I am delighted to have Tory back on my blog today with the third installment of her Dream walker Series. Enjoy this sneak peek.
Blurb
One hundred
ninety-eight seasons after the mushroom-shaped clouds first blossom to poison
the humans of the Rising Sun, near the beginning of the Season of Inundation,
Atlantis will return.
With those words ringing in their ears, vampires
Christine Javert and Jordan MacNaught find themselves in a race against time to
stop the return of Atlantis. As they hunt for the deadly Ares, they discover
the true depths of his plot to incite a world-wide species war, turning the
humans against all the non-humans, not just the vampires as they’d originally
thought.
Excerpt
“Dude, next time just tap me on the
shoulder.”
She needed to lodge the protest,
though her body sang at the familiar touch. She and her body needed to have a
good, long talk about this situation. He shouldn’t be able to make her go mushy
just by putting an arm around her. Not when they’d sated their lust so
recently.
As expected, Jordan wore a suit that
evening, and it suited him perfectly. No tie for a change though, and his crisp
shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. So for him, he was going for a casual look.
The arm around her back drifted
south until his hand rested on her ass and gave it a gentle squeeze. “My way’s
more fun. Admit it, wasn’t it fun, seeing him slink off?”
He grinned. How a grown man frozen
in his early twenties could continually look like a mischievous little boy when
he grinned was beyond her. But it worked for him. Chris shook her head and
groaned. Protest. Remember? You’re doing the whole friend
thing, and friends don’t grab friends’ asses. Not even friends you bounce at
every opportunity. With
an effort, she leveled out her breathing. “I didn’t expect to see you here so
early. I was heading out soon.”
Even with the attempt to moderate
her voice, her words came out breathy. She cringed internally. If Jordan
noticed, he didn’t comment. “You need a keeper. I’ve appointed myself to the
task.”
Arrogant jackanapes. Rather than draw a scene by having a conversation in
the middle of the dance floor without dancing, she sighed and looped his arms
around his neck. At least she didn’t have to bother with the intricacies of a
waltz. The last time she’d danced with him had been in London, the night before
he buried her.
The hand on her butt squeezed again.
“What was that thought? You just scowled.”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He frowned, but let the matter drop.
“You look smashing, Chrissy. Why were you wasting it on the dog?”
“It was a dance, nothing more. Not
that it’s any of your business.”
Dozens of people surrounded them,
but she saw only Jordan. Felt him as his other hand trailed lazily down her
back. His lips brushed her ear as he leaned close. “After earlier, I might just
make it my business.”
Her mouth went dry, and she blinked
at him. “Huh, wha’?”
“I make a lousy friend, as you well know.” He cupped
the back of her head and kissed her. Her knees threatened to buckle. “And since
I intend to be inside you again at the earliest possible moment, the ‘friend’
label doesn’t fit.”
Oh. Wowser. She licked her lips, saw an answering flare of arousal
flash in the green eyes staring into hers. “You’re not serious. Like, you want
to date?” He blew my mind, but it was that good for him, too?
“Such a dull word, but sufficient.”
He drew her closer. Fire followed the path of his lips around the bottom of the
dark-blue choker she wore to cover up the nasty scar from the attack that left
her almost dead. He took a long sniff, no doubt smelling the Princess perfume she daubed on. “You smell good enough to eat, Chrissy. I could
spend hours doing just that.”
The already warm nightclub turned
scorching. Maybe it was just her temperature.
“In that obnoxious pink bed of
yours.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tried not to picture them in her room. It definitely was her temperature
soaring, not the club’s.
Jordan’s voice dropped to a husky
whisper. “Arms and legs restrained, holding you open for me. No escape, no
retreat.”
Her non-existent imagination
conjured the image up in startling detail, bolstered by the memory of the
handcuffs around her wrists earlier. She whimpered, couldn’t help the moisture
that trickled from her to soak her panties. Oh damn, no. That should not turn me on. Not him. Not like this, not again.
She moved with the music, turning to
press her back into him. His strong, sure hands pulled her hips against his in
a dance they’d done so many times together, one that had nothing to do with
music.
“And the thought, being with me like
that, excites you. Letting control go earlier like you did, gave you a rush
you’ve never gotten before in sex.” Jordan pushed the hair at her neck to the
side. Sharp fangs sank against her throat, not quite breaking the skin, his
other hand drifting up to cup her breast. The fabric of her dress did nothing
to shield her against the heat of his palm. “Did you sneak out afterward
because of how it made you feel?”
Teasing touches trades down her
sides until he reached the hem of her skirt. His hand slid beneath to caress
the skin of her thigh just above her garter.
Take back control, Chris. You steam-roller. Men don’t
do this shit to you. Nor
did she want them to. Right? Except him, damn it all to hell. And he was
talking about feelings? What the fuck? Struggling to keep her head against the sensuality he
dragged out of her, she clamped her hands over his wrists to still his
movements. With only a hint of her normal forcefulness, she said, “Knock it
off, MacNaught.”
“Or what, hmm? Let go, Chrissy. You’d
enjoy yourself more if you relaxed. Remember?”
He twisted his wrist, broke her
admittedly weak grip on him, and the exploration of her leg continued. She
colored, prayed no one was staring at them. The display, while making her
hornier than a bitch in heat, was mild for the ‘Cor. It didn’t matter, because she flat
out didn’t do public affection. None of her boyfriends crossed the line with
her, knowing she’d flatten them if they pushed too far.
She couldn’t flatten Jordan though.
To make it worse, she didn’t want to.
Goosebumps rose in the wake of his
caresses over her thighs. His fingers inched upward, just brushing her mound,
only blocked by the flimsy barrier of her soaked panties.
He laughed softly in her ear. “You
say no, but your body, your oh-so-pretty pussy says yes, doesn’t it?”
Chris twitched. If she didn’t move
away, didn’t break this off, the bastard would think he could maul her whenever
he wanted. And what’s wrong with that? So what if he does the
caveman thing? You read the trashy romance novels, and are surprised when
someone acting like those alpha assholes turns you on?
A harsh blast of noise from behind her
head where it plastered against Jordan’s suit coat worked as effectively as a
bucket of water.
Author Bio
Originally
from the Sacramento Valley, Tory packed up and moved all the way to Southwest
Florida in 2004 with her husband (a Florida native) under the premise that
‘hurricanes almost never hit that part of the state.’ That year, 4 blasted the
area. 4 more came the following year, and her husband blames her for bringing
the hurricanes. She now resides in Jacksonville and is relieved that, thus far,
no more hurricanes have followed her around.
She began
writing in kindergarten when a turnip wished to be human and, other than a
hiatus shortly after getting married, has never stopped. Her love of vampires
began somewhere in junior high, and combining the two loves didn’t take long.
She loves music, considers herself a ‘book slut’ whose reading habits would
break her family financially if given free reign, and is (usually) delighted to
be a mommy of twin Shrimpettes and a Shrimp.
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