I Love Romance: NOW AVAILABLE

One blind date changes everything.

Unlikely Date, a steamy, playboy meets good girl contemporary romance from Amazon bestselling author Samantha Christy, is available now!

Town playboy.

CEO extraordinaire.

Monumental prick.

And my blind date.

Tag Calloway is toxic. If you aren’t in his small inner circle of friends, you’re nothing.

An inconvenience at best.

And it’s just my luck that my first blind date—heck, my first date since ‘The Incident’––happens to be with him.

I’ve spent years hiding myself from men. From life. Wallowing in guilt and camouflaging my body.

I live for one reason. Gigi. The broken-condom accident who has become the singular light of my life.

Why did I let my friends talk me into this?

He’s the last person I should trust with my feelings. My body. My scars.

But when our night turns into something I never expected, common sense fails me and I fall hard, knowing this time, it won’t be my body that suffers gruesome damage, it will be my heart.

Download your copy today on Amazon or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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Read on for an excerpt!

“Let’s get it over with then,” she says, as if completely uninterested. “The next episode is one of my favorites.”

My eyes fall to her lips. The lips I watched spew words to two other men I wished were me. The pouty pink lips I’ve been imagining running up and down my cock for the last four hours. The lips I’d trade the Range for if they’d just whisper my name.

“Well?” she says impatiently, her mouth waiting like a question.

Fuck. I’m almost thirty goddamn years old. I’ve never been nervous about anything. I started my own business on a loan that could have bankrupted me. I double majored in college even though it meant pulling all-nighters and hiring tutors. I’ve slept with models, television actresses, and Brazilian beauties. Yet, right here, right now, in front of FlowerGirl529, my entire body wound like a bow string, I have fucking stage fright.

I clear my throat and set my drink down. I crack my knuckles and shift my weight. Her hazel eyes peer up at me. Waiting. Wanting. Maybe even challenging. And Tag Calloway never backs down from a challenge. I put a hand on the back of her neck and close the gap between us.

“Time to collect,” I say, just as my lips find hers.

Her eyes close, as do my own. This is a one-time thing and both of us know it. After today, this moment, this kiss, she’ll go back to being the sheepish flower shop owner, and I’ll continue being the CEO asshat everyone thinks I am.

Our lips brush together tentatively, the warmth of hers consuming me instantaneously. It’s nothing like I expected. Her lips don’t form a firm line, a barrier against which I’m not allowed to pass. Her mouth doesn’t stay shut. My tongue doesn’t have to force an entrance. Her lips part willingly and invite me inside. And when our tongues meet, it’s fervent, greedy, explosive; each of us fighting for something we don’t even know exists. Neither of us wins. Or we both do, it’s hard to tell.

I’ve never been a big fan of kissing. Now I feel it’s landed in my top ten and is quickly moving its way up the list. My cock protests to the order change and is reminding me painfully that he will steadfastly hold on to the number one spot.

She tastes of wicked temptation and sinful delight, and it has every cell in my body erupting with desire. With the way I’m panting, I pray the taste of cigarettes is no longer on my breath. It’s an invocation that’s never crossed my mind before now.

A mewl escapes her. My cock thinks it’s all for him and thickens further. I tell him to fuck off, her lips are all mine. He can wait his turn. It’s a turn he knows he’ll never have, and he’s pissed. He throbs against my boxer briefs, begging to be seen. Felt. Paid attention to.

I give into him, but only so much as in I walk her back to the wall and press myself against her. There’s no way she doesn’t feel my hardness through our robes. She doesn’t protest. She does the opposite and deepens the kiss, exploring my mouth and sucking on my tongue. My cock thinks it’s a preview and is happy with this. For the moment anyway. And this time, a sound escapes me.

She holds me against her, hands running across my shoulders, my back, even the top of my ass as she kisses me with toe-curling determination. I move her head to the side, exposing her neck, and let my lips devour her jaw, the supple skin below her ear, her collarbone. The peachy scent of her hair invades my nose, driving my want for her.

My hands cup her face and move along her jawline back into her hair as I pull her lips to mine. I expect her to pull away, say the kiss is over. One kiss is all we bargained for. She doesn’t. Her swollen lips part for mine, and once again, our tongues engage in battle. I fear it’s a fight that’s going to leave both of us in ashes.

I suck her lower lip. She bites mine. Our chests mash together, leaving me unsure if the thud I feel is her heartbeat or mine. Maybe it’s both and they’re beating in sync. Her breathing is heavy and ragged, her chest rising and falling as if she’s running a marathon. I should know. I’m running the same race.

I taste her again, sucking her tongue. Needing more. Needing everything she’ll give me.

