I’ve only known Helen since Colorado Romance Writer’s October Tea, but in such a short time, there is so much I have learned about respect for my fellow writer from the example she sets at every meeting. Thanks, Helen, for being here today!
Thank you for having me today, Elizabeth, and thanks also to everyone who has visited the Colorado Romance Writers’ blog hop. It’s an honor to be the last author highlighted on this last day of our Mystic Month of May.
I’d like to invite all of you to follow my blog, http://www.helenhardt.blogspot.com, and to follow me on twitter @helenhardt. In addition, please leave a comment here today to be entered in a drawing for a copy of my contemporary western romance, Ivy League Cowboy.
Dusty doesn’t fear the feisty bull…but his owner’s another story.
Dusty O’Donovan, an accomplished bull rider, isn’t afraid to ride El Diablo, a feisty stud whose owner, Zach McCray, is offering $500,000 to anyone who can stay on him for a full eight seconds. Though Zach refuses to let a woman ride his bull, he’s intrigued by the headstrong Dusty, who he last saw when he was thirteen and she was six. Sparks fly when they’re together, but will Dusty’s secrets tear them apart?
They stood outside the door to her room while she fished for her key card.
“You sure about this, darlin’?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She had a hard time breathing. “I’m sure, Zach. I want this.”
“Oh God.” Zach grabbed her purse from her. “Where the hell is that damn key?”
He found it and pushed it in the slot, then pulled her into the room, shutting the door and pushing her body against it. His hardness protruded through his jeans and poked into her belly. She wanted to touch him everywhere, lick him everywhere. She wanted to rip his clothes off, then her own, and get down and dirty right there on the hotel rug.
“You’re so beautiful.” He cupped her face in his hands. “You have the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.” He pushed his erection into her. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel how much I want you. How much I hunger for you.”
“Yes, yes.” Her breathing was unsteady, her pulse wild.
“Do you want me?”
“God, yes. Yes.”
“Say it, darlin’. Say you want me.”
“I want you.”
His mouth, reckless and possessive, claimed hers. His strong arms enveloped her and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently and began to unbutton her shirt. He moved slowly, letting his fingers linger as he tantalized each inch of flesh. She squirmed as tiny flames ignited every place he touched her. She wanted to rip her shirt off and move things along.
When he finally exposed her breasts and lavished his attention on them, she wanted even more. She wanted to be naked. Naked under his touch. She wriggled and groaned, whispering his name.
“Please,” she said, and found herself repeating the word.
“Please what, darlin’?”
“Do you want me to touch you?”
He cupped her breast, lightly running his thumb over her taut nipple. She shuddered.
He ran his fingers lightly over her belly, circling them around her navel. She squirmed.
He unsnapped her jeans and ran his fingers under the waistband, sending tremors through her.
“Oh yes,” she said, sighing.
He slowly unzipped her jeans, eased his hand inside her panties, and found a sensitive spot that sent her writhing.
“Here?” His voice was hoarse, needy.
Helen Hardt is an award-winning romance and erotic romance author and a freelance fiction editor. Visit her at www.helenhardt.com. In addition to the prize Helen is offering, I'm including an e-copy of The High Bridge to one lucky visitor. Please leave a comment to enter.