Today Seven Sexy Scribes has a sexy guest! Tina Donahue, the “Mistress of Intimacy” is going to share a taste of her latest Romantica “Take Me Away”. If you don’t already know about this terrific romance you’ll want to read it after you see this.
She’s everything he escaped…and all that he desires
Three years ago, Kyle turned his back on a pro-football career and being the target of tabloids or gold-digging groupies. Craving privacy, he gets it at his roadhouse in Northern California until Lexi Sands invades his life. Indulged and surely phony, she’s exactly what Kyle fled.
An actress since childhood, Lexi’s fresh out of an anger management program, court-ordered when she lashed out at a badgering paparazzo. Weary of the press’s harsh scrutiny, she sees Kyle’s secluded cabin as the ideal place to hide out and him as a damn-near perfect alpha male. Deliciously virile. Protective. Principled. She offers him serious cash to let her stay for two weeks, assuring there will be no complications or touching.
Yeah, right. Passion flares, along with tenderness. Kyle recognizes how lonely Lexi really is, while she’s falling hard. Through intimate days and impassioned nights, they explore their most shameless needs, until a cruel betrayal exposes their growing love, forcing a choice neither anticipated.
And here’s the excerpt: “Take Me Away”
“Let me get this straight,” Kyle Griffin said. His attention remained on the flat screen TV suspended above the bar, the Braves-Phillies game. “You’re asking me to shack up with Vampira.”
Pete Wolnecki made a strangled noise.
Kyle had no idea if Pete was stifling laughter or choking on his five-alarm chili. Its spicy aroma mingled with an abundance of fragrances—the sweet scent of corn, tomatoes and cheese from the other Mexican fare, the tang of foreign and domestic beer, smoke that clung to the patron’s clothing, faint perfume from the ladies and a hint of pine from the Douglas firs surrounding this place.
Clearing his throat, Pete spoke in a raspy voice just loud enough for Kyle to hear. “Her name’s Lexi.”
Several men groaned before Kyle could.
The guy closest to him whined, “Did you see that? The receptionist in my office plays better ball.”
“With any guy she can find,” his buddy said.
They both laughed.
The game broke for a commercial. Good thing. The Braves were having a shitty night, no different than the kind Kyle had experienced during the worst days of his pro-football career. With his back to the TV, he planted his elbows on the lip of the polished oak bar and regarded two young women who stood yards away at the pool table.
Dressed in stretchy halter-tops, denim short-shorts and black flip-flops, the ladies giggled in unison, like a well-practiced duet. The guys with them winced when the shorter of the girls overshot the ball, the tip of her cue just missing the table’s green felt.
With a look that was all innocence, she asked her date, “It’s still my turn until I hit it, right?”
Kyle couldn’t watch. He swung his gaze to the left of them, the small stage for local bands that played on the weekends. Beyond it, snuggled against the wall, were a series of booths that offered subdued lighting and privacy. In the last one, away from everyone else, sat Vampira.
Her name’s Lexi.
Whatever. For the second time tonight, Kyle regarded her black shoulder length hair and bangs, black clothing, black lipstick and nail polish. The Goth/vampire look with a touch of Frederick’s of Hollywood thrown in given her denim mini skirt and short-sleeved top. His eyes flicked lower. The ends of her top tied beneath her ample breasts to bare her midriff, a smooth expanse of taut, creamy flesh.
He cleared his throat at its sudden tightness and inched his gaze higher. Anywhere else, her get-up would have gotten her noticed. Here in Marin County, California, staring was politically incorrect. The weirder one appeared the less attention one got. There were simply too many locals who looked as she did…slightly strange.
Of course, they weren’t also oddly seductive.
Against his better judgment, Kyle dragged his gaze over her again, taking his time since she didn’t seem to notice him or anyone else. Her full attention remained on the TV commercial, as though she was really into the product. Pepsi by the sound of the jingle.
Its music grew thunderous, frenzied with fake joy. Around him, beer bottles clinked against each other or on top of the tables and bar. The guys at the pool table laughed.
Warmth radiated from Kyle’s chest to his neck. Her irises sparkled, reflecting the light from garish neon signs for Coors, Bud, Miller, Corona. From this distance, her eyes appeared to be light blue, framed by sooty lashes. She was young, no more than mid-twenties, her features not beautiful but decidedly pretty, her figure definitely worth a third or fourth stare.
The game resumed. Men readjusted their bulk on their chairs or stools.
Without pause, she lowered her gaze to the drink between her hands, its dark amber color making it soda or ice tea.
Kyle glanced at her glass, sweaty with moisture, then edged his scrutiny back to her breasts. The lush globes wiggled slightly with each of her deep sighs. She did that a lot. He wasn’t about to consider why. Riveted by her clingy top, he imagined her sweet little nipples hard and puckered, prepared for a man’s mouth. So, what color were her nipples anyway? A dusky rose to match her black hair or were they pink to complement her milky skin? Unless she’d painted the areolas and tips black too.
Rather than surprising Kyle, the thought intrigued. Would they taste of licorice or chocolate or something even better, the succulent flavor of soft female flesh?
She shifted slightly and brought her hand to her top, pulling the deep V of the neck closer together, covering herself, keeping the view from him.
Busted, Kyle wasn’t about to look her in the eye or encourage her in the least. Ignoring the dull, needy ache in his groin, he gave a parting glance to her fringed cowgirl boots, and turned to see the girl who’d nearly desecrated the pool table. Or rather, his pool table. For three years now, everything in Kickoff’s Roadhouse belonged to him, Pete and the bank.
Bent at the waist, the girl wiggled her ass while preparing to take her next shot. The backs of her legs were seamless. Her black thong peeked from the top of her short-shorts, which bared the bottom of her ass nicely.
At any other time, Kyle might have enjoyed the view. Knowing the damage she might inflict on his table, he clenched his teeth and waited for the worst.
“Sands,” Pete said, dropping his spoon into the bowl.
It clattered loudly. The girl’s cue clacked against the side of the table, no doubt denting the wood with her missed shot.
“Oh shit,” she moaned.
Blindly, Kyle reached behind himself for his Heineken.
Pete leaned so close Kyle could smell chili pepper and a hint of Coors on the man’s breath.
“Lexi Sands,” Pete said, his voice at a pitch those around them couldn’t possibly overhear. “And I’m not suggesting you shack up with her. Like I said, she needs a place to stay for a couple of days, away from the publicity, the crowds, you know? No more than a week. You have an extra room in your cabin. She’s willing to pay. Three grand. I did mention that, right?” He eased away and plowed ahead, not waiting for an answer.
“We could use the dough for this joint.”
There’s a book trailer for “Take Me Away” too.
Tina Donahue “Take Me Away” available now
from Ellora’s Cave Moderne Line.
Thank you being here today Tina! We always love a visit from you.
A big shout out to Amber Skyze who has her 25th book release today! Congratulations Amber and best wishes fro big sales with “Sex on the Beach”!
(Pssst…Romance Writers Reviews gave “Sugar Roux Voodoo” 5 Stars! Thank you RWR!)