Contest: Kiss A Stranger For Luck

And the winner is…EVERYONE!

Since I didn’t have that many entries, I decided to give everyone who entered a free copy of Cooking With Sin!

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St. Patrick’s Day traditions abound from wearing green  to cooking corn beef and cabbage, but my favorite tradition is giving a kiss for luck!

So of course, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a hot pucker up in my most recent release and St. Patrick’s Day-themed romance, Cooking With Sin.

Sure, this paranormal, interracial romance centers around a foodie, who can’t cook, and a sailor, who finds it hard to step out on a limb.  But what makes this book a St. Patrick’s Day themed-romance is its hero who’s part Cuban and Irish and the setting, a restaurant in downtown historic Savannah, Georgia during its wildest celebrations St. Patrick’s Day weekend. Oh! And the following excerpt where Sinclair shows Cole one of the best traditions on this day of green.

COOKING WITH SIN EXCERPT:

For the past hour and a half, Senior Chief Petty Officer Cole Rodriguez had been a perfect freakin’ gentleman. The wasted opportunity almost made her want to cry in her drink. The very idea of the two of them together did wicked things to her libido. Every single inch of her body ached for his touch. Her breasts felt heavier than normal, her pulse raced, and her […] throbbed.

Just take him upstairs already! This was the twenty-first century, for goodness’ sake. Women could be as sexually liberated as men. She wasn’t on the pill, but she always kept a box of condoms in her lingerie drawer, just in case.

Unfortunately, just in case had been more than eighteen months ago.

Why am I torturing myself? Bad enough she’d fantasized about kissing him for the past two hours, now her mind traveled a little farther down the yellow brick road and had him buck naked and stretched out on her bed. The more she thought about him…her…them together, the more Sinclair squirmed. And her body grew all moist and sticky in all the most inappropriate places.

Before she could make a beeline for the ladies’ room, he spoke. “Are those church bells ringing?”

Sinclair cocked her head and listened. Sure enough, she heard the bells from the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. “The bells ring at every hour.” She looked down at her watch, then back at him. It was midnight. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day, sailor.”

“Right back at you.” He chuckled as he took another swill of his beer. As expected, his tongue darted out as he set the bottle back down on the bar. She bet he tasted better than the drink he was sipping.

“So what kind of local traditions can I expect?”

Without taking her eyes off his mouth, Sinclair responded, “You know, the usual. Morning parade, everyone wears green. The Catholics go to mass. They tint the water green in the Forsyth Park fountain. All the bars serve green-tinted beer, and the restaurants mark up the corned beef with cabbage.”

He smirked. “Doesn’t sound much different from back home in Boston,” he drawled, barely pulling her out of her thoughts of mutual ravishing.

Sinclair would debate her mental state later, but right now what she had in mind seemed perfectly sane and long overdue. Tired of ogling him and fantasizing about the countless positions they could try out before dawn, she put aside her reservations. Abandoning her post behind the bar, she walked around and sat down on the bar stool next to him.

“Um…I forgot to mention one more tradition,” she said, almost swooning. The man was lethal to her system.

“And what’s that?” His gaze swept over her with a fiery caress.

Thank goodness she’d done her homework! In order to get the restaurant ready for one of the largest St. Patrick’s Day celebrations outside Boston, she’d researched everything surrounding the holiday that was celebrated to remember one of Ireland’s patron saints. But of course her intentions were far from saintly and more about taking certain liberties than getting the holiday right.

“You have to kiss a stranger for luck.”

Cole eyed her sideways. Sinclair instinctively knew he’d go along with whatever she wanted. The way his eyes devoured her spoke volumes.

Still, she reached up and made an X over the center of her chest. “Scout’s honor and all that—”

Before she could finish, he grabbed the bottom of her bar stool and slowly pulled it toward him until their knees touched.

“How should we do this?” he asked.

“I think it’s traditional for the woman to initiate the kiss.” From the twinkle in his hazel green eyes, Sinclair could tell he was turned on by the idea.

Unable to waste another minute, she slipped from the bar stool, landing inside the open spread of his legs. Sinclair reached up and framed his face with her hands. At the moment of contact, her toes curled. Traces of a five o’clock shadow tickled her fingertips.

Sinclair only meant to kiss him on the cheek, but his fresh masculine scent tickled both her nose and her sexual itch, galvanizing her to go for more. With her gaze focused on her target, Sinclair edged toward him. His eyes dipped to her mouth while his hands gripped her waist, pulling her into him.

Acting on instinct, her mouth touched his in a slow, sensual glide, and the tip of her tongue slid along his lips. He tasted somewhat acidic, like the hops in the beer he’d imbibed, yet utterly delicious.

Sinclair shuddered. A fluttering sensation had unfurled in the pit of her stomach. Wanting more, she applied pressure. His mouth opened under hers, and she grasped his lower lip and sucked on it, provoking a low, meaningful growl from Cole that made her even hotter.

His reaction only heightened her raging desire. It slammed into her, flooding her senses, overloading them and bringing out the animal in her. Hard hit, she slid her hands from his face and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him closer. Her tongue tangled and grappled with his. Hot and wet, it should be a sin for a man to taste that good!

Sinclair deepened the kiss, slowly drawing him into her. The deeper intimacy should have dampened the inferno running rampant through her system, but it didn’t. She just wanted more. As if sensing her need, he wrapped his muscular arms around her and crushed her against him.

And just like that, he turned the tables on her.

His kissed her with a reckless abandon that stole her breath away and some of her common sense as well. Because with each toe-curling parry of his tongue, all she could think of was both of them naked and upstairs in her bed.

Why couldn’t they? They were both consenting adults. And as long as they played it safe, neither of them would get hurt, and she wouldn’t wind up pregnant.

Done with easing her conscience, Sinclair broke away from him. “Should we take this upstairs?” she panted. He tried to recapture her mouth, but she pulled back slightly out of reach.

Equally out of breath, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Be sure about what you’re asking.”

Sinclair grasped at his broad shoulders. “Not asking; practically begging.”

“Say it.” He leaned in and stole an all too brief kiss.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

He shook his head, and Sinclair almost cried out in despair. Now was not the time for games! Unless they were playing hide the cock in the slot.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, enunciating each word with a kiss along her jawline. Sinclair’s heart hammered against her breastbone, and her pulse pounded in her ears. Without even second-guessing her decision, as per her usual habit, she said, “I want you…

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So what’s your tradition for St. Patrick’s Day?  If you leave a comment below by midnight tonight, you’ll be entered to win a FREE copy of Cooking With Sin!

DON’T THINK YOU HAVE THE LUCK OF THE IRISH? YOU CAN BUY COOKING WITH SIN HERE!

But even better than this contest, go out and kiss a stranger for luck;)