Posted by Lexxie Couper on Tuesday, July 10th, 2012
Next month, the second book in the Foreign Affairs series is released. How cool is that. So to give you all a taste of what is to come, here’s a little snippet from Misplaced Cowboy, which finds an Aussie stockman (aka cowboy) in New York. Alone…
Monet gaped at him. She’d never gaped at anyone before in her life, but here she was, gaping at Dylan, eyes wide, hands frozen halfway to her face, as if they didn’t know whether to clap together or cover her open mouth.
Oh God, he’d punched the crap out of Phillip.
“Dylan,” she managed, shaking herself out of her stupor. “You can’t just…” She shot a look at Phillip sprawled on the floor. Blood oozed from a cut on his lip, his face a mix of stunned confusion and indignant disbelief.
“I’m going to fucking sue!” he blustered, trying to scramble to his feet. It seemed an exercise in futility, however, when his heels slipped, his ass slapping back to the polished marble floor with a thud.
Monet ignored him, swinging her attention to Dylan. “You can’t just…hit someone because you don’t like what they say about you. Not in New York.”
The shadow cast over Dylan’s face from his hat couldn’t hide his incredulous expression. “Hell, love.” He took a step back, shaking his head. “I didn’t hit the bastard ’cause of what he said about me. I hit him because of what he said to you.”
Monet shook her head. “That’s just ridiculous. Why would you hit him because of me?”
Dylan’s frown turned him into the poster boy for all things rugged and manly. “I don’t care if this is New York, when a bloke insults a woman like Phillip insulted you, a man steps in and shuts him up.”
Monet’s mouth fell open. Again.
He’d defended her honor. The Aussie cowboy just defended her honor. Was he for—
The thought didn’t even finish forming in her head. How could it when her body took over and propelled her forward.
Straight into his arms. Her lips claiming his.
The kiss took her completely by surprise. As it did Dylan. Monet could tell by the way every muscle in his body—his hard, firm, muscular body—locked up. For a brief second, she thought he was going to push her away. He should. He was here for Annie. Hell, she should pull away. But she couldn’t. And he didn’t.
Instead, just as one-date-only Phillip sputtered, “What the fuck?” from the floor, Dylan’s arms slid around Monet’s waist, his hands flattened on her back and he hauled her closer to return the kiss.
Really return her kiss.
His tongue delved past her lips, finding hers and stroking it with possessive greed. He bunched his hands into fists, knotting the cotton of her shirt as he drove his hips forward. Monet moaned into his mouth, the undeniable length of his thickening cock making her head swim. Or maybe it was the sheer potency of his kiss. His teeth caught her bottom lip, nipping gently before he sucked on the fleshy pad.
She whimpered, raking her nails over his back, drowning in the waves of pleasure washing over her.
With a growl, Dylan’s mouth laid claim again, his tongue wild and hungry as it mated with hers. She rolled her hips, needing to feel his cock rub against the curve of her sex.
Stop, Monnie…the gallery…people watching…
Dylan’s mouth dragged up to her ear, to the sensitive dip beneath it. Monet’s gasp left her on a hitching breath, her belly flip-flopping as his tongue darted over her flesh. She bowed her neck, the feel of his lips exploring her skin too exquisite to deny.
He groaned against her throat, drawing her closer to his body, his hands smoothing down her back to her ass. He cupped each cheek, holding her as his lips returned to hers and his tongue fucked her mouth. It was unlike any kiss she’d experienced before. It told her exactly what effect she had on him, exactly what he wanted to do to her.
Oh Monnie, think about what you’re doing…
Somewhere at her feet, someone unimportant cursed again. Somewhere to her left, someone made a wooo! noise. Someone else clapped enthusiastically. None of it mattered. How could it when she was being swept away by a single kiss?
A kiss so right, so damn perfect she could feel her panties grow damp. A kiss so fierce and demanding and impatient she wanted to strip naked and ride Dylan’s face, his tongue. A kiss so carnal she wanted to impale herself on his cock as his hands cupped and squeezed her breasts. Wanted to be taken by him right here, right now, on the gallery floor as the whole of New York witnessed her pleasure.
She dragged her nails over his broad back, around his narrow hips until, wriggling her hands between their two bodies, she found his belt buckle—