Excerpt Reveal for Copper Lining by Christy Pastore
Copper Lining by Christy Pastore is LIVE!
Life isn’t all mai tais, coconut cupcakes and the big “O,” but it should be.
I met Wes on a beach in Hawaii. Tall, tan, unruly blond hair and don’t even get me started on that gritty southern accent.
To the locals, he was Wes, “The manta ray whisperer.” To me, he was an infuriating, too young for me surfer dude.
But that didn’t stop me from falling into bed with him.
Being with Wes was thrilling, but he’s all wrong for me. All wrong for my life. After our week was over, I snuck out of his beach house without a goodbye. I was never going to see him again, right?
How wrong I was when I walked into Cardwell Bourbon a few months later to find
Weston Cardwell and those smoldering green eyes staring at me from across a conference table.
Working together will be a challenge. His family is counting on me to save their bourbon empire.
Wes and I have nothing in common except for our hot for each other chemistry—it’s hotter than the copper lining in a bourbon barrel.
But that’s the thing about copper, it’s an effective heat conductor—maybe too effective.
Wes leans into me. “Let’s get out of here.” The scruff of his jawline temps me. I want to feel it between my legs.
“Yeah. What do you say to no strings? No promises. One night and then we’re done. You get what you want, and I get laid.”
I cock a brow. “You’re arrogant.”
“I prefer confident. I’ll give you everything you want,” he says, the whisper of his promise slides right over my ear and down to my toes.
The next thing I know, he drags me off my barstool and onto the lanai of the restaurant. Wes pins me between a palm tree and a decorative surfboard. The railing claws at my back as his fingers dig into my hips.
“When you said, let’s get out of here, I thought you meant like your place or mine.”
His mouth curls into a devious smile. “This is just the beginning.”
My mind races again. I picture Wes being intense and fast. I’ve been with two men since my divorce. The first guy wouldn’t let me take his shirt off. Red flags flew up everywhere.
I couldn’t have an orgasm because all I kept thinking about was his chest. What was he hiding underneath? The various images of him showering and swimming with a shirt on passed through my mind.
The second guy was a fumbling, bumbling mess. Absolutely no finesse. He didn’t know his way around a vagina to save his life. It was sloppy and disappointing.
Wes leans in closer and I lick my lips. The air crackles around us. My body vibrates with heat as the anticipation churns through me. I’m helpless to the spell he has over me.
“Minka,” he whispers, and one hand comes up to cup my cheek. My dress feels like sandpaper against my skin.
“One night,” I tell him. Fisting his shirt and drawing him closer.
“One night,” he repeats. Wes’ lips move over mine and the deep low rumbling in his chest sends me over the edge right into the abyss.
The moment my lips touch his, his hands slide up my back, coming to a stop and tangling in my hair.
His mouth claims mine over and over. It’s an extraordinary, dangerous lust that can only be described as combustible.
Oh god, it is the most insanely beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. Wes knows how to kiss.
Meet The Author:
International Bestselling Author and self-proclaimed french fry addict, Christy Pastore writes sexy, contemporary romance books that contain no nonsense (mostly) heroines and swoony gentleman with a naughty side. Readers so overwhelmingly embraced one Wicked Gentleman, Jackson Hart specifically, turning many of her #AuthorGoals into a reality.
When Christy’s not turning her risqué thoughts into something worth reading, you’ll find her geeking out on all things pop culture, obsessively stalking Pinterest for home interior ideas, lunching with friends, or researching her next vacation destination.
She has strong opinions about folding laundry, fruity wines, the Oxford Comma, fashion, and mixed vegetables.
Christy lives in central Indiana with her husband and their two loveable ginger kitties, Cheeto and Dorito. But as cute as they are, please send scratching posts asap because they’re slowly destroying the furniture.
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