Feline Valentine (A Witch’s Night Out) by Tara Quan
It took me two months of fictional time to even the scales with Feline Valentine. Part of Decadent Publishing’s 1Night Stand series, my interracial paranormal romance is set in Washington, D.C., where magic-wielding folk try to live alongside us pesky humans. It’s my first true “shifter” AND “foodie” romance (talk about ticking two boxes with one book), and a quick read of the blurb should tell you what I mean.
To celebrate this unexpected return to my favorite series, I’m giving away a $15 gift card. To enter, leave a comment here and drop your details in the Rafflecopter widget at the bottom of this post [or at my website: http://www.taraquan.com/felinevalentine].
Feline Valentine (A Witch’s Night Out) by Tara Quan
Under magical house arrest in her great-grandmother’s suburban cottage, college graduate and reluctant earth mage Shelley Dupree whiles away most mornings spying on the warlock next door.
Though erotic daydreams offer some distraction, she faces long working hours, cash flow problems, and a repeat burglar. On Valentine’s Day, she sets a trap for the mysterious intruder, intent on ending his crime streak once and for all. But her scheming cat familiar foils her best-laid plans, and, with a little help from Madame Eve’s 1-Night Stand service, she discovers a far more dangerous species of magical feline. After moving in next to a ramshackle building on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., pastry chef Adrien Chatdurois is plagued by repeat sexual fantasies starring the same curvy brunette. In a state of constant arousal, he devotes his early mornings to grueling exercise and spends the rest of his day handcrafting the city’s best chocolates.
When his younger brother stirs up trouble on the shop’s busiest day, the frustrated shifter is forced to pay a surprise visit on his reclusive neighbor. He soon learns not all witches are wart-covered hags, and one in particular might prove the most delicious of desserts.
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, Interracial/Multicultural
Buy Links: Amazon | ARe | B&N | iTunes | Kobo | GooglePlay | GoodReads Check out the rest of the series here!
Series http://mybook.to/witchsnightout
$15 Giveaway - Rafflecopter Embed Code: a Rafflecopter giveaway alternative link: http://www.taraquan.com/felinevalentine
About the Author Globetrotter, lover of languages, and romance author, Tara Quan has an addiction for crafting tales with a pinch of spice and a smidgen of kink. Inspired by her travels, Tara enjoys tossing her kick-ass heroines and alpha males into exotic contemporary locales, paranormal worlds, and post-apocalyptic futures. Her characters, armed with magical powers or conventional weapons, are guaranteed a suspenseful and sensual ride, as well as their own happily ever after. To receive updates about her new releases and get a free sexy read, subscribe to her mailing list at www.taraquan.com/newsletter.
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Since she’d removed the plastic wrap but had forgotten to eat, Adrien reached over and brought a strawberry to her lips. Shelley stared at him for a long moment. With a shrug and a grin, she swirled her tongue along the chocolate before clamping her teeth over the fruit. Biting off a chunk, she drew back and licked her lips clean. Shifting his stance, he tried to focus on anything but the blood rushing to his groin. He hadn’t thought his jeans could get any tighter. He’d thought wrong. The activity in the kitchen screeched to an abrupt halt.
She studied him through lowered lashes. “What? Is something wrong?”
Two could play this game. Caging her between the counter and his body, he brushed his fingers over her upper arm and along her neck. When she tilted her head to the side, he lowered his head so his lips grazed her earlobe. Grinning when her breath caught, he reached around her, his arm missing her breasts by a millimeter as he wiped her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “You missed a spot.”
Her skin darkened to the color of milk chocolate. Though he couldn’t wait to find out how she tasted, he mustered enough self-control to return to the task at hand. The sooner he fed the witch, the sooner they’d shift to more delicious activities. “Keep eating. I don’t need another tantrum on my hands.”
“Oonn ieet.” As she polished off the strawberries, he whisked a pair of eggs in a separate bowl before combining his two mixtures. He placed a small container of butter in his palm. A few seconds later, it softened and melted. Shifters generated far more body heat than humans or elemental mages, which came in handy since his host’s microwave seemed to have been rescued from a 1980s Dumpster.
Soft footsteps approached him from behind. “Can I help?”
He turned, glanced at the empty plate on the counter, and answered her sheepish grin with a smile of his own. “Feeling guilty?”
