The Wright Lover by Jennifer Kacey

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Website – http://jenniferkacey.com/books/limitlesslovers/thewrightlover.html

Lying is hard. Not accepting the truth is even harder.

When Lily Williams’s date abandons her on New Year’s Eve, she makes a new resolution. Stop taking the easy path, dating guys who are all wrong for her, and find the right path. Whatever the hell that is.

She never thought when the ball fell, it would be her best friend Elle Wright’s lips she’d be tasting. Before the night ends, she’s tasted a whole lot more. It’s a night of magic. A night of perfection.

A night Elle is convinced was only a cocktail-fueled dream.

Now it’s time for Lily to put up or shut up. Let Elle keep pretending to herself, or do the hard thing—fight for a love that could all too easily slip through their fingers.

Excerpt
“I’m not asking you to get down and dirty with me in front of everyone. I just want to watch the ball drop and get a kiss at midnight.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, as if her cheese done slid off her mental cracker.
“Are you kidding me? You’re not even going to kiss me? It’s tradition. One of the nice things about dating someone at New Year’s.”
“You don’t actually believe in that, do you?” There went his eyes again.
Her New Year’s Resolution bubbled up inside her frontal cortex.
Stop taking the easy route. Instead, take the right path.
“One… Happy New Year!”
Lily opened her mouth to tell him where to shove it, but someone took her face, pulled it around and laid a big kiss on her lips. Her eyelids flickered for a second, long enough to recognize Elle. Lily exhaled then breathed her in as she turned toward her fully, holding onto her waist.
Her lips were soft, lush and she tasted like margarita, and cherry Chapstick.
Lily moaned.
It was quiet, but the sound bounced down her spine until it landed on her clit. Several times.
Heat radiated from her core and she couldn’t help thinking she was more turned on with a closed mouth kiss with Elle, than she was giving what’s his face a blowjob.
“Mmm…” Elle sighed when they both pulled back.
Lily’s pussy throbbed in need as Elle hugged her. “Happy New Year to you too.”
It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed. It had happened several times over the last few years, but none had felt as if Lily would wither away if she didn’t get another one.
It was more than just platonic friendship, but she didn’t know how much.
And she didn’t like girls. As in like like.
At least she didn’t think so. Maybe?
“We’re gonna play a game. You game?” Elle snickered and grabbed her hand, leading her through the doorway into the living room where everyone else was still making out.
“Sure, let me just…” Lily turned to focus on Charles. “You coming?”
The hairy eyeball wasn’t quite accurate for the suspicious look twisting his features. “No. I’m tired. I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow.”
“It’s Saturday. And New Year’s.”
“My next case isn’t going to present itself.”
“It’s a civil case for a dry cleaner. Why don’t you just stay? Have some fun? Unwind?”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
And without another word he set his cup down, palmed his keys out of his pocket and he was gone.
Good thing they hadn’t driven together or she would have been finding another way home. Gladly.
“Aww…awww…awwww…asshat.” Elle smiled through her fake sneeze and didn’t give Lily any time to rethink her decision to stick around.
“Lily, yay! Are you playing?” Jessica gave her a quick squeeze as she walked past them toward the kitchen.
“I guess so, but I don’t know what we’re playing.”
“Spin the bottle,” came a loud chorus of voices from the other friends as they moved furniture and sat in a big open circle.
“No way.”
“Come on it’ll be fun,” Elle defended. “I know you can’t drink but you can at least celebrate New Year’s in style.” It looked as if ten couples formed a ring. Elle had come without a date since she’d just broken up with her boyfriend, so it looked as if Lily now filled in for her. She moved Lily into the circle and pointed to the ground. “Sit. Take a load off.”
“Why the hell not?” She took her seat and Elle sat directly across from her.
“Got the bottle.” Jessica placed an empty glass bottle in the center of the circle and sat beside it.
“You have to play, Jess.” A cute redhead on Lily’s right spoke up. “It was your idea.”
“Nope. My boyfriend doesn’t get home for at least another hour from the club he was playing at tonight. And this way we have an even number. It’s perfect.” She looked around to make sure everyone was sitting where they needed to be. “Let’s play!”
Lily’s palms grew warm and her fingers twitched as they all watched the bottle spin round and round on Jessica’s sleek hardwood floor.
