It’s Excerpt Monday again! Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

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This is an excerpt from the contest entry that I submitted to the NEC RWA’s First Kiss contest. I ended up winning first place. Not bad for a beginner. Enjoy!

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“What do you want?”

What did he want? Was she kidding? She came in, wearing almost no makeup, some casual polo shirt and flip flops instead of those heels she’d been teetering on since they met, and she had never looked more beautiful to him. She had stolen his breath, and he acted like a stunned teenage nerd faced with the head cheerleader’s naked body. And now she was offering herself up on a platter, and she wanted to know what he wanted?

Ethan wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his room, toss her on the bed, lift her skirt and introduce himself to the scrap of lace he caught a peep of earlier when she bent over. He wanted to lay her down naked and kiss every inch of her. He wanted to know, to possess.

He shouldn’t. Getting involved with an assignment was the quickest way to get fired. But he wanted to. And it was killing him.

Ethan took a deep breath, prepared to give her some space, when Sarah whispered, “It’s alright. I understand. Not your type.” She looked down at the floor, dropping her hands. She thought he didn’t want her, that he wasn’t attracted to her. Could anything be farther from the truth?

“Christ,” he muttered as he cupped her chin, raised her face and was met with the saddest pair of eyes he’d seen since his niece’s goldfish died. It was the first sign she had ever given him of vulnerability. A rare glimpse behind the tough front she had put on since he met her. He couldn’t resist it. He murmured another curse and dipped his head to kiss.

He wanted to crush her mouth beneath his, take, seize. Instead, he forced himself to be slow, to savor what he knew he wouldn’t taste again. Their lips met in feather light contact, and it was almost as if she sighed in relief. He placed his hands flat on the door, his fingers almost curling with the restraint of not touching. Because if he let them loose, this wouldn’t just be a kiss anymore.

He reveled in how soft her lips were, and he angled his head for a better sample. He considered this his one shot, and he was going to make it good, damn it. He couldn’t risk his job with a repeat performance. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips, begging for entrance. To his relief, she complied, opening and meeting his tongue with hers.

He heard a groan, some deep rumble of satisfaction. It was his own chest making the noise. She tasted like coffee and Sarah, as if he already had anticipated her own unique flavor. Her tongue matched his, swirling and surging, carrying out the exotic dance he couldn’t let the rest of his body participate in.

Then her hands were on him, pulling his t-shirt out from the waistband of his jeans, her hands coming up his sides, moving back down, wrapping around his back and making circles. Worshipping him with touch. And he was lost. He forgot every single reason why he should leave her alone, step back and walk away. The assignment, his career, his future, it all melted away as she scoured his back with her nails.

He gave up the fight to resist and pulled her against his body by the hips, crushing her into him. She exhaled a breath on impact, but her mouth didn’t break contact, her hands didn’t stop exploring. He slid his own hands down her legs, to the edge of her skirt, where her silky flesh started, and he made the slow glide back up, taking her skirt hem with him.

The doorbell rang, equal to a cold bucket of water, forcing him to face the reality of the situation they were in. Sarah groaned in protest, pressing against his chest harder, her hips grinding against his erection, as if they could melt into one being if they only got close enough. Someone had to stop, and it clearly had to be him. He had the most to risk, his job. He lifted his head and dropped his hands, stepping back at the same time.

Sarah’s cheeks were flushed, her hair had escaped a clip on one side, her lips were swollen from the punishing pressure, and she was breathing like she just finished a marathon. He liked to consider himself a man in control, a man not driven by impulse. But he knew for a fact that had Sarah’s best friend, Micki, not taken that moment to call out from the front door, he would have scooped Sarah up and carried her to his bed, consequences be damned.

Thank you God for Micki.

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