Skip to content
Please welcome my guest today Karen Docter. This wonderfully supportive author has some great stories to offer. I hope you’ll check out her website (link below) after you’ve read this dynamite 1ST KISS from COP ON HER DOORSTEP.
In the six years since her husband was killed by S.W.A.T., Carrie Padilla has spent long hours at work, rebuilding a life for herself and her son. The little time she has at home is spent keeping her eight-year-old son out of trouble, but he is all too eager to try to be the man in the house. When a handsome cop shows up on her doorstep, her errant son in tow, Carrie’s heart stutters. The sexy Italian cop sets off all kinds of bells in her system, and she knows there’s only one thing she can do to save what is left of her family, her husband’s memory, and her heart…avoid her new neighbor at all costs.
Jake and Carrie return from their first date…
“We’re home,” he said, pulling into his driveway.
Dragged from her reverie, she watched him walk around to assist her out of the car. With his large hand cupped around her elbow, he strode across the street. She had to take two steps to his one and, in no time, they came to a stop outside her front door.
Jeez. What was the rush? All of a sudden, Jake had become a stranger. Under the glowing porch light, his eyes looked calm enough—unreadable, in fact—but somehow, she sensed an edginess in his stiff stance.
“Do you have your keys?”
She handed them over and, within seconds, the front door was open and Jake was again standing two feet away.
His hasty retreat had the oddest effect on her. While she should be happy he didn’t seem to expect the requisite goodnight kiss of a real date, she only felt rejected. It was unnerving to know the woman inside her was still willing to court emotional chances.
Remember what happened the last time you jumped off that particular cliff.
The mental reminder was unwelcome, but it moved her to action. “Good night, Jake.” She leaned up to brush a kiss against his jaw.
It was a mistake, of course. The stream of electricity that arced from his skin to her lips caught her completely unprepared. It jolted sluggish nerve endings to life and randomly short-circuited what remained of her brain cells. Her legs unsteady, she searched his face.
It was surprisingly blank. Except for his eyes. They were no longer calm. Far from it. They were now dark and turbulent and fixed on her with hot intensity.
Only a fool played with fire, but she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she walked into the flames. Would they warm her or burn her to a crisp? The only way to know was to kiss him again.
Did she dare? How could she not? This was their one and only date, wasn’t it? She’d never get another chance.
“Good night, Carr—“
Her lips cut off Jake’s words and, for an instant, the heavenly feel of his mouth melding with hers was enough to quench her curiosity. His heat thawed her insides, filled the cold, empty spaces in her heart. It raced to keep up with the electrical impulses zipping through her body.
When she realized their lips were their sole point of contact even though she stood on her tiptoes to reach his mouth, she swayed into his body. “Jake?”
Carrie’s husky plea against his mouth, her taste, the feel of her yielding curves burrowing into his hard length…Jake couldn’t hold out against the relentless assault on his fractured senses. He’d wanted her to take the next step. She had and, damn his clamoring libido, he craved more.
Lowering his head, he took what he needed. His arms surrounded her, lifting her into his body until they meshed from chest to thigh. Her lips parted on a gasp of surprise, of acceptance. She wriggled against him. He groaned his approval.
His tongue thrust past the edges of her teeth, probing deeply. Without preliminary, without hesitation. He plundered her sweetness as he blindly pushed into the house, carrying her with him. He didn’t stop moving until they bumped into one of the entry walls.
Caught between two equally unyielding surfaces, Carrie moaned and dropped her purse to the floor. He kicked it aside and tossed the ring of keys that bit into his left hand after it. Reluctant to drag himself away from her drugging kisses, he sucked air into his starved lungs. “I didn’t mean, we shouldn’t, ah, hell.”
Recapturing her lips, he eased back so she could slide down his body. His hands gentled, trailed caresses along her spine beneath her jacket until they came to rest on her backside. With a low, tortured sound, he ground his erection intimately into her softness to alert her to his tenuous hold. “Carrie, honey,” he groaned at last, “tell me to stop.”
“Mmm.” Carrie responded to the rumble of his deep voice with an instinctive, feminine moan. Stop this? It had been too long since a man held her, made her feel so alive. So desirable and, oh, so desperately needy. Never had she encountered such a burning need to get near someone.