It finally stopped on a couple, Barry and Thalia, whom she’d known since college.
“Come here, woman.”
“Gladly.”
They crawled toward the middle where the bottle still lay, and they kissed with an urgency she felt clear down to her toes.
On all fours they kissed, nipping at each other, smiling as the rest of the group looked on. Snickers and giggles and sighs filled the space around them.
“Ten seconds,” Jessica called out.
Lily hadn’t noticed Jessica had backed off and was staring at her phone.
“Time.” Jessica cleared her throat when they didn’t stop. “Time.”
“Mmm. That was yummy,” Thalia shared with the rest of them. “That was the fastest thirty seconds ever.”
“Thirty seconds, that’s all we get?” Elle piped up somewhere between relieved and disappointed.
“Yep. We decided to cap it at thirty per spin.” Jessica moved in and spun the bottle again. “We wanted this to be fun and sexy, not turn into an orgy.”
“Speak for yourself,” one of her best guy friends, Mario, called out as each of them watched the glass twirling around and around on the floor.
Lily snickered, but it died on her lips as the bottle stopped, pointing at her and Elle.
She arched her back as Elle prowled toward the middle of the circle. She reminded Lily of a jungle cat stalking its prey.
Her sexy appeal, paired with her childlike exuberance, were a sight to behold.
Before she fled the room and hid for fear of making a fool of herself she moved toward Elle.
“And go,” Jessica instructed them with her makeshift timer in hand again.
Elle didn’t hesitate. She closed the distance within a stuttered heartbeat.
Her kiss.
It infused Lily’s insides with something akin to joy, and timidity, and panic all wrapped into one hot moment.
“Wait. Hold on,” one of the guys around the circle called out.
Lily turned her head, breaking the lip suction she had on her friend’s mouth. “What?”
“You call that a kiss?” Mario wrinkled his nose and stared at them disapprovingly. “I’ve kissed people deeper on the subway that I bumped into.” He grabbed the guy sitting next to him by the front of his shirt and yanked him into a lip-lock.
It shocked everyone, including apparently the guy whose lips were being used, but it was over before he could complain.
“See. Nothing.”
“Dude, I’m not gay.”
“Then you’re welcome for me expanding your horizons. You can now take that off your bucket list.”
Everybody chuckled including the kissee.
“So what, Mario? This wasn’t billed as make out with the person across from you. It’s spin the bottle. A kiss. That’s it.” Lily shrugged and sat back on her hunches so her derriere wasn’t up in the air any more.
His brown eyes twinkled with mischief. “This is New Year’s Eve, pretty girl. The night dreams are made. Just ask the guy sitting next to me.” He bobbed his eyebrows and everyone laughed again, but he got serious, staring right at her, into her, and she held her breath.
He’d had the uncanny ability to see inside her for as long as they’d known each other. Probably why she’d been avoiding him for weeks. He always saw too much. Especially the stuff she wanted to keep hidden.
“This could be a once in a lifetime opportunity. A one of a kind moment, never to return. Don’t waste those. They’re precious and fleeting.” He leaned a bit forward, ignoring everyone else. “So try again, and stop over thinking it.”
“Yeah,” someone else yelled as Lily faced Elle again. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
The room rumbled with laughter again but it all faded into white noise.
Elle was the only person she saw. The only person who existed in that moment.
Her cheeks were flushed and she bit her lip as she tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. Elle looked young and innocent and gorgeous.
Before she could think better of it, Lily crawled to her and pulled her up until they knelt together. They touched at their knees and the tips of their breasts. Lightning-quick arousal flashed beneath Lily’s skin as she tunneled her fingers into Elle’s hair and brought her lips to hers once more.
But this time…
This time was different.

Decadently Yours,
Jennifer Kacey

Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.

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HOT NEW RELEASE! What a Highlander's Got to Do by Sabrina York

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What a Highlander's Got to Do

Coming March 6th from Sabrina York and St. Martin's Press

Isobel Dounreay Lochlannach is a fierce and independent Scots lass. She has no intention to marry—to submit to a man—especially not an Englishman.

But when she meets a devilish stable lad on the way to London, she can’t help but sneak a kiss with the handsome stranger, sure to never see him again.