There’s a loud noise in the hall, and Maddie pulls back. I want to go out there and kill the fucker who put an end to this. I take half a step back, staring down into her eyes as I wonder if the kiss rendered them glassy, or the alcohol.

“I, uh…” She ducks under my arm and walks to the mini fridge. She downs a full bottle of water before sitting on the bed.

My balls remind me they’re so blue they’re about to explode. I thumb to the bathroom door. “I’m gonna…”

Whack off? Take a cold shower? Fucking cry?

About Samantha Christy

Samantha Christy’s passion for writing started long before her first novel was published. Graduating from the University of Nebraska with a degree in Criminal Justice, she held the title of Computer Systems Analyst for The Supreme Court of Wisconsin and several major universities around the United States. Raised mainly in Indianapolis, but also living in Lincoln, NE for a time, she decided to devote herself to family upon the birth of her third child and became a stay-at-home mom. It was then when the writing bug really took hold as she was a voracious reader. Being a stay-at-home mom facilitated her ability to follow her dream of becoming an author.

When she is not writing, she keeps busy cruising to every Caribbean island ships sail to. Samantha Christy currently resides near St. Augustine, Florida with her husband and the two of her four children who haven’t flown the nest. Oh, and her dog, Ozzy, who she worships and thinks is the most adorable Whoodle on the planet.

Connect with Samantha

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Website: https://samanthachristy.com/

She’s too hot to handle, and I’m about to get burned.

Big Hose, an all new scorching hot, firefighter contemporary romance from New York Times bestselling author Jasinda Wilder, is now available!

Putting out fires is more than just a job, it's my passion in life. There’s no time for anything else but the job...until I meet her. And now I’m on fire for her, only there's no hose big enough to extinguish these flames.

She’s too hot to handle, and I’m about to get burned.

* * *
Saving lives is what I do. As a career paramedic married to the job, I’ve never thought much about my love life—or my lack of one, if I’m being honest—until it's his life I'm worried about saving. Now I’ve got a scorching hot firefighter burning up my life and setting my body on fire. No matter how hot he is or how hot things are between us, however, there’s one rule in my life which I refuse to break: Never date a fireman.

* * *
Will we find each other in the flames of this romance, or will we simply add another scar to the collection?

Fall in love today!

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Read on for an Excerpt!

It’s the medic from earlier, the curvy one with the long-ass black hair. I’m closer, this time, and up close, she’s even more stunning. Her face is perfectly symmetrical, her eyes huge and brown, her lashes thick, lips plump and in a naturally perfect cupid’s bow. And shit, the way her medic blues fit her insane curves leaves my jaw damn near on the floor.

She doesn’t even register me standing at the entrance, mere feet away: there’s a godawful ruckus coming from the back of the bus. She yanks open the rear doors and heaves herself up and in.

“Mr. Wilson, you need to calm down.” Her voice is hard, commanding. Short-tempered. “If you keep kicking up a fuss like this, I’m going to be forced to sedate you.”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, YOU DUMB BITCH! LET ME GO! LET ME GO, GODDAMMIT!”

The medic goes flying backward out of the bus, landing on her heels and quick-stepping backward. Instinct takes over, and I lunge forward, catching her in my arms. For a split second, I’m just holding her. She’s equal parts taut and firm, lithe and soft, delicate and warm. And for that split second, she seems tempted to just…relax into my arm. Let me hold her.

A spark jolts through me, like I grabbed onto a live wire. My skin tingles, my hair stands on end, and my lungs seize, breath whooshing out of me.

I’m hard as a fucking diamond, behind my pants.

The split second is gone, and she’s rocketing out of my arms like she felt the shock as clearly as I did. She shakes herself like a dog shaking water off, storming forward with her fists clenched.

“That’s it, Mr. Wilson,” she grits out between clenched molars. “I told you.”

Mr. Wilson is a wiry old white guy, with a shock of hair that looks like he stuck his fingers in an electrical socket. He’s wigged the hell out, thrashing like a madman despite being restrained by the gurney straps. The other medic, the young Black man from earlier, is trying his damndest to hold the old man down, but it’s like trying to wrestle a wet horse.

I grab the sexy medic’s arm and hold her back. “Let me.”

“The fuck I will,” she snarls.

I’m already climbing up and into the bus, ignoring her protests. I latch onto the patient’s wrists and pin his thrashing feet to the gurney with my hips. I fix him with my you’re gonna listen like it or not glare, and make it clear no amount of thrashing is going to budge my iron grip.

“Cool the fuck off, old man.” I growl the command. I let go of one of his wrists, pinioning them both with one hand, and hold out my empty hand. “Needle.”

I feel the syringe slap into my palm.

