Layla Morgan is tired of getting into trouble, and getting hurt. And she fears her
wild nature is going to strike yet again. But maybe this time, she’s finally met the guy that can stand close enough to touch her inner flames, and not get burned.
Tyler Lachlan doesn’t stand a chance of resisting the delicious distraction of the mystery woman across Times Square. He’s sure there’s more to her than her sultry voice and mahogany thighs, but he doesn’t know if he’s willing to risk his career to find out.
Could what began as a voyeuristic affair across Times Square develop into something more?
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Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce – Book Two (expected release date December 2012)
Amy Easton is hell-bent on making this Thanksgiving holiday perfect for Dad, and herself. But when she arrives at Martha’s house, she quickly realizes she is in way over her head. She has no idea how to run a holiday, especially one in someone else’s home. What will Dad’s new girlfriend think when Amy screws it all up?
Mason Rider is blindsided by the woman in the grocery store headed for the last can of cranberry sauce. He lets her charm him right out of it and leaves with a non-committal maybe that she’ll call him next week. He should be more focused on helping mom through her first post-divorce Thanksgiving, but he can’t help but lust after the Kindergarten teacher with a hard edge.
When he comes home to find the sexy cranberry-stealing blonde and her father in Mom’s house, his holiday hook up plans burn to cinders. Will he be able to resist Amy’s temper and spontaneous nature, or will his desire force him to break a promise he made to his mother?
Author’s Bio
Rachell Nichole is saucy mama who writes Sizzling Romantic Entanglements. She is the author of An Affair Across Times Square, Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce, and A Marietta Wedding. Rachell lives in New York with a mountain of books, a loving family, and an evil cat named Godiva that she adores.
Website / Blog / Facebook
Excerpt:
An Affair Across Times Square: From Chapter Two
Layla froze as he came back into view.
Gorgeous. A trim goatee covered his square jaw, making him look distinguished. She’d never thought Times Square was so big and small at the same time. Before, she hadn’t really thought of it at all except with some barely concealed disdain. She watched as he went about what appeared to be normal business, his thick shoulders bunching with every movement. He shuffled a few papers on his desk, sat down, and fiddled with his computer. Not once did he look out his window again. Layla ignored the sinking feeling at his lack of attention.
She refused to open the curtain the rest of the way and try to entice him, as much as she wished to. Because this could be almost as dangerous as another affair with a married man. So she contented herself with watching him until he looked up. Her breath caught in her throat. He shook his head and returned to his work. Could he feel her watching him? He glanced at her again. Could he see her watching him? She held his gaze through the half-inch gap in the fabric and waited, holding her breath until he looked down again. She dropped the curtain.
Her plan to release some steam and settle down had been blown to shreds, because now her stomach was knotted with the what-ifs. The soft carpet against the backs of her thighs tickled, urging her to move. Her body still felt too sensitive, too aroused. She needed to shower and get her head screwed on straight. And stay as far away from her window as possible until she figured out what to do.
Grabbing the edge of the table, Layla pulled herself up and slid off her high heels, using the solid surface beneath her fingers for support. She walked on shaky legs through the living room and kitchenette area, then into her bedroom and to the bathroom, refusing to look back and steal a glimpse. Thank God the curtains in the bedroom were closed too. She set her glasses on the sink. Had he been as turned on as she was?
She closed herself into the bathroom. Mulling over the ideas in her head, she rolled down her black thigh-highs one at a time. Maybe she could leave her curtains open tomorrow morning when she got home just to see what would happen. He probably wouldn’t even be there. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed about that. She shook her head, deciding it didn’t matter.
After unhooking her bra, she tossed it and her panties in the corner with the rest of her dirties. The maids must love me. Though, of course, they did, and she knew it. They’d told her before that they didn’t mind taking care of her, and for that she was grateful. She turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower. She let the heat seep into her muscles and relax her shoulders. Sitting down in the tub, Layla grabbed the stopper and let the showerhead fill the basin with water. She lay back until the water covered her stomach, all the while trying to decide if she should give in to her wild nature and torture Mr. Times Square.
Excerpt:
Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce: From Chapter One
Where the hell was the cranberry sauce?
Amy Easton turned down the aisle of baking goods, searching for the last item Martha needed her to get. She had to find the damned can. This holiday would be perfect if it fucking killed her. The chain on her boots jangled as she hunted. The gallon of milk and box of stick butter froze her hands, but they’d been out of carts and Martha needed them both for first thing in the morning.
She dodged an older lady pushing a heavy cart as she careened around the corner at the end of the aisle. She still didn’t spot the display. The stock boy had told her it was on aisle six, and here she stood at the end of aisle six, empty handed. Sighing, Amy turned and headed up the aisle again, her eyes roving left and right. She forced herself to slow down, fearing she’d miss the display.
Thanksgiving just wouldn’t be the same without it.
Martha had said the same thing earlier that evening when she’d sent Amy to the store. The woman was a Domestic Goddess. The way Mom used to be, the way Amy would never be. So when Martha had panicked after being unable to get in touch with her son on his way from the airport, Amy had volunteered to go get it. She’d be useless in the kitchen tomorrow, so it was the least she could do. Besides, it got her out of the house and away from the smooching her dad and Martha kept doing when they thought she wasn’t looking.
It was sweet, really. And Amy couldn’t be happier with the way Dad was slowly coming back to life under Martha’s tutelage, but she could do without seeing her dad making out. She wanted to throw up her hands or punch something. Where the hell was that damn can?
There!
She spotted the display across the end of aisle six. One lonely can of cranberry sauce sat on the shelf, as if it had waited just for her. She hadn’t thought Martha would be the kind of person to leave the shopping till the last minute, but apparently a few things had slipped her mind this year. With Amy and her dad down visiting, she wouldn’t be surprised if Martha had been a little worried about how things would go.
A tall man with reddish brown curls was coming down the aisle diagonal to her. Heading for that damned can. She didn’t know where else to go around here to find one. She had to get to that can first. She picked up the pace and just as he turned the corner, she body checked his cart, flying back on her ass and dropping the milk and butter, just as the can of cranberry sauce flew off the shelf toward her.
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