This is the last few days of the 69 Shades of Smut Blog contest this month! Anyone anywhere is eligible, contest runs through Midnight PST on January 31, 2013, and the winner will be awarded a gift certificate for $200! And it’s easy! All you have to is Follow the blog! Are you already following us? You’re entered in the contest automatically. For all the details, hop over to the 69 Shades of Smut Blog! Don’t miss this opportunity to win a $200 gift card!
It’s also the last few days that Revenge Sex, West Coast Book 1 will be free! Here are all the places you can find it: Kindle Kindle UK Kobo Smashwords All Romance iBookstore US iBookstore AU iBookstore UK. After the 31st, I’ll be putting the price back up, so don’t miss out!
And now I’d like to introduce a facelift for my very first book, More Than a Night. It’s a quick and dirty story that I’ve always loved, even if it was the first thing I ever sold. Or maybe that’s why I love it. But boy, was that cover outdated. I’m so glad that LiquidSilverBooks.com decided to spruce it up (Thank you, Thank you, I love it!). And More Than a Night is the little book that keeps on ticking. It was published in 2003 and it’s still selling! The story is more than just sex, though, I swear it. It’s all about family, it’s about coming home, it’s about forgiveness. And it’s about falling in love where you least expect it. Here’s a blurb and a little excerpt for those of you who are new to my writing and may never have heard about More Than a Night. Or for those of you who avoided it because of it’s “Poser” cover!
All Justine Jarreau is looking for in a one-night stand is an uncomplicated, casual yet mind-blowing sexual experience. And Len No-Last-Name seems like the perfect candidate to fulfill her fantasy. The sex is mind-blowing. But then Justine discovers Len has an ulterior motive for agreeing to her one-night stand. He discloses that he’s her new stepbrother and the CEO of Jarreau Wineries, the job Justine coveted until her father disowned her years ago. So much for uncomplicated and casual. The biggest blow, though, is learning that her father has had a heart attack.
Len Falconer wants Justine to come home for good, for her father’s sake, a man Len now considers part of his family. And family is the most important thing in the world to Len. But Justine isn’t falling in with his plans. She’ll come home to see her father and make sure he’s on the road to recovery, but no way will she become a permanent fixture at Jarreau Wineries, not ever again. His only option is to seduce her into staying. He did it that first night, and he knows he can do it again. The pleasure will be all his.
But can a relationship begun with lies and manipulation last more than a night?
More Than a Night Copyright 2003 by Jasmine Haynes
Justine Jarreau wanted a man. But only for the night.
She’d found her quarry seated two tables away. The trendy but casual restaurant on Union Square overflowed with tourists, out-of-town businessmen, clubbers from the suburbs out to enjoy San Francisco nightlife on a warm June Friday.
The mandatory package of condoms lounged in her purse.
Not classically handsome, the man bore a square jaw, strong lines, and thick, short brown hair. She liked short hair. The rugged lines at his mouth and his tan were manufactured out-of-doors rather than in a tanning booth. Muscles bulged beneath his black polo shirt.
As he’d passed her table on the way to his, she’d noted that the rear view was equally scintillating. Mid-thirties, she judged. Well-tended body. Excellent. Neither inexperience nor sloppiness was on her list of attributes.
His looks alone didn’t make him the best candidate for the evening. It was the glass he’d sent to her table, a chardonnay, right as she’d finished her first.
A woman likes to be noticed, especially dressed as she was in a short skirt, tight knit top, and four-inch killer heels. Her strawberry blonde hair curled softly at her shoulders.
Better yet, a woman likes subtlety. He’d tipped his drink to her as she’d sipped. And that was all. No harassment, no asking to join her, no swaggering dickhead mentality. Just a compliment.
And an unspoken invitation, if she chose to take him up on it. Which she most definitely would.
He called for his check. She signaled for hers. After signing the charge slip, he laid his money down for the tip and rose to leave, with one last smile for Justine.
She caught up with him outside, on the sidewalk rippling with excitement. A rich coffee scent drifted out from the café next to the restaurant, effectively dousing the car fumes from the street. The June evening had grown muggy with the purr of car engines belching exhaust, yet goose bumps pimpled her bare legs.
Maybe it was the realization that she’d actually have to make the next move.
He turned and smiled as if he’d been waiting for her.
God. She’d thought him attractive inside, but up close, he was melt-in-your-mouth gorgeous. It was the eyes, a deep brown as rich as the coffee perfuming the air. Long dark eyelashes and a smile hot enough to make her heart flutter capped it. She was almost afraid to hear his voice in case it ruined the fantasy.
Her knees weakened with the knowledge that she’d never done anything like this before. She’d struggled through relationships, sure, but found they only got in the way of her career. And her career was more important than anything.
