanksgiving!  Mine was quiet this year, but that's exactly what I needed after the hectic pace of the last couple weeks.  On the plus side, I have finally finished Shredded, theRuined, which comes in January.  Hope you like it :)
first in my new adult series coming in February and am about to start work on the second.  Anyway, here's another sneak peek at

“Go get dressed. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“What if I don’t want breakfast?” I sound like a sulky kid, but the truth is I don’t give a damn. I’m tired and sad and embarrassed and annoyed, all rolled into one volatile package.
“It’ll be a long day without it.”
“What makes you think I’ll go anywhere with you?”
He grins. “My charm? My wit? My generous soul?”
“And here I was thinking what I really liked was your humility.”
He laughs, and the sound warms me despite my determination to keep myself hardened against him. But the truth is, he is charming and witty, and it’s damn difficult not to respond when he is so obviously trying to get back in my good graces. No wonder he’s such a force to be reckoned with in the business world. No one can hold out against him for long.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I make my way down the hall to—surprise, surprise—get dressed. I’m beginning to think I’m destined to give this man what he wants. It’s a disconcerting thought, one I’m sure I’ll dwell exhaustively on later. For now, I’ll settle for thinking about breakfast. French toast in particular.
“I find I don’t like you thinking ill of me.” He’s followed me down the hallway and now lounges in my doorway. “I want to show you something.”
I’m rummaging in my dresser, pulling out underwear and a bra, when I glance back at him. He gets points for looking me in the eye and not staring at the scraps of blue lace in my hands. Then again, he’s probably seen more ladies’ lingerie than I have—and much sexier stuff than what I wear.
The thought depresses me a little, so I shove it away—to the same spot where I’ve buried all my other doubts and concerns about this whole Ethan-and-me thing. For someone who usually confronts life head-on, with a detailed plan in place for every eventuality, I’m becoming quite the master of avoidance.
It’s not a good realization.
“Do you really believe that you can show me something that will change my mind about what happened yesterday?”
His eyes darken to a deep midnight blue, one loaded with a tortured pain I am intimately familiar with—but which I never imagined I’d see reflected in his gaze.
Instinctively I cross to him. Lay a soft hand on his biceps and another on his cheek. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
For long seconds he doesn’t answer. Instead, he just stands there staring at me, a million different demons looking out at me from his familiar eyes. But then he blinks,shakes his head, and everything is as it was. Ethan’s smiling at me, telling me that casual clothes are just fine for our outing. Urging me into the bathroom for a quick shower.
He’s good at what he does, so good that it isn’t until I’m standing under a spray of hot water that I realize he never answered my question.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

#Frost on Fridays: Week 2

Hi Everyone!  Hope your week is going well. Mine's been busy as I finish up Shredded, my New Adult romance that's coming out in February-- but not so busy that I forgot about this week's peek at Ethan Frost, the hero of my January 7th release, Ruined.  Hope you enjoy :)