Nick Wyeth is not a stable lad. He’s Viscount Stirling, and heir to one of the most powerful dukes in the realm. If their indiscretion is discovered, Isobel will be forced to marry him, to succumb to a fate she has always spurned. Nick wants nothing but to call this wild Scottish lass his own, and is determined to show her how an English Viscount can make her swoon, and be his forever in What a Highlander’s Got To Do by New York Times bestselling author Sabrina York.

READ AN EXCERPT!

“Milady . . . are you s-sure?” the groom sputtered, even as Isobel launched herself into the saddle. He was a sweet boy, only slightly spotted, and she’d found him delightfully manageable.

She smiled down at him in a manner that caused his Adam’s apple to bobble precariously. “I’m verra sure,” she said. “I can handle him. I promise.”

“But the mare is much gentler,” he said with a hint of panic in his voice.

“I’m certain she is,” Isobel responded with a wink. And then she set her heels to the stallion’s sides and they launched from the stable yard.

She leaned over his neck, encouraging him on. “Och, you want this, don’t you, boy?” she whispered into his ear, and he nickered his delight. “Faster then. Faster. Let’s fly!”

And oh. They did. And it was glorious.

The ride, of course, but also leaving those horrible women behind.

Newcastle lacked the exhilarating rocky terrain of the Highlands, but in turn, it had long languid country roads that curved gently through apple orchards, along golden fields, and through fallow land spotted with bright-yellow flowers. There was a babbling brook to her right and the broad blue line of the horizon before her. She had, in that moment, the flight of fancy that she could ride forever.

The air was cool and clear, with a hint of lingering loam. And the sun, when she hit it in gentle splashes wandering through the leaves, was a kiss of warmth. They made their own breeze, she and Lord Willouby’s stallion. It caressed her face and tangled in her hair and it was magnificent.

Much better than tea with the local ladies.

It was, in fact, perfection.

Until a thundering sound disrupted her peace.

Hoofbeats from behind, intruding on the splendid rhythm she and the stallion had created.

She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. Another stallion pounded after them, with a dark-haired stranger urging him on. She’d heard about highwaymen in these parts, veterans from the war and such, who had turned to crime. And while she’d thought the prospect of such a thing wildly romantic when reading it in a novel, she did not, in truth, care to be robbed or manhandled by such a man.

She tapped her mount’s side with her heels and urged him to go faster, even as a thrill of excitement sizzled through her. She was certain she could outride her pursuer, but how delicious would it be to confront an actual highwayman and have a story to tell Catriona?

Not that the two of them tried to outdo each other in their tales, but they did.

Isobel caught her breath and focused on the road ahead. It curved out of sight behind a large hill. Not knowing the terrain, she knew she had to slow, lest she injure her horse, and that was her downfall.

He caught her then, as she rounded the curve and, to her shock and dismay, wrapped a strong arm around her waist and lifted her bodily from her saddle and onto his lap.

She had one stunning impression of hard hot man.

He was slick with sweat from the mad ride, as was she, but on his skin, it rose in a thick musk that teased her nostrils and made her belly lurch.

Surely it was not an attractive scent.

She refused to believe this to be so.

At the same time, she screeched her outrage and wiggled to be free, which had a disturbing result.

He tightened his hold on her.

Dear God, he was strong, this beastly highwayman.

“Hold still,” he snapped. “You’ll fall.”

Of course she wanted to fall. She wanted to hit the ground before he did so she had time to retrieve her blade from the scabbard on her thigh before he caught her again.

What a pity he didn’t let her fall. He held her even tighter—she could barely breathe—and pulled on the reins to slow his mount.

Before she had time to react, he’d slipped off and was helping her down.

Helping her down.

No one had ever helped her down. She’d never allowed it.

The man was, in a word, infuriating.

Once her feet hit the ground she elbowed him in the stomach and whirled away. She glared at him, though he was unaware of this, doubled over and wheezing as he was. This gave her time to free her blade and point it in his general direction, so when he recovered himself, when he stood and stared at her, it was, indeed, a fearsome sight he saw.

She had no earthly idea why he laughed.

No earthly idea why her first glimpse of him—this bandit who had just impugned her person—made her heart stop.

Oh, he was handsome, for sure, with dark eyes and rampant black curls. There was a birthmark just above his lip that gave him a rakish air, and the hint of a scar bisected his left eyebrow. But his smile was white and broad and caused an irksome raft of dimples to erupt on his cheek.