To alleviate the problem, she dragged her hands from his thick hair and worked her way down until she discovered a gap in his jacket. She dove inside where taut muscles rippled against her palms. The soft feel of only one thin layer of cotton between her fingertips and his naked skin set off tremors deep in her belly. Moving forward, she touched—
As if stung, she jerked both hands out of Jake’s jacket away from the holster tucked high against his body. “You’re wearing a gun?”
He trailed kisses along her jaw. “I always wear one,” he said, the words distant, unfocused, against her ear.
She tilted her head to grant him better access to the tender skin beneath her earlobe. Then harsh memories reverberated through her head like a sledgehammer, knocking down the walls of desire she’d been building like an ingenuous child with a new set of blocks.
What are you doing? Jake’s a cop. He wears a gun. Even on a date. The man’s a walking, talking risk, and your risk-taking days are long gone. She gulped for air to smother the panic.
Her brain barely functioned, but she knew she had to escape the question forming in his too sexy, hot chocolate eyes. She pushed him back several steps so he once again stood on her doorstep. “Good-bye, Jake,” she choked out before closing the door in his face.
Refusing to listen when he called her name, she locked the deadbolt with nerveless fingers and backed up until she knew she was far enough away to resist the temptation to reopen the door. To her house. Or to her heart.
ZOOM! How exciting is that?! Sounds like the perfect summer read to me!
Stay cool, my friends.
My July contest is called Hot Summer Reads. One winner will be able to pick two titles from the six awesome choices. To introduce you to these authors and their books, I thought I’d give you “snippets” pulled straight from the stories, however…
HOT means these snippets are meant
for an ADULT audience.
***If you’re under 18–or offended by adult content–stop reading. My regularly scheduled PG-13 blogs will continue on days other than Mondays and Thursdays. Are we good?***
Okay, then, let’s begin this adventure by introducing my friend and amazingly prolific author Alexx Andria, who also has a wildly successful career in category romance and romantic suspense. I chose to offer one of Alexx’s books because she was the kind soul who mentored me when I published my first book in the Screw Senility series. (She’s also designed all my covers.) Alexx’s work is truer to the erotica genre than mine. Did I mention it’s HOT? The Buchanan’s Redemption is her most recent release.
“Vince pushed past people with little regard to their feelings or how rude he appeared, his one concern being to find the little interloper before she found trouble. There was a reason Malvagio was one of the most highly sought after clubs in the city — because you couldn’t buy your way in, you had to be sponsored and there was a strict privacy clause that was enforced most strenuously. It was similar to Fight Club rules. First rule of Malvagio — don’t talk about Malvagio.
And the knowledge that someone had circumvented their security gave Vince a bad feeling. Nothing good could come of this, of that he was certain.
He detoured to the dungeons and began systematically opening doors, ignoring the surprised gasps or stern glares from those interrupted from their play. At the last door, he found it barred from the other side. He rattled the door hard and slammed his hand against the thick wood. “Open up. This is Vince Buchanan…owner of this fucking club and you’re breaking the rules.” When no answer followed, Vince took a step back and planted his foot hard on the door, splintering the jam and sending wood flying. The room was his favorite, equipped with a full rigging system for suspension play and plenty of wonderfully wicked and debased toys to play with, insert or flog with. But what he saw filled him with dread. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered, going straight to the suspended girl lying limp and unconscious in the bonds. He quickly released her ties and she fell into his arms with barely a moan. She looked dead. Her blond hair fell like beaten summer wheat, crushed and damp, and raised welts marred her tender pale skin. Blood trickled from her swollen mouth and her right eye was blackened shut. She was tiny, barely five feet tall if he were to wager a guess, and not an inch of her naked body wasn’t scratched, bruised, or otherwise abused. Consent was a nonnegotiable club rule and one look at the girl told Vince all he needed to know: she hadn’t asked for this.
But he had a bigger problem — what to do with her? He couldn’t risk calling the hospital but she plainly needed medical attention. He fished his cell from his pocket and texted Laird: Code Red, dungeon 5.
