I have a wonderful new author, Michelle Roth, here today to introduce her hot new release Just a Taste.
When Sara Westing needed signatures for a new catering contract, she had no idea that Deacon James would be the man holding the pen. Thrown into a last-minute meeting together, they both very quickly realize this isn’t the first time they’ve met. They’re left to negotiate the final details of a contract while pretending they didn’t share a night of incredible passion, followed by a decade of awkward radio silence.
Despite everything working against them, the attraction between them is still stronger than ever. Deacon will have to lay his heart on the line in order to convince Sara that he is a risk worth taking. Sara will have to let her guard down and learn to trust him.
Together, can they navigate their way through a maze of professional risk, blazing passion, and personal baggage to prove the old saying wrong? Maybe with the right incentive people can change.
Now available for pre-order at: http://www.bookstrand.com/just-a-taste
Sara froze in her seat upon hearing the name. Deacon James? She mentally crossed her fingers that this wasn’t the same Deacon James she had slept with during her junior year of college who never even bothered to call her afterward. Ridiculously mind-blowing sex, followed by complete radio silence. While she wouldn’t categorize the incident as heartbreaking, it was still pretty freaking rude.
She smirked a bit with the memory of his exit strategy. It was actually pretty comical, looking back. There had been no “Hey. So um…thanks for dropping the panties. I’m gonna go now” or “Later. I’ll call you sometime” for Deacon. Nope. No words at all afterward. He just got dressed, gave her a somewhat detached smile and a handshake as he left.
To be fair, she hadn’t really expected a phone call after his magnificent exit. He had literally disappeared. She still wondered what exactly had prompted the whole thing, but decided now wasn’t the best time for a trip down memory lane.
Biting back a small giggle, she tried to focus on the moment at hand. Even two thousand miles away from where she’d gone to school, odds were, this had to be the same guy. Deacon wasn’t exactly a common name. Ugh. This could complicate things.
She was startled out of her reverie by a low male voice at the reception desk. She glanced up. Yup. That was totally him. Even with his back to her, there was no mistaking the broad shoulders, the lean lines of his body, and that dark hair. It was a bit shorter now, but yeah. It was totally him.
Not sure what to expect, she just pasted a professional smile on her lips and waited for him to turn around and face her. When he finished the exchange and turned around, he stood stock-still. He blinked and then his eyes slowly lit with recognition. He had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed for a second. Then, almost as if a switch had flipped, his features went immediately and impressively blank. By the time he had reached the middle of the lobby, the expression on his face had morphed into a bland, professional smile.
Gauging the situation, Sara knew exactly what she had to do. For the sake of the contract and for the sake of her pride, she stood up. Stepping toward him, she extended her hand and said, “Hello. Mr. James? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sara Westing from Edible Innovations.”
His eyes squinted almost imperceptibly as he surveyed her face. He cocked his head slightly for just a moment, as if to say, “You’ve got no idea who I am?” Then, quick as a blink, he schooled his face back into that bland smile and took her outstretched hand, shaking it firmly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Westing,” he said. “Please call me Deacon. I hope you found our offices easily enough?”
After receiving her nod to the affirmative, he continued on, “I apologize for the confusion. Chris was pulled into a meeting, but he filled me in on the details. Right this way.”
With another nod and a smile, she said, “Certainly,” and followed him back to what she presumed would be his office. While she was walking behind him, she was able to fully appreciate just how very kind time had been to Deacon James.
Back in college he had been an attractive guy. He was tall, lean, and always had this perpetual smirk on his face that made you want to know what he found so funny. It had given him a boyish charm. His hair had been a bit longer. Sara could still remember the feel of it on her fingertips.
Shaking her head and bringing herself back to the present, she noticed that his suit jacket was tailored in such a way that it displayed the fact he was anything but lanky now. With the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow looming, there was nothing boyish about him anymore. Deacon James was all man. He was fucking hot.
As he came to stop, he opened the door to an office. It was decorated similarly to the lobby area. It was warm and inviting. He gestured to the sitting area, as if to indicate she should have a seat. Closing the door, he walked to his desk to pick up a bottle of water. Looking over at her, he asked, “Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No,” she said, “your receptionist offered when I arrived. Thank you, though.”
Watching him move with practiced ease, Sara placed her slim briefcase down and made herself comfortable on the sofa. Sitting on the end nearest the armchair, she fully expected him to sit in the chair, but was somewhat nonplussed when he sat next to her on the sofa. While his proximity wasn’t exactly inappropriate, it was a little unnerving.
When Deacon finally made it into the city and checked into his hotel, it was almost 11:30 p.m. He was wiped out, and he missed Sara. Desperately. Realizing it was only 8:30 p.m. on the west coast, he called her.
