Hurrah! Yay! Taali bajao! It’s finally here: release day for Spice and Secrets, my second story from Samhain Publishing. To celebrate, I have a giveaway (you have to scroll to the end…muhahahaha) and a never-before-seen excerpt, featuring tormented heroine Priya Roy and her leading man, Rahul Anand, in close quarters…
“Nahin,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”
“Yes,” Rahul said from behind her—just behind her. So close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Just say yes to me, Priya. As you did on The Raj.” His hands hovered above her arms. His chest was mere centimeters from her back. And she could feel him like he was inside her skin. “My heart’s on fire,” he sang against the curve of her ear, lips nearly tugging on her earlobe. He was the only man she knew who could combine sex and sarcasm in just a few bits of song.
“So go find some ice water.” She took a deep, steadying breath and shut her eyes. It was a mistake, closing herself to the brick walls and doorways, because, at once, she was back on the beach, just the two of them now, alone and sun-warmed…and he was dipping his head and pressing his lips to her wild pulse.
“No need for water when I have amrita,” he murmured, licking the hollow of her throat. He was touching her with nothing but his mouth. His wicked, arrogant mouth. Tasting more than just the nectar of immortality, he helped himself to the flavor of her need.
“Rahul, stop it.” She’d made herself vulnerable for the cameras, taken down her defenses, put down all the weapons she carried to protect herself from this…and he was not going to let the opportunity slide. This, too, he would take as if it was already his. “Please.”
“Please,” he mimicked her, but with what seemed like genuine emotion behind the echo. His voice was low and husky, sending ripples down her spine. “Please, Priya. You were so goddamn beautiful in there. Apsara ki jaise. Like a goddess.” He was feathering light, brutal, kisses along her jaw and his last, most damning, words were spoken into a caress all too close to her lips: “Let me worship you.”
She couldn’t. For Shona, and for a dozen other reasons. “Na. I can’t, Rahul, I can’t.” Priya nearly wept with the effort of pulling away from him and hurrying down toward the dressing rooms without a glance backwards.
She couldn’t be worshipped. It would not matter if he called it “heaven” or if he called it “Swargha”—a goddess’s fall from that great height was too far.
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