“You got two options, here, pal.” I flick the cap off the needle and press the tip to the outside of his skinny little bicep. “One, you quit the tantrum and get yourself treated like a goddamn adult. Option two, I jab this shit into you, and I can’t guarantee how gentle I’ll be. You feel me?”

He stills, but his eyes snap with defiance. “Get off me.”

“Wrong answer.” I press the needle harder. “Last chance.”

“Fine, goddamnit, fine. That shit constipates me.”

I snicker. “Then quit acting like a child.”

“I don’t need no ambulance. I’m fuckin’ fine.”

The Black medic coughs a laugh. “You had a stroke two weeks ago and you just overdosed on Vicodin. You’re not fine.”

I blink. “How is he alive? Much less upright and pitching a tantrum?”

The medic shrugs. “Hell if I know. Bastard isn’t human.”

“I heard that you goddamn—”

I silence him with a glare. “You better not fucking finish saying what I think you’re about to say.”

He holds up his hands. “I wasn’t gonna say that. I ain’t no racist.”

“Get out of my bus,” a female voice says from behind me.

I climb backward and out, turn to face a very pissed-off but still drop-dead sexy medic. “What’s his story?”

She just glares at me. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You’d be the one getting stitches if I hadn’t caught you.”

She just glares. “My bus, my patient.”

I hold up my hands. “Fine, sorry for nothing, then. Damn.”

She reaches for the syringe still in my hand. “Give me that.” She snatches it from me as I extend it to her. “You can’t threaten patients. Who the fuck trained you?”

“If the patient is acting a fool and risking the safety of the medics trying to help him, I sure as fuck can. I didn’t threaten him, anyway. Not with anything you weren’t about to do.”

She goes nose to nose with me—well, nose to collarbone, since she’s several inches shorter than me; her glare is impressively intimidating, but it’s somewhat undercut by the fact that as she sidles up and stands nose to nose with me, holding her ground and glaring fit to murder, her breasts press against my chest, and that’s all I can fucking think about.

“My bus,” she repeats, slowly, furiously, “my patient. Go back to your fire and your hoses and leave me the hell alone.”

I hold her gaze and try like hell to keep my eyes from wandering down to her generous, button-straining chest.

I fail.

Her hiss of disgust is…well, if it could be used as a weapon, I’d be dead.

She presses all five fingers of both hands into my chest and pushes me away, eyes stabbing murderous fury into mine. “Go…away.”

I back up slowly, holding her eyes. “You’re welcome.” I wink at her, shooting her the grin which, according to the guys at the station, is guaranteed to melt panties at fifty paces.

She growls like a cornered raccoon; her panties are decidedly not melted.

I hold up my hands palms out. “Damn, girl. Don’t shoot. I was just trying to help. It’s instinct.”

“Well take your instincts and fuck off.” She pivots away from me, heading toward her bus, where the Black medic is currently wrestling the gurney down, the patient still muttering imprecations under his breath.

Fuck, fuck, and double-fuck—the girl is all curves. If her tits were about to pop the buttons off her shirt, her ass is popping the seams of her uniform slacks. Not tall, maybe five-six, five-seven at most, she’s one hundred percent hot-as-fuck, mind-altering, cock-hardening, dead-sexy curves.

I don’t even try to not stare at her ass as she helps pull the gurney off the bus. I can’t not stare—it’s a biological imperative.

She stops and shoots a glare at me over her shoulder. “Quit staring at my ass.”

“I’m trying, I swear. Not my fault you’ve got an ass that don’t quit.”

There’s a muffled cough from her partner, and his eyes cut to mine, expressing amusement he dares not otherwise let her see. “We’d better get Mr. Wilson into treatment before the sheer stubbornness that’s keeping him alive wears off.”

I finally manage to rip myself away from the sexy medic and her hypnotic ass. Head for my truck, climb behind the wheel, start the motor…and go nowhere.

She’s pushing from the back end while her partner pulls from the front—I just can’t resist one last long, lingering look as she vanishes inside.

“That is one hell of a woman,” I say out loud.

She hates me, but goddamn is she gorgeous. And honestly, the fiery fury of her is intoxicating. I don’t know her name, but I know I’ll be dreaming about her tonight.

Meet Jasinda

NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, WALL STREET JOURNAL and international bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. Her bestselling titles include ALPHA, STRIPPED, WOUNDED, and the #1 Amazon and international bestseller FALLING INTO YOU. You can find her on her farm in Northern Michigan with her husband, author Jack Wilder, her six children and menagerie of animals.

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DEAL ALERT

I’ve waited three long years for this…

The Spy, a dark and explosive forbidden mafia standalone romance in the Kingmakers Series from bestselling author Sophie Lark is ¢99 for one day only!