“My attention embarrasses you?”
“Well, yeah. Obviously.” I gesture to the empty room around us. “Unless commandeering security booths so that you can talk to your female employees is something you do every day—”
“It’s not.”
“Then this is extremely embarrassing. Everyone in that lobby was staring at me because you were with me. You were touching me.”
He raises a brow. “A hand at your back is simple courtesy.”
“No,” I correct him, because I’m not crazy and I won’t let him make me feel that I am. “Offering your arm is simple courtesy. Your hand on my lower back is something else entirely.”
“Really?” He smiles at me, just a subtle turning up of his lips that shouldn’t raise my blood pressure or send shivers down my spine. Somehow it does both. “What is it, then?”
“What is . . . what?” I stumble over the words a little as I try to get my brain cells back in working order.
“My hand on your back. If it isn’t courtesy, what is it?”
Intimacy. The word is right there on my lips, and I nearly say it. Nearly blurt it out. But I can’t, because it’s crazy to think such a thing, let alone say it. Crazier still to want it. Which I don’t, I assure myself. I never have.
Except I feel strangely bereft now that he has let go of my hand. It’s an odd feeling, and one I don’t like. I take a step back, two, and I can tell from the way he narrows his eyes that he’s not happy with my sudden retreat. But before he can say anything, the door slams open. Jose stands there, a grin on his face and a large bag of ice in his hand.
Ethan walks over to take the ice from him, and I shudder in relief. I feel like a prisoner who’s just been granted a stay of execution—relieved but still unsteady, because I know it can be taken away at any moment.
Sure enough, Ethan waits for Jose to back out of the room before closing the door behind him. I watch as he locks it this time, and any relief I felt slowly drains away. Because he’s stalking toward me, a long, lean panther of a man whose intentions are clearly written on his face. Intentions that are a long way from honorable.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks after he stops in front of me.
“Hurt?” My mouth is so dry I can barely get the word out.
“Your hip. Where’s the bruise?”
“Oh, right.” I yank my eyes away from his too-pretty face, gesture awkwardly to the top of my hip. “Here.”
I try to take the ice pack from him, but he brushes my hand away. Then slowly, gently,  presses it to my hip.
His fingers are big and warm where they rest against my waist, a direct contrast to the cold of the ice pack. For long seconds, I don’t move. Don’t breathe. I can’t. Not when he’s so close that I can feel the brush of his hair against my cheek as he tilts his head down to watch what he’s doing.
“Is this the spot?”
“Yes.” My breath breaks on the single syllable.
His head jerks up then, his gaze locking onto mine. I’ve never seen eyes so intensely blue—or so turbulent, like the storm-tossed Pacific as it beats against the shore.
The way he’s looking at me is overwhelming. Terrifying. Mesmerizing. Like he wants to devour me and at the same time shelter me. I stand frozen—nothing so much as prey to his predator—while I wait to see which instinct will win out.

 Have a great weekend! I'm going to see Catching Fire tomorrow and can't wait!!!!! Thanks for stopping by and don't forget to check back next week.

Friday, November 15, 2013

Check Out Yours to Keep by the Awesome Serena Bell!!!!

I met Serena Bell a couple of years ago at a lunch hosted by my agent and thought she was absolutely wonderful.  So as her new book hits the shelves, I wanted to be the first one to share it with you.  So, with no further ado, here's the blurb and an amazing excerpt from Yours to Keep!  And a very sexy cover as well :)

Serena Bell makes her Loveswept debut with the captivating story of a woman living on the edge—and the man who’s destined to love her.

Ana Travares has been looking over her shoulder her whole life. Her U.S. visa expired when she was a young girl, and if her secret is discovered, she’ll be forced to return to the Dominican Republic. Ana allowed herself to get close to someone once before—and after he broke her heart, she swore never to make the same mistake again. But when a handsome doctor asks for her assistance, she fantasizes about breaking all her rules.

Even though pediatrician Ethan Hansen is a natural when it comes to little kids, as the single father of a teenage son he just can’t seem to get it right . . . except for the Spanish tutor he’s hired for his son, Theo. Ana has managed to crack Theo’s shell—and he isn’t the only one taken with her. The sexy tutor has fired up Ethan with a potent mix of lust and protectiveness. But as he starts to envision a future with Ana, Ethan is devastated to learn the truth about her citizenship. Somehow he’s got to find a way to help her—and hold on to the woman he’s falling hopelessly in love with.

“So—crazy question.” He had a nice voice, too, low and rumbly. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Spanish tutor, would you?”

Oh, hell.

“Because my son needs a Spanish tutor.”

Was he serious? She checked him out for signs that he was propositioning her, but his face was earnest.

She needed the work. Always needed the work, and needed it worse now, if Ed decided to blacklist her. But there were a million reasons she shouldn’t work for this guy. He might cling to the idea that she should report what had happened with Ed to some authority figure. Or he might get curious about what had gone on behind the closed door and start asking questions. She could easily imagine him putting two and two together, especially when she asked him to pay her cash. Or he could decide that if Ed could take a shot at her, so could he. She didn’t want to believe this last thing about him, but she knew better than to assume that because a man was physically beautiful he was also a saint.

“Mr. Branch can help you find a Spanish tutor,” she said finally.

He made a face. “Don’t make me go back in there.”

She couldn’t help herself; she laughed. The last of her shakiness dissolved.

“He’s really disgusting.”

“Totally vile,” she agreed.