While he waited for Laird, he took the time to really look at the woman. She’d called herself Josie, but he didn’t believe that was her name. No one at Malvagio operated under their true identities. “What were you hoping to find, little dove?” he asked in a low, curious tone. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths and a faint wince marred her forehead as if it hurt to breathe, even in sleep. His gaze dropped to her breasts, two perfectly generous handfuls with soft, dusky nipples fairly begged for a man’s mouth to suckle and tease and he wasn’t above enjoying the view even if the circumstances weren’t ideal. One might berate him for feasting his gaze on a woman who was clearly at a disadvantage but he never claimed to be a gentleman nor did he claim to play by the rules.
Laird appeared and frowned when he saw Vince holding the unconscious girl. “I see you found our little stowaway…” but his mildly amused expression changed when he realized the situation. His brow furrowed as the import hit him as quickly as it’d hit Vince. “What the hell happened here?” he asked, pulling his shirt from his own shoulders and laying it across her exposed body, openly wincing at the damage to her lovely body.
“I don’t know. I found her in the suspension rig, beaten until she lost consciousness. Look familiar?” he asked darkly, knowing Laird would know what he was asking. Laird swallowed and nodded.
“What are we going to do with her? The last one we took to the hospital ignited a firestorm of questions that we barely got away without fully answering. This little chick could bring down our entire operation,” he said, agitated. “Who the hell would do this?”
“I don’t know but we’d better find out or else we’re fucked. In the meantime, I can take her to my penthouse and have a doctor tend to her. Help me get her to the car,” Vince instructed and Laird snapped into action. It was relatively easy to travel the dark halls of the dungeon without attracting attention and with Laird’s help, they gently placed the girl into the awaiting Towncar idling behind the club’s private back entrance. He climbed in beside the girl and leaned out to give terse instructions to Laird. “Get the security footage immediately. I want to know who went into Dungeon 5 tonight. Someone is using Malvagio as a cover to do fucked up things and I’m not about to let some jackwad take us down like this. You find something, you call me, no matter the hour. Got it?”
Laird jerked a short nod and closed the door.
“Penthouse,” he said to the driver and immediately called a doctor they kept on call for odd emergencies. With a club like Malvagio, it was wise to have a doctor on hand who could step in with medical expertise if the play got out of hand. Although rare because Vince screened all potential members, on occasion people have become injured through play that took things a step too far. Usually, when that happened, the member was barred from the club forever because Vince wasn’t anyone’s babysitter, nor did he relish the idea of policing members who weren’t smart enough to do their homework before embarking on potentially dangerous play. One member — Preacher — had ignored a safe word and had nearly caned his sub to death. “Who did you run afoul, my little dove?” he asked quietly, his stare traveling up her body, resting on each raised welt or bruise, and a growing sense of outrage followed. He didn’t know if the rage was centered on the fact that she’d been so brutalized or that it’d been done in his club.
A grim smile followed. Likely because it was done in his club. Vince was no hero and he didn’t pretend to be. The girl had been stupid to come to his club without a sponsor, clearly standing out like a sore thumb among the jaded and debauched of his membership. Her blonde hair spilled across the black leather like fine yellow silk and he wondered if it were as soft as it appeared. He looked away. She reminded him too much of another blonde he’d once known — Isabel.
He squeezed his eyeballs with his thumb and forefinger, staving off the pounding headache that came from too much liquor and not enough sleep, and made a concentrated effort to empty his mind of anything but the moment at hand. He had a clear set of priorities: Get the girl to the penthouse and medical attention; find the fucker who’d dared to pull this kind of shit, not once, but twice.
Six months ago, another girl had been brutalized in his club. He’d chalked it up to inexperience and had buried the investigation. Once the excitement had died down, it’d been business as usual.
The agitation of his thoughts made it impossible to think straight but one thing was clear, someone was using Malvagio to do bad things.
Very bad things.
And if there was one thing he didn’t abide — it was being used.
Can you say Alpha male? Yummmm. 😉
If you’d like to check out more of Alexx’s books, click HERE.
Happy hot summer reading! Next up on THURSDAY is a snippet from my On Fire Fiction pal Jean Brashear’s: TEXAS REFUGE.