First, let me thank you, Delilah, for letting me drag these two love birds over to your place for an interview. This is Eric De Marco and Amy Sizemore, the main characters from my latest release, Incidental Contact, a New Adult erotic romance, set on an eight-hundred-acre peach farm in Upstate South Carolina. Although it’s the third book in my contemporary romance series, Those Devilish De Marco Men, Incidental Contact may be read as a standalone title and is approximately 93,000 words.
Eden: What were you doing the day before your story began, Eric?
Eric: Trying to dodge a boatload of exes, all hell-bent on helpin’ me spend an insurance settlement.
Eden: Why was that a problem?
Amy: Oh, let me take that question. He’s pollinated half the flowers in the county, if you get my drift. Not one of those women could see past his pretty face, but they were sure ready to help drain his savings account. He is pretty, is he not?
Eden: Meh, if you like tall, dark, handsome blue-collar boys bulging with muscles earned from hard work, I guess he’ll do. What made you different? What did you see in him that no one else did, Amy?
Amy: Well, I’m short, round, and a stone-cold tomboy, so I know how it feels to be underestimated. Eric’s more than a pretty face. He’s smart. He should’ve been an engineer. I take that back, he is an engineer, he’s just self-taught.
Eden: So, how did the tomboy and the bad boy get together?
Amy: He, uh, made me an offer. I was temporarily homeless, so he said if I’d move in with him and help keep the vultures at bay, he’d teach me to feel sexy.
Eric: And I succeeded, too. Just look at her now.
Eden: Yes, she has changed quite a bit. We have time for one final question, Eric, rumor has it, you had a little trouble getting it up?
Eric: Damn small towns. Can’t keep a secret for nothin’. Okay, if you must know, I did have some problems keepin’ lead in my pencil, did, but not why you think. Let me explain—
Eden: I’m so sorry, Eric, Delilah’s giving me the sign that we’re out of time.
Incidental Contact (Book #3, Those Devilish De Marco Men)
What if a random kiss with the wrong woman feels like more than incidental contact? What if you sense every mistake brought you to this place, with this person? What if you know you’ll have to clean up your bad-boy past and can’t offer her much of a future, but you’re determined to win her heart? What if you’re also having…performance issues? Welcome to Eric De Marco’s world. First person to say ‘go hard or go home’ gets his ass kicked.
Cold air made an icy blanket on her wet skin. Her nipples could cut diamonds. When he lowered his eyes, anticipation sent jagged heat streaking though her, leaving thunder subsiding in her core.
She had to hold onto something, so she dared to rest her hands on his shoulders. She felt awkward, unsure what to do next.
“Let’s get that tense look off your face.” She felt his muscular thighs press against her knees, moving them wider.
She stiffened. That’s not bubbles. A strong jet of water rushed against her folds. She tried to shift away from the stream, but he held her fast.
“Relax, Amy. Let it happen.”
The jet of water felt soft, yet the slender stream flayed her clit with insistent pressure. Holding her gaze, he rubbed his lips across one extended nipple. Slowly—oh God, so slowly she thought she’d die—he rasped her aching point. Raising his head a notch, he worried the peak with the stubble on his chin. Each prickling scrape sent daggers into her core. He nipped the hard bud.
The gentle torture made her cry out with frustration until he took a warm, soothing lick. The entire time, that forceful jet of water danced over her clit. His licks mingled with nips until her sensation of being cold disappeared. All Amy could feel was the heat from his tongue and the strong ache coiling inside her—and that jet of water driving her mad.
About the Author:
Eden Connor graduated from Converse College with a degree in Psychology so long ago, her sheepskin is chiseled in stone. She’s been a graphic artist, a bridal photographer and an antique restorer. Since the death of her true love, she raised two children to adulthood and now has the time to return to writing. She writes primarily contemporary erotic romances, the odd bit of erotica and an occasional paranormal piece. Most of her writing is set where she lives, in South Carolina, so expect the handsome stranger to come equipped with a slow drawl. Addicted to hazelnut creamer, baseball and cranberry glass, she likes the music of Motown and when not writing about adults behaving badly, she takes a stab at the occasional needlepoint canvas.
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