Tuesday, July 28, 2015

KING STUD with LIV RANCOURT


Danielle Jacobsen’s Top Five Reasons
for Dating a Guy Who’s Good with his Hands

Dani is a lot of things: she’s smart, independent, and ambitious enough to be a NICU manager by 35. When she inherits her grandmother’s run-down Seattle Craftsman, she gives herself three months to get it in shape to sell before returning to her real life in L.A. Great plan, except she doesn’t figure on how much work the house is going to take, and she really doesn’t figure on her BFFs younger brother Ryan – the carpenter.
The incredibly hot carpenter.
But I said right in the beginning that Dani’s a smart woman. She needs help and talks Ryan into the job. When one thing leads to another, she learns an important lesson about the virtues of dating a guy who’s good with his hands…

1.      He can lay on the paint in nice straight strokes.
2.      He’s all about the heavy lifting.
3.      He knows the difference between a nail gun and a power drill.
4.      He knows what to do with his wood.
5.      And finally, after a hard day of painting and sanding, a massage is just the thing…

Now there’s a lesson we all hope to learn, amirite? And in keeping with that theme, here’s a nice spicy excerpt from King Stud

Quick set-up: They’ve known each other for months, and have been trying to sidestep the increasing heat between them. Their resistance starts to crumble, but they have a bit of a misunderstanding that leads to this…

Was she brave enough to open the door?

Standing in the hall outside of Ryan’s bathroom, she took a moment to bite at a stray cuticle, weighing her options, balanced on the cusp. Afraid to go forward. Afraid not to.

She reached for the doorknob, half convinced the floor would soften and suck her down. She half hoped it would.

“Use the other bathroom, dude.” Ryan sounded gruff, tired, and bothered by the invasion of his privacy.

She almost backed out, except somehow the door clicked shut behind her and she was stuck. Floating steam blurred the edges of the scene, giving her an impressionistic view of a cream and rust counter and gold fixtures. “It’s me.”

He jerked open the curtain and poked his head out, tendrils of wet hair splayed across his forehead and down as far as the hitch in the bridge of his nose. Surprise, irritation, and something else flashed through his eyes, as quick as the changing pages of an old flip-book cartoon.

Hoping she had her big girl panties on, Danielle dropped her messenger bag on the floor. “You left without saying goodbye.”

He ducked back into the shower, pulling the curtain closed. “Hang on.” The handle gave a soft squeak as he turned the water off and the billows of steam started to fade. Without coming out from behind the curtain, he pointed at a worn white towel sitting on the counter. “Hand me that.”

“Bossy,” she said, mostly under her breath. The towel came off her hand funny and he had to reach to pick it up. As if she needed a reason to blush harder.

“You could wait in the living room.”

She crossed her arms and let a few seconds spin out, the warm, moist air coating her skin. “Do you want me to?” She tried to sound tough, but he had to know she was faking it.

After a longer silence, his voice came out lower and gruffer than normal. “Not really.”

She pressed her palms into the sharp edges of the countertop. She didn’t have to wait long before he brushed open the shower curtain and, giving his head a final shake, stepped out. The towel was wrapped tight around his hips. Despite the blurring effects of the steam, she caught the curve of his biceps and the dusting of dark curls on his chest. He came at her, steady and aggressive. He backed her up until the edge of the counter creased her butt, the pressure of his hips against her so boldly sexual it made her lightheaded.

“Well, Princess, this is a nice surprise.” He bent down and spoke right into her ear. His breath sent shivers down her neck. “Sorry I interrupted your date.”

She gulped, working to steady her voice so she could get through her list of concerns. “Wasn’t a date.” Her nipples tightened, her lace bra becoming exquisitely rough.

“And New Year’s Eve won’t be a date either?”

She squeezed the counter. They needed to hash this out before she accidentally-on-purpose ripped the towel away. “No.”

“It could be, right? You haven’t made me any promises.”

That jerked her chain, and she glared up at him. “You haven’t made me any either.”

“Should I?”