The bell buzzed inside the high school, and from a few open windows came the sounds of chairs scraping and students chattering. He shifted from one foot to the other, and a scowl twisted his features. “My son is giving me hell. He forged my signature on a form and dropped Spanish. And I didn’t know anything about it until the teacher started grilling me this morning about why I’d ignored her note suggesting that I get him a tutor.” He kicked an uneven spot in the sidewalk and didn’t quite meet her eyes.


His gaze came up, green eyes bright, and he smiled ruefully. “Yeah. So I need a competent tutor, and I’m guessing you need work, if you were in there talking to Mr. Hands.”

She giggled. She couldn’t help it. Mr. Hands. Perfect.

“I’m Ethan Hansen, by the way.” He extended his hand.

Her life didn’t provide chances to shake hands with men, or for any casual touch outside her family. So it shouldn’t have surprised her that his hand felt startlingly good around hers, warm and strong, his palm slightly rough. Her breath went somewhere and was temporarily unavailable to her. “Ana Travares,” she said, when she could.

“I’m assuming you’re competent? Let’s see. Are you on the Recommended Tutors list?” He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket and scanned it. “You are.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“There were a bunch of them in a pocket outside that madman’s door.” He held it out. Her name was indeed on it. “If you’re on the list, you can’t be all bad, right?”

She wanted to clutch the list like a talisman. She was on it for the time being, until Ed got around to making a new list. Which he could be doing at this very moment. And Ethan Hansen had just vividly illustrated how valuable it was to be on it. In tutoring, there were no certifications or licenses. Even college and teaching degrees weren’t essential. All that mattered was how well you convinced the world that you possessed, in abundance, the required skill.

“Okay,” she said. Or someone said it; she wasn’t actually conscious of having made a decision to accept the job offer. If her id had its own greedy little voice, that would have been it speaking: yes to a job, yes to money, yes to extra security against Ed Branch’s whims.

“Thanks.” The deep smile lines at the sides of his mouth got a thorough workout for the first time. “That’s great. How’s Monday?”

“Sure. Five o’clock?”

“That sounds good. He’s home alone after school. Do you mind if I’m not back when you get there? I’ll be home before six, in time to pay you.”

“You and your wife both work?”

“My wife died when Theo was seven.” Ethan said it matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”


That could not have been relief she’d felt when he said his wife was dead. It must have been a stab of sympathy. She wasn’t interested in him. Couldn’t be interested in him. Not only because he was probably married, definitely white, and undoubtedly rich and highly educated but also because she didn’t date anyone.

She’d given up. The men from her neighborhood, the ones who could handle the news that she was undocumented, found her strange—too brainy, too American, too self-sufficient for their tastes. And as for men she met on her own, outside the confines of her family’s approval . . . Well, there were only two ways they ever responded to finding out that she was living in the U.S. illegally—the way Ed had, by taking advantage of her, or by running for the hills. As Walt had. She felt a stab of pain at the memory of how things had played out with Walt.

Ethan coughed. “Yeah, so, about Monday. Like I said, I work until late. Theo’s home alone. But if it’s not a problem for you, then Monday should work.”

“That’s fine.”

“Do you have something I could write my address on?”

She fished in her backpack for a pen and some paper. He wrote his address and handed them back to her.

“Um, see you Monday, then?”

They shook on it, and this time she steeled herself, so she felt only a shiver of pleasure at the rough touch of his palm.

“See you Monday.” He released her hand.

As she went up the hill toward the train station, she tried hard not to think about whether he was watching her walk away, or whether he was looking forward to Monday, or whether he’d been similarly affected by that very small, theoretically innocent, skin-to-skin contact.
Buy links:




Welcome to the very first Frost on Fridays!!!

Hi Everyone :)

I know I've mentioned Ruined, my January release that I am so, so, so excited about.  But I've never really done much with it here and that is about to change.  Starting today, every Friday I'll put up a snippet from Ruined so that you can get to know Ethan Frost, the hero of the book.  Today's snippet lets you meet him just as my heroine, Chloe does.

But before we get into that, here's the blurb so you know just what it is you are getting into ;)

He was the last man I should love … but the first I ever could.
Ethan Frost was a visionary.  A genius. Every woman’s deepest, darkest fantasy—even mine.  And, somehow, I was his.
He stole into my life like a dream.  Turned my reality upside down and made my every desire come true—especially those I never knew I had.   He demanded everything I had to give.  Gave me everything of himself in return.  