He wore the stained, frayed clothes of a workingman, with boots caked in mud.

And good lord, he was tall. Tall and muscled and exquisitely formed.

She wasn’t sure which of his perfections annoyed her more.

And then he spoke, and she knew for certain. It was his voice, a mellifluous tenor, crisp with British superiority and the hint of a laugh.

She abhorred being laughed at.

“Well,” he said, nodding at her knife—which, in retrospect, seemed far too small. “Aren’t you the fierce one?”

It took a moment to stifle her growl. No doubt it would give him even more to mock. “What do you expect? You chased me. Grabbed me from behind. Manhandled me.”

His eyes widened and he stared at her for a moment, then his grin widened. “You’re a Scot.” Not a question.

“You’re bluidy right I am, so don’t try anything. You’ll not be the first man I’ve skewered.”

A laugh. “I don’t doubt it for a moment.” He continued studying her, though, in a way that made her skin prickle.

“What?” she said, breaking the silence against her will.

He shrugged, some lazy careless gesture that made her want to smack his supercilious face. “I just thought all Scottish lasses had red hair, is all.”

“Did you now?” Did he want to see red? Well, it danced before her eyes.

He must have realized his comment incensed her, because he laughed again. “Doona skewer me, lass,” he said in a perfect brogue. For some reason, that made her even angrier.

“Why no’? Are you no’ a highwayman, come to rob me?”

“A highwayman?” His beautiful perfect brows lifted in mock surprise. He had the audacity to bow before her. “My lady, I’ve just saved your life.”

She gaped at him. She was aware she was gaping, like a landed cod, but could not manage to form words.

He chuckled and tucked two long fingers under her chin and gently closed it. Then he hooked her arm in his and led her farther along the track, where Lord Willouby’s stallion stood alongside the road ripping out tufts of grass. “There,” he said, waving at a stone bridge just beyond the hill, arching over the river.

Isobel yanked her arm away. “There, what?”

“Go look.”

He followed her as she made her way to the bridge and then stood next to her, rocking back on his heels, as she studied the structure. Or what remained of it.

The stone pilings were all in place, as were the abutments on either end, but as for the rest of it . . .

“The flood last month took out all the timbers,” he said in a far-too-smug tone.

She crossed her arms and studied the distance from one bank to the other. “No doubt we could have made the jump.”

He turned to stare at her for a long moment, and then he laughed again.

She was becoming quite tired of his laugh, and at the same time craving it. That was probably why—though she would deny it until the day she died—her lips quirked. Just a tad, but it was enough encouragement for him, apparently.

“I believe you owe me,” he said with a wicked smile.

“I owe you?” She turned and tipped up her chin and stared into his eyes—really stared into them—for the first time. They were a lovely warm brown with flecks of gold, and they were amused. There was something else in there, a certain heat, that she preferred to ignore.

“I did save your life.”

“I believe I made it clear, I could have made the jump.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, but your stallion?” He glanced at the steed, who was trying to lip an apple from the tree. “That is questionable.”

“Perhaps.” She sighed. “So what reward would you ask?”

“First, that you put away your blade.”

“First? How many rewards are you asking for?” Was she enjoying this . . . sparring? Why yes. She was.

He was terribly handsome, and not a highwayman after all. Probably, judging from his clothes, a stable lad. Or a farmer’s son.

He shrugged. “How much do you value your life?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just as it is. I would like to ask for a kiss . . .” Her heart skipped. “But to be frank, I prefer not to kiss lasses with knives in their fists. You know, just in case.”

She straightened up and peered down her nose at him—no easy feat, as he was much taller than she. “I doona kiss just anyone.”

He splayed his hand over his heart. “I am gratified to hear it.”

“Certainly not . . .” She waved at his person. “Stable hands.”

He grinned. “Is that what I am then?”

She pointed to his boots. “Do tell me that is mud.”

“What else could it be?” His playful tone made clear it might well be something else one might find in a stable.

“And look at your hands.”

He did. She did, too. They were large, well made, with long fingers. There was mud there, too, beneath his fingernails. One would hope.

“I can wash them in the river, if you like.” Again, that charming smile.

She smiled back, but with a hint of restraint. It was an odd feeling cloaking her shoulders. Restraint was hardly her forte. “Please do.”

