SPOTLIGHT & GIVEAWAY: COMPROMISING HER POSITION by SAMANTHE BECK

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Compromising Her Position
a Compromise Me Novel

By: Samanthe Beck

Releasing November 16, 2015
Entangled Brazen

BLURB:

A sexy category romance from Entangled's Brazen imprint...

He's not who she expected, but he's exactly the man she needs…

When Chelsea Wayne drags Santa into a supply closet for a little office party nookie, she assumes the man in the suit is her on-again/off-again coworker boyfriend. Instead, it's Rafe St. Sebastian, a man known for his hard-driving ways in business as well as the bedroom--and, kill her now, the brand spanking new owner of Las Ventanas--who grants her naughtiest Christmas wishes.

So much for her reputation, not to mention her career.

Rafe needs to close three acquisitions to prove to his father he's ready to take the helm of St. Sebastian Enterprises. A hot interlude in a supply closet after deal number two seems like the perfect illicit Christmas bonus. Unfortunately, when that "bonus" becomes the key to the final deal, he finds himself back in bed--so to speak--with Chelsea, and after their steamy tryst, he's not interested in keeping things professional.

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“There is nothing personal between us.”

“I beg to differ. In fact, I’m fairly certain I know your deepest, darkest secret.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

He brought his mouth to her ear. “You knew I wasn’t Paul.”

“No.” The denial, though immediate, sounded slightly breathless, slightly desperate.

She had to have at least suspected, at some point. He refused to believe otherwise. “Not at first. But when I had you clinging to the tables, trembling so hard you could barely stand? You knew.”

“You-you’re delusional. If I’d realized you weren’t Paul, don’t you think I would have stopped you?”

“No. By the time you realized, you didn’t care.” The crowd around them erupted into a countdown.

Ten... He cupped her jaw in one hand... Nine... and slid the other down her back. Then lower. Eight... “You didn’t care about anything except my tongue tracing the path of your thong”—he let his fingers do the honor now—“all the way down until I could taste your sweet, throbbing little—”

“I thought you were Paul!” Her wide eyes darted to his, pupils huge.

Five... “Remember how you used your body to beg for more? There’s no f-ing way you’ve ever begged like that for Paul Barrington. No f-ing way. I could have you begging again.”

Her breathing came in quick, shallow pants. The hands she’d rested lightly on his shoulders tightened, bunching his jacket in a white-knuckled grip. She shook her head. “Not going to happen.”

Three... He was risking getting his face slapped in the middle of a dance floor on New Year’s Eve, but he didn’t care. For some inexcusable reason, he needed to know she wanted him, not Barrington.

Two... He spread his palm over the perfect curve of her ass and hauled her against him, so she’d feel just how well he remembered every damn detail of their last meeting.

One...

“It’s not?” he challenged, and then crushed her lips under his.

Cheers of “Happy New Year” echoed around them over the strains of “Auld Lang Syne.” A flotilla of black and silver balloons sailed down from the ceiling. Guests laughed, and sang, and jostled them while he kissed her. Sparkly, star- shaped confetti rained over everyone and everything, and he kept right on kissing her. Her arms twined around his neck. Her lips parted. She flattened one hand against the back of his head and held on. When he bent her over his arm and swept his tongue into her soft, yielding mouth, she wrapped her leg around his hip. The heat of her body practically seared his thigh through his tuxedo pants.

He trapped her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled. There went his no biting promise, but her shuddery moan told him she didn’t mind.

The song ended. The house lights came up a few notches. He slowly drew her upright, and even more slowly relinquished her mouth. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips plumped from their kiss.

“You’re a terrible liar, Miss Wayne.”

Giving her a grin he hoped didn’t reveal how much the move cost him, he walked away.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Wine lover, sleep fanatic, and USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy contemporary romance novels, Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her long-suffering but extremely adorable husband and their turbo-son, Hud. Throw in a furry ninja named Kitty and Bebe the trash talking Chihuahua and you get the whole, chaotic picture.

When not clinging to sanity by her fingernails or dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-afters, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads

Thanks so much for having me at Book Magic to reveal my top 5 favorite teasers from my new Brazen, Compromising Her Position. I don’t think these require much set-up, but I’ll start by explaining my characters, Rafe and Chelsea, meet in an epic case of mistaken identity when he’s recruited to stand-in as Santa at the office holiday party, (imagine David Gandy in the iconic red suit), and she shoves this wrong Santa into a supply closet and wishes him a Merry Christmas that’s definitely NSFW!

Let’s step into the closet for Teaser #1, shall we?

“Hurry,” Chelsea whispered. “There’s not much time.”

Spurred on by her own warning, she twisted away and bent over the stack of tables to scramble for the little packet of condoms in her purse. Dammit, she couldn’t reach it. She leaned over as far as she dared, and stretched. Her fingertips grazed the bag, and… “Ohmigod!”

Swift fists yanked her skirt up around her waist. Bare hands clamped on her hips, and a hot mouth trailed over her backside. Her leg muscles dissolved. What was he doing to her?

