***Warning: this book contains
graphic language, sex, and mature situations. Not intended for young adult
readers.***
Title: Say When
Author: Tara West
Series: Something More (#1)
Genre: Adult Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Shifting Sands Publishing
Release
Date: July 19 2013
Blurb
He told me to say when, but I can’t. Not with Andrés. It’s
so hard to say anything when he’s trailing feather soft kisses down my neck, or
when his touch sends hot currents of lust rippling across my skin.
Then there’s the way he smiles and offers soft words of
encouragement when I’m creating art, almost like he believes I have talent.
He’s not like any guy I’ve ever met. Not like my ex-fiancée.
Not like my father. He’s got me thinking that maybe we can have something more.
More than just lust, degradation, and abuse.
And now I’m scared, because that means I’ll have to trust
him with more than just my body, but with my heart, too.
Christina
Duval
Book Links
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Author Bio
A former Texas high school teacher, I enjoyed coaching the
writing team and even the hectic deadlines that came with running the school
publications. After taking a break to raise my baby girl, I now work from home
as a cover artist.
In my spare time, I loves to read, exercise and spend time
with family and friends. I contribute the cover art for my Whispers Series and
have designed covers for over 500 other books.
Please visit me at http://www.tarawestauthor.wordpress.com/
or www.tarawest.com where you can check out
my Whispers series and sample my artwork.
Author Links
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Excerpt
“So it’s your birthday?”
I gasp as
I look up to see Andrés standing between two dilapidated candy shelves. How had
I not noticed he’d come into the store? He walks forward, his boots clicking on
the grimy tiles. He slants a smile at me as he joins me inside the beer
fortress.
“Yeah.” I
shrug, feeling the blush creep into my cheeks and unable to do anything about
it. Mechanic or not, the boy is smokin’
hot. Images of random stranger sex flash through my mind.
“Happy
birthday, Christina,” he says. I love the way my name rolls off his tongue and
sends a ripple of heat across my skin, like pouring warm chocolate fudge over
cool vanilla ice cream .
“How’d you
know my name?” I ask as my pulse quickens. I also love that he says my entire
name and not some made-up shortcut. Christina. Not Teenie, Tina, or Christy, I
think. The name on my birth certificate.
The name I wish everyone would call me.
His smile
widens, revealing two perfectly white rows of teeth. “I heard your friend call
you Christina. It’s a beautiful name.”
“Thanks.”
Even though I consider myself a relatively fun loving person, my smile feels
contrived. That’s when I realize I’m in trouble. This guy unnerves me. I force
myself to break eye contact, missing his warm chocolate gaze almost instantly.
I focus on the first thing that catches my eye, his gleaming silver belt
buckle.
This is a
very bad idea, because my gaze instinctively travels lower, and I notice the
bulge beneath his zipper. Despite the fact that my back is chilled from the
refrigerated wine section behind me, I feel a bead of sweat on my temple.
“This
isn’t the best side of town,” Andrés says to me, in a voice that carries a note
of concern.
I pull my
gaze from his crotch and nod. My head bobbles maybe a bit too hard, and I feel
like my brain is stuck in an earthquake. “I know.”
“I’ll wait
with you until your friend gets here.” He takes a seat on a beer display, never
taking his gaze off me.
The chill
from the fridge causes me to shiver. My nipples feel so hard, they could
probably cut glass. I resist the urge to look down and confirm it. I realize
they’re probably already poking through my lacy bra and sheer dress fabric.
Knowing Andrés is getting an eye-full mortifies and excites me at the same
time. Still, modesty forces me to cross my arms over my chest.
“She was
at Dylan’s,” I say, trying to sound casual and not all hot and bothered, “so it
shouldn’t take long.”
“That’s
where I was going,” he says as he motions toward his boots. “Maybe I’ll see you
there.”
Weird, how
just a few moments ago, I didn’t feel like celebrating anymore. Now I’m thinking
about dancing with Andrés at Dylan’s. I’m not a very skilled dancer, but I can
follow someone else’s lead if I have a good enough partner. I wonder if Andrés
is a good dancer. I wonder how it would feel to have his rough denim pressing
against me.
My knees
wobble at the thought. I look down at my stupid stilettos and realize I’m not
dressed for dancing.
“I don’t
have my boots,” I say as my lip turns down in a pout.
“We’ll
slow dance. Come on, Christina.” My name slides off his tongue in a sensual
purr. “It’s your birthday.” He jumps down from the beer display and bridges the
distance between us in a few easy strides.
Having
Andrés this near me sends a jolt straight up my spine. My flesh buzzes and I
feel it all the way to the core of my body. He smells like leather and spice,
and right now the only dancing I want to do with Andrés is between the sheets.
Thanks, Michelle!
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