My sexy new contemporary romance, Bump and Grind, is now available! It will be released under my pen name, Jessica Martyn, and I can’t wait to share it with you! Set in the sizzling world of modern day burlesque, this story was so much fun to write. I hope you have as much fun reading it. We open with the heroine onstage, performing her routine:
She was coming. For him. His hand tightened on his shot glass, every muscle in his body tensing. Heat surged over his face as she came close enough for him to catch her scent, something dark and floral. Her soft white hand landed atop his that clutched his glass, lying lightly as a butterfly on his tensely gripped fist. Her eyes were violet. His eyes watered as he strove to maintain focus. He’d never seen a girl with violet eyes before. And such thick, smoky lashes. A dark swoop of eyeliner winged away from the outer corner of her eye, a tiny rhinestone mysteriously affixed at the tip.
At the end of a verse about being a fast-moving gal who wanted her guy to take things slow, she winked and tossed her head, black glossy hair gleaming. “How are you doing, birthday boy?”
When the other performers had teased him, he’d thought it embarrassing and foolish. But when this insanely desirable creature did it, he glowed like a nuclear reactor. The vodka had nothing on her ability to intoxicate him.
“Good.” Thank God he hadn’t stuttered.
“And were you good this year?”
“I think so.” How could he possibly be expected to remember when she looked at him like that? He could barely remember his name.
“Do you need a spanking?” She bent from the waist and led a crimson-tipped nail caress the bottom of his chin. It took every bit of gentlemanly resolve not to stare straight down her jacket into the deep cleft between her breasts. He probably shouldn’t worry about gentlemanly resolve when he was hammered and being hit on by a stripper, but it had been ingrained pretty deep into him by his mother.
“But do you want one?” she said, earning a laugh from the crowd.
His brows rose, completely out of his control. “Ah, I’m not into that, but if you are–” He broke off when the crowd roared.
She laughed, a sincere, hearty laugh that tore out of her. It was an honest gesture that broke through the artifice of her performance for just a moment, and he blinked, realizing he’d had a brief connection with the real woman behind the femme fatale.