Not bestowing gentle little kisses. Uh-uh. Whatever he was up to involved lips, tongue, and—sweet mercy—teeth. The faux beard tickled her, but she couldn’t blame her restlessness on the props. He was the one making her squirm. Him.

Not ready to leave the closet yet? No problem. We’ll stay put for #Teaser #2!

His mouth roamed lower, and any remaining questions flew out of her mind, along with her sense of propriety and every ounce of her dignity. She arched her back and lifted up onto her tiptoes, praying he could reach the spot that craved his attention from this position. And then he angled his head, and…Oooooh, thank you Santa for your fast, merciless tongue… Air rushed out of her lungs. She must have made a noise, because a stern, “Shhh” reached her ears.

For Teaser #3, I’m taking you to New Year’s Eve, and Rafe calling bullshit on Chelsea…

“You knew I wasn’t Paul.” She had to have at least suspected. He refused to believe otherwise.

“No.” The denial, though immediate, sounded slightly breathless, slightly desperate.

“Not at first. But when I had you clinging to the tables, trembling so hard you could barely stand? You knew.”

“You-you’re delusional. If I’d realized you weren’t Paul, don’t you think I would have stopped you?”

“No. By the time you realized, you didn’t care.” And he was risking getting his face slapped in the middle of a dance floor on New Year’s Eve, but he didn’t care. They had that in common.

The crowd around them erupted into a countdown.

Ten… He cupped her jaw in one hand…

Nine… and slid the other down her back.

Eight… “You didn’t care about anything except my tongue tracing the path of your thong”—he let his fingers do the honor now—“all the way down until I could taste your sweet, throbbing little—”

“I thought you were Paul!” Her wide eyes darted to his, pupils huge.

Five… “Remember how you used your body to beg for more? You never begged like that for Paul Barrington. No fucking way. I could have you begging again.”

Her breathing came in quick, shallow pants. The hands she’d rested lightly on his shoulders tightened, bunching his jacket in a white knuckled grip. She shook her head. “Not going to happen.”

Three… He pulled her closer.

Two… Spread his palm over the perfect curve of her ass and hauled her against him, so she’d feel just how well he remembered every damn detail of their last meeting.

One…“Never?” he challenged, and then crushed her lips under his.

Cheers of, “Happy New Year” echoed around them over the strains of Auld Lang Syne.

A flotilla of black and silver balloons sailed down from the ceiling, and he kissed her.Sparkly, star-shaped confetti rained over everyone and everything, and he kept right on kissing her.

Her arms twined around his neck. Her lips parted. She flattened one hand against the back of his head and held on. When he bent her over his arm and swept his tongue into her soft, yielding mouth, she wrapped her leg around his hip. The heat of her body practically seared his thigh through his tuxedo pants.

He trapped her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled. So much for his no biting promise, but her shuddery moan told him she didn’t mind.

The song ended. The house lights came up a few notches. He slowly drew her upright and even more slowly, relinquished her mouth. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips plumped from their kiss.

“You’re a terrible liar, Miss Wayne.”

For Teaser #4…well…rules are rules!

“There you go, breaking the rules again. I’ve figured out something about you Miss Wayne.”

“You think so?” Those big, brown eyes flashed with impatience.

“What happened in the closet wasn’t a wayward impulse. You secretly like breaking the rules.” As he spoke, he dipped his fingers into his drink, and then traced the v of her thong. She shivered when drops of the cold liquor rolled down her skin, then shivered again as he followed the wet trails with his fingertips. Her eyelids drooped, and she murmured, “Maybe.”

He stilled his hand. She lifted her hips, seeking his touch.

“Sometimes when you break the rules, you get punished.”

Don’t you love a man who knows how to apologize? Yep, I thought so. Enjoy teaser #5!

“What are you doing?”

He held back a laugh and bestowed a kiss high on the inside of one thigh. “Apologizing.” So saying, he opened the nightstand drawer and took out a tube of Tradewinds’ Tropical Passion Edible Massage Gel.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “We charge sixty dollars for that stuff.”

“You can’t put a price on forgiveness.” He kissed the other thigh.

“I forgive you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accept words.” He lubed his fingers. “Now, tell me where it hurts. Here? Or here?” He drew a leisurely figure eight, around and around, until her head dropped back.

“That feels like heaven. I definitely forgive you.”

“I need to know your forgiveness runs deep. I need to hear it ringing in my ears. I need to taste it.”

“Oh, God…"

His first long, slow, apology had her grabbing fistfuls of his hair. The second loosened her tongue. “I forgive you. Completely. I swear.”

He kept the apologies coming, slow and steady, until she planted her feet on his shoulders and lifted her hips. Signal received. He apologized faster, and faster still when her heels dug into his collarbones like stirrups. She practically levitated with forgiveness.

Seconds later, she stiffened, threw her head back and granted him something that sounded like complete and total absolution.

Hope my teasers brought a smile, (and a blush), to your face! Happy holidays, my lovelies.