But dreams don’t last forever, and ours was no exception.  Because my nightmares were darker, and my wounds deeper, than I could ever reveal.  And much as Ethan wanted to protect me, the secrets we didn’t know we shared could only tear us apart.  

And here's the snippet:

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m ready to order now.”
The trainer looks up at the sound of my voice, his dark blue eyes immediately zeroing in on mine. That’s when I realize he wasn’t as oblivious to my presence as I’d thought. He’d been testing me as surely as he’d been testing the other employee, waiting to see how each of us would handle the situation.
The knowledge gets my back up. It’s just a stupid drink, just a stupid little power play, but I don’t enjoy being manipulated. Even over something as ridiculous as a drink.
“No need to order,” he says, pressing a lid down onto one of the cups before sliding it across the counter at me. “You can have this one. It’s the Ethan Special.”
“No, thank you.” I don’t even glance at the cup. “I’d prefer a Hawaiian Sunrise.”
“How do you know that’s what you’d prefer? You don’t even know what’s in the Ethan Special.”
Judging from his behavior, I’m thinking grass of the non-wheat variety. And since this is my first day, I’m not exactly prepared to risk it, no matter how hot he is. “I don’t have to know what’s in it to know that I’m in the mood for—” I glance back at the menu. “A refreshing blend of strawberries, bananas, pineapple juice, and orange sherbet. None of which appear to be in the drink you just made.”
“This drink has strawberries in it. Seven, to be exact.”
Thirty-eight blueberries and seven strawberries. Is this guy for real? There’s a part of me that’s intrigued despite myself, but I’m not about to let him see that. So I just look down my nose at him and answer, “One out of four ingredients is not what I would call a perfect match.”
“Is that important to you?” he asks, one dark eyebrow raised. “That things match up perfectly?”
Absolutely. I’m obsessive about it, really, making sure things fit exactly where they’re supposed to. Making sure the i’s are all dotted and the t’s are all crossed and the rules have all been followed. Tori calls me OCD, but it’s not like that. It’s not the routine of doing something a certain way that appeals to me. It’s the order of the end result that I crave, the knowledge that things are exactly as they should be.
And while I’m aware that sounds a little crazy, it’s actually what’s kept me sane the last six years. Ever since Brandon—
I slam that door shut before the memories leak out from where I’ve buried them. No way am I going to think about him again ever, let alone on what is the best day I’ve had in a very long time. No, I’m going to focus on keeping things simple. Orderly. Easy. After all, I’m not one to rock the boat just to see what falls out.
I don’t tell any of this to him, of course. Instead, I raise one of my own brows and say, “You’re the one who counts the blueberries in his drink. All I’m trying to do is get what I ordered sometime before the dinner rush.. Which, incidentally, starts in”—I make a show of glancing at my watch—“approximately four hours.”
“So, we’ve got plenty of time then. Why don’t you pull up a bar stool and we’ll get to know each other a little? I don’t have anywhere I need to be.”
The guy next to him—the trainee—makes a choked little sound in the back of his throat. But he doesn’t say anything, just takes a drink from the second Ethan Special cup, so I don’t bother looking over at him. Especially since every instinct I have is screaming at me to keep my eyes on the guy in front of me. That looking away would be akin to admitting a defeat I am suddenly hell-bent on avoiding.
“Well, that makes one of us. I, however, have a meeting in fifteen minutes that I can’t be late for.”
“Hmm. That certainly puts you at a disadvantage then, doesn’t it?”
“Why? Because I have a job that actually requires me to perform the duties that are in my job description?”
This time the noise the trainee makes sounds somewhere between a cat hacking up a furball and a hyena in its death throes. “Are you okay?” I finally demand, still not taking my eyes off his trainer. “Because, frankly, I’m getting concerned.”
He makes the sound again, then slaps his chest hard before taking another long sip from his drink. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to think he’d poisoned you.”
“I never poison anyone on the first day. The second day, however, is an entirely different story.”
“I wouldn’t go around admitting that to anyone. It makes you—and Frost Industries—culpable if anyone ever suffers so much as a mild case of food poisoning.”
He steps back then, looks me over from top to toes. “God. You’re one of the lawyers, aren’t you?”

Hope you like it!  And don't forget to check back next week :)  Have a great weekend.