The concept of a one-night-stand was somehow liberating.
“Thank you for the drink. Can I buy you one in return?”
His eyes darkened to deep chocolate. “It would be my pleasure to accept.”
Justine liquefied. He had a phone sex voice, low, deep, toe-curling.
“My hotel’s across the street,” he went on. “Good jazz piano in the bar.”
An out-of-towner. Good. Very good. She checked his ring finger for a telltale band of white skin. She wanted a man with no strings attached. Even if this was just for a night, she didn’t want to poach on someone else’s territory.
She smiled, giving him a slow, sexy dip of her eyelashes. “Sounds perfect.”
He took her hand unexpectedly. Warm. Solid. She had to catch her breath against the jolt of his touch. Pins and needles tingled along her skin. She felt naked beneath her skirt, and warm, oh so warm, right in that spot . . . there. She almost sighed.
“My name’s Justine,” she told him as he pulled her close, almost protectively, threading through the stopped traffic.
On the opposite curb, he looked down at her eyes, her lips, and finally their clasped hands. The moment before she couldn’t breathe, now, her heart seemed to stop altogether.
“Len,” was all he said with an electrifying smile, but he might have been citing flowery poetry or talking dirty for the effect it had on her.
The man made her absolutely hot. And wet. God.
The St. George doorman ushered them through the gold-trimmed entrance. Her heels sunk into the lush rose carpet as the man named Len guided her up the stairs to the lobby. Plush chairs and sofas surrounded by ferns dotted the reception area. Women clad in elegant evening wear and men in tuxedos undulated in flowing groups near the restaurant entrance.
Theater-goers filled the bar, having a drink and a gossip before the show. The piano bench sat empty due to the early hour. The city didn’t truly come alive until after nine.
Len waved a bill, and the waiter found them a table in the corner by the window overlooking Powell Street. Justine curled her legs beneath her on the bench seat and leaned an elbow along the back.
“I love watching people,” she said, letting Len order the drinks, Campari and soda for him, another glass of wine for her. “That’s what I like best about living in the city.” She turned to him. “Are you here on business?”
“Just for the day. I’m driving back tomorrow.”
Their drinks arrived. Len tapped his to hers and drank. She had the urge to lick the bitter Campari from his lips.
Ostensibly to hear her better over the din of voices and laughter, he pulled his chair closer until his knee rested against hers. The contact pulsed along her thighs. She’d worn a bra, but he couldn’t avoid noticing her nipples peaking against the thin lace.
“I take it you live in the city?” he questioned. “Do you work here, too?”
“No, I work on the Peninsula.” That was the thing she hated about the city, the grinding commute south, the endless rush hour. “I’m Controller for a small manufacturing firm.”
His eyes grazed her tight shirt, short skirt and bare knees. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“You don’t look like any accountant I’ve ever met.”
Her gaze followed the muscles of his chest down to the flatness of his abdomen, then onto the tight lines of his black jeans outlining the promise of some very tasty equipment. Heat suddenly burned between her legs.
She really had let sex go for too long, way too long.
“And you don’t look like a . . . shoe salesman from Muncie.”
He laughed, a sound she felt low in her belly.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Where are you from?”
“The Central Coast.”
Not very definitive. That could be anywhere from Salinas to Santa Maria, a stretch of over two hundred miles. She’d lived there, too, a very long time ago.
But she didn’t pry, just made conversation, a prelude to asking him to spend a few very mutually satisfying hours with her.
If he didn’t prove to be a dickhead.
“So what do you do?”
“I’m a CEO for a medium-size manufacturing firm,” he answered, using her earlier phrasing.
She sipped her drink, looking at him over the rim. “Hmmm, a CEO.” She looked around at the fine accouterments of his hotel. “Your company must be doing very well.”
“Yes.” Not a trace of smugness or conceit, just confidence. He leaned forward, his gaze traveling over her face. He continued the obligatory getting-to-know-you small talk. “So, Ms. Controller, what do you want to do with your life?”
Easy answer. “I want to be a CFO.” Before she turned forty. Only five short years away.
“At the same company?”
“Hopefully. But not necessarily. What about you?”
“I want to be Chairman of the Board.”
“I like a man who knows what he wants.”
“I like a woman who knows what she wants.” A wealth of innuendo lurked beneath the words, smoldered in his hot eyes, simmered in his smile.
Justine sucked in a breath. She’d never get a better opening. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, and beneath her skirt, she felt herself moisten.
And all the while Len watched her as if suddenly she’d become the prey and he the predator.
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt of my very first book. You can find More Than a Night at LiquidSilverBooks, and also on Kindle Kindle UK Nook Nook UK All Romance iBookstore iBookstore UK iBookstore AU