DEBBIE: Hi all! Today we have Taryn Kincaid dropping by.
LAURA: Ooo! Taryn rocks! Check out that cover....
DEBBIE: It's gorgeous!
LAURA: And this is book 3 in her Sleepy Hollow series.
DEBBIE: That's right. The first two books are Lightning and Thunder.
LAURA: What cool titles. Let's see what this one's about.
DEBBIE: Yes, let's.
by Taryn Kincaid
BLURB:
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Maxwell Raines, a fire-sex demon, lives a life of solitude and seclusion behind the walls of his compound at Sleepy Hollow, channeling his lustful impulses into his art—until his muse deserts him and his temperature rises past the danger point. He needs sex. Now.
When Madame Evangeline arranges a torrid Valentine’s
1Night Stand for them, will the flames of their encounter be too hot to handle?
Genre: Paranormal, erotic romance, contemporary, holiday, urban fantasy
Heat level: 4
Word count – 13k
Cover art by Tibbs Design
EXCERPT:
Dagney followed her
sister’s glance, and her heart flipped like a gymnast unable to nail a vault.
Darkness swathed the gallery with the exception of the lights above or below
each of the paintings. The large man emerging from the shadows held her rapt.
Waves of pure, unadulterated lust smacked her with such force she didn’t even
see Lily and Campbell leave. The blast of raw desire crumpled her to the floor.
Her gaze remained riveted on the tall hunk of ferocious male stalking toward
her, radiating undiluted carnality. He set something carefully on the floor and
grasped her by the elbows, his touch surprisingly gentle when he lifted her to
her feet.
“I’m Maxwell Raines.”
Yeah. No kidding. Who else could a guy so hot, so studly, possibly be?
She told herself not
to swoon. Ordered herself not to swoon. But, Goddess, that rumbling voice. More
potent than a train barreling over the tracks. And he smelled so good. Sinfully
masculine. A bit of musk, a bite of pine, an essence of dark, smoky nights.
Sexy scents. Reminiscent of tangled satin sheets that had been given a good
work-out.
Her legs turned to
rubber, and she doubted they’d support her on their own. She’d be mortified if
he’d have to scrape her puddled body up again. But he hadn’t yet relaxed his
grip. Could she bullshit her way through the meeting without collapsing?
“You’re late,” she said.
“I’m never late.”
“Well, the party’s
over, Mr. Raines.” She waved a hand around the empty room.
“Depends on your
perspective.”
“You’re big on
perspective, are you?”
“I’m a painter.” A
brief shrug accompanied his blunt words. “Obvious connection.”
“Right. But as you can
see, everyone’s left.”“You haven’t.” He gazed down at her, a black brow flaring. “And you’re what I’m here for.”
AUTHOR BIO:
Taryn Kincaid lives in
beautiful Bora Bora. Or wishes she did. When she's not parasailing up and down
the Hudson River, taking care of her aging pet walrus, or volunteering at
the local animal shelter [oh, HELL, no], she loves to arrange her voodoo
doll-pin collection and practice chanting. Taryn is dedicated to eradicating
the Kardashians and Honey Boo-Book from the face of the earth, along with The
Bieb and sparkly vampires. At this moment, she is busy adjusting the tin foil
to throw the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) off her trail. She hangs
around a lot on Facebook and Twitter with her trillions of fans and pops in at
Goodreads from time to time. You can catch her on her website, http://tarynkincaid.com, and
her blog, http://dreamvoyagers.blogspot.com where she lives
for comments!