Tomorrow, we are getting a brand new standalone second chance romance from Daisy Prescott, a Romantic Comedy set in Aspen, and I have a never-seen-before excerpt for you!
Excerpt
See the girl up there, shaking her ass and bending over to flash her cleavage at the crowd of clapping people below her?
The one who happily did a blow job shot off the bar without using her hands a few minutes before the dancing began?
The girl who can’t stop laughing?
She’s having the best vacation of her life.
That’s me.
I’m the girl on the bar.
When my foot slips on a wet spot and I lose my balance, I don’t fall into a heap on the floor. Oh no. I swan dive into the crowd where big manly hands catch me in the best re-creation of the big move in Dirty Dancing.
Where’s the video of this moment to show the future grandkids?
See how Super Girl—that’s me—shows her gratitude with a sloppy kiss right then and there? Full tongue action in the middle of the bar while people whoop?
Yes, actual whooping, my friends.
And I don’t even know his name.
Nor do I care.
Tall, dark, and handsome slides me down the front of his body and gently places me back on solid ground. He kindly holds my ass to keep me balanced while making me dizzy with his kiss.
It’s possible the dizziness is from the booze fest of the evening catching up with me.
I’d rather pretend he’s my perfect kissing match.
Yes, some people are terrible kissers, but most of us manage to get it right. It all comes down to a matter of preference. Maybe there’s someone out there who loves open mouth tongue kisses as much as you do. Or is also a fan of the nibbles. Nibblers unite! I’m sure the girl with dry mouth appreciates a man who gives sloppy, wet kisses.
It’s all a matter of finding a kissing match.
Mystery man is mine.
I have plans for him.
Big plans if the size of his hands mean anything.
Please let the old adage be true.
Please let big hands mean big other things.
And not feet.
I mean his penis.
Thank you.
The need for oxygen forces me to break away from his amazing kissing lips as I try to catch my breath.
Everything overwhelms my senses. Stuffy air clogs my lungs. Lights pulse and swirl around me. Music blares. The bass thumps so loud it resonates deep inside my ribcage.
At least I think it’s the bass. It could be my heart. An after effect of his kiss.
“I need some fresh air.” Turning away, I stumble toward the door.
I attempt to navigate the crowd, but no one will move out of my way. Mystery kisser steps in front of me and leads the way with his big hands and his tall height.
He’s the human version of one of those ice breaker ships in the Antarctic. I am a tiny, happy penguin swimming in his wake.
The push of people near the front door blocks our exit. There’s no way this crowd isn’t breaking fire codes and capacity laws.
“Too many people,” I shout. “There’s no escape.”
A big guy shoulders me and I lose my grip on his hand. The crowd begins to swallow me like a zombie horde. I try to protest, but shouts about Jell-O shots drown out my voice.
This is the story of my life.
I’m shoved and pushed back in the direction I came from. With the determination of a horny salmon, I force myself against the current. I need fresh air soon or someone’s going to get their shoes ruined.
It’s hopeless. I’m about to give up when strong arms wrap around me and suddenly I’m airborne.
“Come on, Tony, let’s get out of here.”
“Did you call me Tony?” I don’t really have a choice but to go with him, considering I’m currently resting over his shoulder like a fifty-pound bag of dog food.
More like a hundred and fifty pounds.
Okay, one sixty.
Doesn’t matter because the way he carries me is effortless.
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Love with Altitude - Recommended Reading Order
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