After a few rings, she picked up and said, “Wow. It’s late. Did you make it into the city okay?”
Grumbling, he said, “Yes, finally. The last couple of days were a total waste of time.”
Running his hands through his already messy hair, he said, “I’m whining. Sorry. How was your day? Do you have time to talk?”
“Yeah. I’m home for the night. Thank god. It was a long day. My focus was terrible.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I was thinking about you all day.”
Raising his eyebrows, he said, “Oh really? Tell me more!”
Laughing, Sara said, “Not like that. Okay, maybe a little bit like that, but mostly, just missing you.”
Softly, he said, “I’ve missed you, too. We’ve seen each other almost every night for the last couple weeks.”
Dryly, he added, “And for the record, I’m pretty much always thinking of you like that.”
“Oh really? Tell me more,” Sara said, repeating his own words back to him.
Grin stretching across his face, he settled back onto the bed and asked, “So, is this the part of the conversation where I ask you what you’re wearing?”
After a moment, he heard her exhale, then softly say, “It could be.”
He could picture the look on her face. Her biting her lower lip.
“Of course, you understand what my next question has to be. So what are you wearing?”
“A black tank top and a pair of black boy shorts with pink polka dots. You?”
Closing his eyes for a minute, he imagined her, then asked, “Mmm. Where are you right now?”
“Laying down in my bed.”
Shifting, Deacon laid down on his hotel bed, and said, “Me too. My hotel bed, anyway. Navy-blue boxers.”
Obviously interested, Sara said, “No shirt?”
“Nope. Just a pair of boxers and a smile.”
After a moment, Sara said, “You’ve got no idea how sexy your chest is, do you? One day I’d like to run my mouth over every inch of it.”
Feeling a surge of pure lust, he said, “That feeling is entirely mutual. Your breasts and those perfect pink nipples. They drive me crazy. I could suck on them for hours. Would you touch them for me?”
“Yes. I slid my tank top up just now.”
He heard the phone being adjusted, then her slightly breathy voice saying, “I’m stroking them. They’re getting tight now. God, I wish these hands were yours.”
Groaning slightly he said, “Fuck. Me too. That’s so hot. Cup your breasts and rub your thumbs over your nipples for me.”
After a moment, he heard her breathing change as she complied with his request.
Then she said, “Mmm. That feels good.”
Hearing her begin to draw in shuddering breaths, he said, “Will you wet your fingers and pinch them for me?”
After a sharp intake of breath, Sara was quiet for a moment, then continued, “Yes. I’m pinching them lightly now. Oh god. This is making me so fucking wet, Deacon.”
Reaching down, he slid his boxers off and started to lightly stroke his cock.
“Is it? Why don’t you put your hand in your panties and tell me just how wet you are, dirty girl?”
After a slight laugh, he heard her comply, gasping at the intimate contact.
Giving a more audible groan this time, Deacon continued to stroke himself and asked, “Tell me how you make yourself come. Describe it for me as you’re touching yourself.”
“I like to play with my clit. I’m rubbing slow, tight circles around it now with my index finger. Oh god, that feels so good.”
Breathing a little more heavily now, Sara said, “Mmm. Tell me what you’re doing right now.”
“Laying on my hotel bed, listening to your sexy fucking whimpers and stroking my cock. God, you’re so sexy, Sara.”
Whimpering slightly, she said, “I wish these were your hands on my body.”
Hearing her pant, he could tell she was getting more aroused.
“Fuck, Sara. I want to slide my cock into that tight little pussy. Tell me you want that too.”
Now whimpering with each pant, he heard her say, “Mmm. Yeah. When you first slide it in, I love how that feels. You filling me up, stretching me. I need you to slide your thick cock into me.”
Biting back another groan, Deacon said, “You’ve got a filthy fucking mouth.”
“It’s your fault,” she panted, heavily. “You make me an insensibly horny mess. I can’t help it.”
Hearing that made him feel like a god. There was something incredibly arousing about the fact he could make this amazing fucking woman an insensible mess. He felt himself get even harder at the thought.
Stroking faster now, he said, “Tell me that tight fucking pussy is mine, Sara.”
On a moan, Sara mumbled, “Yes. Fuck. It’s yours. Only yours. Take it.”
Hearing her so close to the edge, he began to stroke himself more roughly now.
“Come for me, Sara. I need to hear you come for me.”
Her breathing hitched slightly. Her whimpers became louder and more erratic.
A few moments later, on a low moan, she said, “Fuck, Deacon. I’m coming.”
Hearing her cry out in release, he let himself go, his orgasm jetting out all over the comforter of the bed.
Gasping, he said, “Jesus Christ.”
Then on a laugh he said, “Housekeeping is going to hate what I just did to this comforter.”
Laughing, still slightly out of breath, Sara said, “Whoops.”
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