Returning From Social Media Hibernation!

Prymal_Hunger-Jianne_Carlo--200x320It’s amazing how much you can get done when you take a social media vacation!

Honestly, I never realized how much of a time-suck updating FB, my blog, and tweeting was until the last couple of months.

I’m finally up to date on most of my projects.

Manhandled is finished—YAY!!!

Notorious, Carnal, Prymal Hunger, and Wulf are in the works.

And I’ve started three new Viking books!

I should take social media holidays more often, right? Maybe. But while I hunkered down in my EDJ and writing caves, summer ended, pumpkins are now everywhere, and I just know before I blink—the holidays will be on us!

Swear to all the gods out there—the globe spins faster from September to January 1st!!!!

Who doesn’t agree with that?

Here’s a tempting tease from Manhandled:

***

“Rolan, sweetie. You’re not eating. The food’s gonna get cold,” whined Cindy-something, breaking into his reminisces.

Rolan stifled another groan as he took in the clothes strewn across the burgundy Persian rug, the rumpled bed sheets, Cindy’s naked double-D breasts, the platinum nipple rings, and the diamonds dangling from her navel.

What had Sarita seen?

Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the scene she’d interrupted—Cindy on her haunches, one palm on his groin, his semi-erect prick. He choked back a howl. What a disastrous way to reunite with the girl who’d haunted his dreams for  the last twelve years. Shame had him stumbling back to the bed.

His knees collapsed and his butt slammed onto the mattress.

What a f**king man-whore he’d become. When had it happened? When had he gone from shiny and idealistic to contemptuous, egotistic, and unscrupulous? At least where women were concerned.

Elbows jammed onto his thighs, forehead propped in his palms, he closed his eyes against the mortifying ignominy burning his flesh. Sarita had once adored him, but now she must despise and scorn him.

And rightly so.

He didn’t even know Cindy’s last name. Didn’t care to know. The Rolan Sarita had known in high school might’ve been bigheaded, but never would he have sacrificed his morals. Shit to that. He’d abandoned any sexual ethics after his first Super Bowl win.

Twelve years ago, he’d taken Sarita’s virginity.

And on each twenty-ninth of May for every year since, he’d awoken aroused, with her face burned on his pupils. He’d learned after the first couple of years not to bother with substitutes, not when their faces were replaced by hers at the height of his climax.

He downed a glass of orange juice.

How had Sarita ended up on Sir Geoffrey Stanford’s yacht in Monte Carlo? Where had she been all this while?

***

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt

Merry manic Monday everyone!

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