“You’re not off the hook, or anything.” Her cheeks darkened. “But my temper might have been a bit more…explosive than usual. I’m sorry I punched you in the face, but you’re not forgiven for acting like a horny asshole.” “I kind of am horny thanks to—”
He managed to shut his mouth before allocating part of the blame to her vivid sexual fantasies.
“Erm…. Anyway…. All is forgiven. Blood sugar dips make women’s moods go haywire. When paired with my lack of filter…let’s say there’s a reason I learned how to cook.” Her nose wrinkled. “I’m pretty sure male moods are affected by hunger as well.”
“Yes, but we tend to prioritize filling our stomachs over most other tasks.”
Finding an empty patch of counter space, she seated herself and watched as he finished off the batter with freshly grated orange zest.
“Do you always say what you think?”
“Yup. It’s a hazard.”
Covering the bowl with plastic wrap, he placed it in her fridge to rest. “Then again, there’s no point getting someone to dig a fake version of me.” He turned in time to catch her rolling her eyes. “You might want to give them some time to warm up.”
“Oh, stop pretending. You like me. Admit it.”
She looked him up and down. “I hate to break this to you, but while I might think you’re hot, your attitude leaves much to be desired.”
He worked on the oranges and lemons for the sauce. “What’s wrong with my attitude? Here I am, slaving away to put food on the table—”
She snorted.
“What? It literally describes what I’m doing. And what about the repairs I did before finding out what you looked like? All my altruism has to count for something.” He floated a pan over to the stove and started melting some sugar and butter. The distinct smell of caramel soon filled the kitchen.
Rolling her shoulders, she arched her back. The stretch puffed out her chest, and his physical reaction almost made him lose control of his telekinesis. He’d never met a female so unaware of the gorgeousness of her boobs. At this rate, he risked permanent damage to a very important body part.
An idea hit him. With a slow wave of his finger, he sent melted sugar into the air, allowing it to cool for a moment before directing a slow stream toward the witch. When she opened her mouth, he deliberately dripped the caramel over her chin and down her neck before bracketing her body with his.
“What”—her voice turned husky—“are you doing?”
“Snacking.” He ran the tip of his tongue from the base of her throat, up the column of her neck. The sauce’s smoky sweetness lingered as he followed the sticky path to her mouth. When he caught her lower lip between his teeth, her fingers trailed up his forearms to clench over the sleeves of his shirt. He sucked, teased her with light nips until she sighed and melted against his chest. She tilted her head back, and he took it as permission to devour. Hidden under layers of chocolate and strawberry, he discovered his personal addiction. He pushed her further, forcing her to meet him stroke for stroke.
“This is a bad idea,” she murmured between sipping kisses. “Madame Eve isn’t any old dating service.”
“I don’t care.” He circled one arm around her waist and pulled. Her thighs parted, the counter height positioning her for his taking. He ground his tented fly between her spread legs, relishing her soft moans as she hooked her ankles behind his back. Lifting a hand to fondle her breast, he pumped his hips. His quest for relief only aggravated his arousal. He channeled his mounting frustration onto her neck, leaving hickeys as he nibbled his way to her collarbones. Pulling down her hoodie’s zipper, he marked the swells of silky skin then tugged at her neckline so he could explore. When he lifted his head to examine his handiwork, he found her flushed and panting. Each labored breath lifted her plump breasts, their perfection marred by his dark brands. The rush of possession brought an indescribable high, the cat in him recognizing what neither human seemed ready to admit.
“Your clothes,” Adrien rasped. “Take them off.”
“You first.”
A split second before Shelley surrendered to temporary insanity, the sharp crack of breaking glass yanked her from the brink. Cursing her wayward hormones, she jumped off the counter and headed for the back door.
With a rumbling curse, Adrien grabbed her upper arm and swung her behind him, using his much larger body as a shield against the harmless kitchen exit. “Stay inside. I’ll handle—”
“Oh please. It’s my house. All you’ll do is stumble around the backyard half-blind. I’ve got this.”
Spinning on his heel, he gaped at her. “You’re seriously pulling a women’s lib moment on me now?”
“Yup.” She pointed at the stove. “Finish the dessert like a good househusband while I deal with the break-in.”
Thanks so much for hosting me!
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