His big, powerful body almost bent her back over the vanity. The gleam in his eyes was steamier than the shower, and though he kept one hand on the towel, it wouldn’t take much to get him naked.

She still had her jacket on.

She squirmed, wrestling her arms out of the quilted down coat, a move that rubbed her breasts against his chest. His fingers contracted, a tiny movement, a hint that he wanted to grab something. Hopefully her. He used his hips to pin her to the vanity and his gaze to pin her to the conversation.

She tossed the coat aside. “Better,” she said, her voice reduced to a bare rasp.

He rested his hand on her shoulder, his thumb finding the pulse in her neck. “We were talking about promises.” He crowded her space, letting go of the towel to cup her jaw with both hands. Only the press of their bodies kept the damp fabric from dropping to the floor.

If she reached down, she’d be able to put her hands on his naked ass, and the heat burning deep in her belly made it hard to think straight. Keep your hands on his shoulders. She didn’t want to talk about promises. She didn’t want to talk at all. Shoulders, damn it. “I’m only going to be here another month or six weeks.” She had to clear her throat to keep talking. “And you just got out of a relationship.”

His lips almost touched her forehead and his damp chest pressed against her sweatshirt. “That was done a couple years ago.”

“Still, we shouldn’t commit to something that isn’t going to last.” Her sweatshirt was damp where his chest pressed against her body and the heat lower down made thinking difficult. “But seriously, I don’t want to be with anybody else.”

He exhaled, low and throaty, and his shoulders relaxed. She tipped her face up, and he angled down to meet her lips.

Their kiss was light and cautious, dipping in and testing the waters. She parted her lips, flicked him with the tip of her tongue.

He growled, reaching around her with both arms and lifting her bum onto the edge of the vanity. The air was sweaty, steamy, hot. She opened her knees and he closed in, rocking his hard length against the seam of her jeans. Her sex clutched, a low smolder radiating through her belly, and what was left of her conscious mind wanted to magic away the layers of fabric separating them.

They kissed long and hard and sticky sweet, a mashup of lips and tongues and wrenching raw need. He found his way under her sweatshirt, fingers dancing over her nipples, bathing her in liquid fire.

“We’re making out in the bathroom,” she said, the sauna they’d created mellowing her voice to a whisper.

He hooked a finger through one of her belt loops and tugged. “Take these pants off and I’ll show you something else we can do in here.”


Blurb
Danielle’s got three months to make her Grandmother’s rundown Craftsman house livable. Her game plan is to get in, get grubby, and get back home to L.A. She needs a carpenter, and her best friend’s younger brother is a good one. It’s hard to ignore the buffed body under Ryan’s paint-splattered sweatshirts, but her friend declares he’s off-limits so Danielle reluctantly agrees.

Ryan doesn’t have the cleanest record, anyway. His recently ex-ed girlfriend wants him back, and he has a reputation for brawling. He’s also had a crush on Danielle since he was a kid. Despite their nine-year age difference, he knows she’s worth pursuing.

Soon the paint under Danielle’s fingernails starts feeling more natural than the L.A. sunshine. She’ll have to navigate plumbing disasters, money problems, and one seriously cranky best friend to find something she hasn’t had before: a real home, and a man who loves her.

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Bio

I write romance: m/f, m/m, and v/h, where the h is for human and the v is for vampire…or sometimes demon, and I lean more towards funny than angst. When I’m not writing I take care of tiny premature babies or teenagers, depending on whether I’m at home or at work. My husband is a soul of patience, my dog’s cuteness is legendary, and we share the homestead with three ferrets. Who steal things. Because they’re brats.

I can be found on-line at all hours of the day and night at my website & blog (www.liv-rancourt.blogspot.com), on Facebook (www.facebook.com/liv.rancourt), or on Twitter (www.twitter.com/LivRancourt). Come find me. We’ll have fun!

 

2 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Why yes, there is just a little heat in this one. (lol) I'm glad you like the excerpt. Thanks again for giving me a shot on your blog!

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