Keep Me...Available Everywhere March 30th

It took me two years to write the sequel to Tempt Me, but hey, at least I did it. As some of you know, I wasn't sure if I wanted to write a sequel. It was never in my plans, and I wasn't sure what I would write about. But the more people asked the more I thought about it, and then I started to work on it and think on it, and it became clear that there was more to say about them. Plenty more.

I'm so glad readers pushed me to finish their story, because it felt great and I got to take Nina and Ian to different places. Plus I think it'll be fun for everyone to see how they get their happily ever after. Also, it is seriously sexy.

I don't want to say any more and spoil the fun, but if you want a little peak into the book, here's a tease, I mean excerpt. Please note this is from the pre-copyedited version.

***

Ian laughed and sat down on his side of the bed, leaning over to kiss her again. “I can handle it.”

He fumbled with a cufflink before frowning at his wrist. “I think my mother got me some kind of trick cufflinks.”

The man was delicious. She really should give him a hand, but she was too caught up appreciating him with his tie undone and the first couple of buttons of his shirt released. The way the lamp cast shadows across his face, the line of his back, it was all so perfect. Too perfect not to capture it.

Dashing out of the room she grabbed her sketch pad and a stick of charcoal, then sat back down on the bed and began to draw him.

“What are you doing?”

“Immortalizing you. Go back to what you were doing,” she ordered, drawing furiously now.

“But I–”

“Trust me, you sexy beast,” she said, sparing him a quick, sidelong smile. “This is going to be good. It’s like, your essence, right here in this moment.”

“Honey, if you want my essence, there are much more exciting ways to get it.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” she quipped, laughing even as her body responded to him. Partly it was what she was doing on the page, showing him in an intimate, undefended moment that was granted strictly to her. A boudoir scene, but with a man instead of the usual woman model.

“I don’t know why you want to draw me. No one’s going to want to see this.”

“You have no idea,” she murmured. “Turn your head back like it was, please. Yes, just like that. Perfect.”

She studied the lines of his beloved face, the furrow between his eyes, the signs of weariness after a long day. She drew his full but firm mouth, his broad shoulders, slightly hunched as he worked at his cuff. The line of his strong throat.

She was making visible what she saw, what she felt. Who he was. These days her paintings were mostly abstracts, or abstracted figures, but she’d always liked sketching people. And she loved sketching Ian.

In its own way it was as arousing as the few nudes she’d done of him, a visual encyclopedia of her desire. She was at once both a dispassionate observer and wholly immersed in him, as if it were her hands outlining him, committing him not just to paper but to memory, making him hers.

Her need to get it all down was warring with the need to touch him, to connect with his warm skin and hard muscle. Something about the way he held himself still for her, letting her command him to move or not move, lit her on fire. As if by drawing him she somehow had mastery of him as well.

She felt as if she knew every inch of him, knew him better than anyone, and yet drawing him left him seeming more mysterious than ever. She had no idea what he was thinking, though she sensed his coiling tension, his need to move. But she was the one in control, calling the shots. He wouldn’t move until she released him.

She was nearly done, but something made her draw it out. The broad outlines down, she sketched in details, shaded the hollow of his cheekbone, traced over the strong fingers.

Her breathing sped up along with her heart, and her hand faltered for an instant. The next time she looked him in the eye, he was watching her, his color high, his eyes fierce and knowing. The lines of his body had changed. A new tension had taken over, an alertness tightening his body as he strained to break the pose.

She set down her pencil and pad.He was all hers – to touch, kiss, make love to, to paint or draw. The thought of this gorgeous powerful man giving all that to her made her lightheaded with need and lust.

“Take off your shirt.”

The order was out of her mouth before she knew what she was going to say. She nearly took it back, but something was propelling her. She wanted this.

Ian blinked and for a second she thought he’d refuse, or make a demand of his own. Instead he stood up, his eyes never leaving hers as he pulled the tie over his head. She hardly breathed as he unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, taking his time. Following orders but making her sweat it. Finally, when the shirt hung loose and open, he let it fall from his shoulders.

She no longer drew him, and she already knew him by heart, but she took in every detail of his lean muscles. The shadows and ridges of his sculpted chest and the six-pack that hollowed out when she sucked him, the hip bones she held onto while she pleased him. And it was as glorious this time as it had been the first.

Amazing that she knew how to please him, knew what made him moan and lose control. Instead of days or weeks to enjoy him she had all the time in the world. The urgency still rose in her, but she wanted to savor it. He was hers like no other man had been, and confidence made her bolder, as if she’d won a battle and he was the spoils of war.

“Let me see the rest,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “But go slow.”

His breath hitched and his eyes burned. So slowly there was an air of insolence about it, he unbuckled his belt and tossed it on the bed. One eyebrow rose in silent challenge, but just when she thought he might rebel, his hands moved to the button of his pants.