He nodded and she tried to ignore the curl that flopped onto his forehead as he turned and trotted down the bank.

With a sigh of regret, she took the reins of Lord Willouby’s stallion and mounted. Best be gone before he returned or she might be tempted to give him what he wanted.

She wanted it, too, which was stupid.

She was here for a few weeks while she waited for the various arms of her family to collect here, and then they would make the long trip down to London for a miserable Season. There was no time for a romance, and certainly not one with a farm boy. Not even one as handsome as he.

Though she had to admit, she was tempted.

She kicked the stallion into motion and began riding back the way she’d come.

What a pity.

She would have liked a kiss. Just one. She would have liked to know if he tasted as delicious as she imagined. She would have liked to have a story to tell Catriona, one that didn’t end with her plunging to her death into the River of the Broken Bridge.

She should have known he would follow.

She heard the hoofbeats behind her and urged her stallion on, bending low on his neck and whispering encouragement.

Her heart pounded.

She knew he would catch her.

He had before.

But still, she persevered.

She had no idea why she smiled. No idea why her soul sang.

No idea why, when he caught her, swooping her up into his arms and onto his lap, she laughed.

No idea why she smiled as he cupped her face with his still-damp hands and stared at her lips like a starving man.

No idea why, when his lips touched hers, fragrant and soft and oh-so-sweet, she sank into the kiss with all she had.

Or perhaps she did have an idea after all.

Order or wish list now: https://www.amazon.com/What-Highlanders-Got-Do-Untamed-ebook/dp/B076H78JL4/

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The Marriage of Two Creative Endeavors ....

.... Music and Writing!

I don't know too many authors who don't write to some sort of background noise. We all say we want peace and quiet, but yet we go to Starbucks (where it's anything but quiet), or we have the television on in the background. We never totally shut out family noise by leaving the office door open just a crack. Most of us write to music, even going so far as to create playlists of songs that fit our current work in progress.

Because my writing jumps from genre to genre, so does my choice of music. Here are some of my favorites and their corresponding project/finished book.

My current work in progress is a vintage (1975) re-telling of The Wizard of Oz titled Waking Up in Oz. My heroine, an attorney, finds herself stranded in the small town of Oswald, KS following a tornado. Fortunately, she has a handful of hunky men to keep her company. She also has to deal with the colorful townspeople who count on the Oz lore to supplement their income, sometimes to the point of frustration for the heroine. In order to get in the Oz mood, I quite naturally gravitated toward the wonderful Judy Garland's Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

My most recently published work, The Vessel, is a sci-fi erotic romance set in the twenty-third century. The story revolves around a career soldier who's tasked with transporting an alien princess from the government's safehouse to their laboratories. Alora of Delawon is believed to be mankind's last hope in a world that's been left sterile by chemical warfare. The problem is, Major Liam McGregor finds himself more of a threat to their mission than the marauders they're running from. Throughout the creation of the book, I constantly listened to Sir Elton John's Rocket Man and the late David Bowie's Space Oddity






While most of the music I listen to while I write is upbeat (to keep me motivated), when I read I also like background music. However, it's a must that the music be just that ... background. And, for that reason, I choose classical. Most often, Ravel's Bolero or Strauss' Blue Danube.

I'd love to hear from both the authors and readers who visit this blog. Do you write to music? If so, what type? When you read, do you insist on total silence? Or, do you like background noise/music?

Until next month, happy reading!

Nancy

Something Special by Jennifer Kacey

Coming March 1st by Jennifer Kacey!!!

Lying is hard. Not accepting the truth is even harder.

When Lily Williams’s date abandons her on New Year’s Eve, she makes a new resolution. Stop taking the easy path, dating guys who are all wrong for her, and find the right path. Whatever the hell that is.

She never thought when the ball fell, it would be her best friend Elle Wright’s lips she’d be tasting. Before the night ends, she’s tasted a whole lot more. It’s a night of magic. A night of perfection.

A night Elle is convinced was only a cocktail-fueled dream.

Now it’s time for Lily to put up or shut up. Let Elle keep pretending to herself, or do the hard thing—fight for a love that could all too easily slip through their fingers.

Decadently Yours,
Jennifer Kacey

Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.

Website - Newsletter - The Decadent Divas - Amazon Page

Facebook – Facebook Author Page - Twitter - Goodreads – Pinterest