To recap from yesterday,
Bella Andre has opened up the world of her bad boys of football to Kindle
Worlds. If you haven’t read any of her football books, try Game for Love. I loved this book, as well as the other books in
the series. That’s why I wanted to write for Bella’s Game for Love world, which launched on Thursday. Thanks so much to
Bella Andre for asking me to be part of her launch!! And of course, I adore the
fabulous cover Rae Monet designed for the story! You can also try Game On
by Cat Johnson, and I just learned that Jami Davenport will be adding a new
story called Game for You. I think
that will be out Monday. As part of Lucy Kevin’s Four Weddings and a Fiasco world, try The
Wedding Date by Katy Regnery. And don’t miss Barbara
Freethy’s The Callaways world with It’s Only
Love by Carol Grace!
Are there second chances in the game for love?
Mark Benedict had a major thing going for Carolina Hutchins
years ago. But that was high school, she’d been four years older than him, and
she hadn’t even known he was alive. At least that’s what he thought.
Now he’s found her again. And this time he’s a game-winning
running back with a Super Bowl ring and a hell of lot more to offer. Only
problem, she’s on the rebound from a bad divorce and thinks all men are like
her ex-husband.
Can he convince this gorgeous woman to take a second chance
with him? Or, despite the attraction that flares between them, is letting
another man into her life for more than a night simply not in the game?
And here’s the new excerpt! If you didn’t read Chapter One, just pop down to yesterday’s
blog. Now I’m only allowed to give you 20% of the story, so, my lovely readers,
the excerpt ends right on the dot of 20%!
Game for Love: Not in the Game (Kindle Worlds Novella)
Jasmine Haynes Copyright 2014
Chapter Two
Mark Benedict had taken his best
man’s duties seriously. He’d chosen the venue, Ali Baba’s just off Union
Square, which boasted a large banquet room, belly dancers, and a manager who
swore up and down not to leak the bachelor party’s location to the press. The
guest list was comprised of Rich’s male relatives, a few close friends outside
the game of football, and the San Francisco Outlaws. Mark had hired limos to
drive the guys to the party and, more importantly, home afterward. He didn’t
want any drunk-driving accidents on his conscience. He’d also arranged the
entertainment. A girl was to pop out of a cake and lavish Rich with attention, but
not too much attention. Rich’s bride, Sherry, had made Mark swear there
would be no sexual shenanigans. Hell, she was too sweet to say no to.
Things were off to a good start.
Thick Persian carpets covered the floor and tapestries hung on the walls, making
the place look like some sort of pasha’s palace. The guests were seated on
pillows thrown down around low tables with intricate carvings under the glass
tops. They’d eaten the excellent food with their fingers and were tended to by
haram girls who bathed their hands after each course. The waiters were garbed
as the haram guards. Rich had consumed just enough alcohol to wriggle in the
middle of the room with the belly dancers. It was a pathetic sight and didn’t
bode well for the first dance at the wedding reception next weekend. But
everyone was having a good time. And the main event should start—he checked his
watch—in five minutes.
Right on time, the wait staff of
Ali Baba’s opened the double doors. Two burly haram guards rolled in a
humongous pink cake. Purple flowers dotted its smooth surface, along with
purple ribbons around each of the three tiers, supposedly to simulate icing.
Yeah, a cake was probably old-fashioned, but Rich was an old-fashioned guy. The
guards pushed the monstrosity to the middle of the room, then stepped back,
exiting quietly and closing the doors behind them. The belly dancers and haram
girls slipped out, too, through hidden doors in the tapestry walls.
Rich started the chant, “Hoo-ah.
Hoo-ah,” and the rest of the guys joined in, pounding the tables in a matching
rhythm. They all knew what was inside. You couldn’t have a bachelor party
without the obligatory scantily clad girl.
Mark shouted as loud as the others.
The flutes and cymbals that had accompanied the belly dancers were drowned out
by the deafening roar of the all-male banquet. The poor girl inside was
probably terrified, wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
Then she smashed through the cake,
and all thoughts of a poor girl flew
out of his head.
The room went damn near silent.
Tight black leather encased mile-long legs that made his mouth go dry. The
high-heeled ankle boots spiked his heart rate. She wore fingerless leather
gloves that made him want her hands all over him. Her torso was cinched tightly
in a satin corset that accentuated her minuscule waist and plumped her breasts
up and out just short of baring her nipples. Her skin was so creamy and
glistening, he had the almost irresistible urge to lick deep down into her
cleavage. Her hair was poofed and teased, a sexy mass of luscious brunette
curls that caressed her naked shoulders. A black choker circled her throat. She
had dark Cleopatra eyes and lips so red they seemed to drip with the blood of
her victims.
She spread her feet, sank her heels
into the carpet, and surveyed a room of slack-jawed men.
“Where is my submissive?” she
demanded. Then she thwacked the flat of her gloved hand with a flogger, its
short leather fronds a loud slap in the quiet.
Rich merely gaped. Then he stepped back, hiding in the
crowd. Ty Calhoun and Dominic DiMarco shoved him forward. Quarterback and wide
receiver, the two were good friends, not just teammates. Their pretty wives had
allowed them out to play for a little while tonight. And they were putting on a
good show.
Hope you’ve enjoyed the story so far! Here’s where you can
find Not
in the Game: http://bit.ly/notinthegame
No comments:
Post a Comment