Isn't this the most perfect cover!!!!
Molly's new book - Trying Too Hard came out on the 29th January with Carina Publishing. It's a contemporary erotic romance with a rugby star as its hero. For those American unfamiliar with rugby - it's a bit like American football but faster moving! The aim - like American Football - is to carry the ball over the line and in rugby - that's called a try. Hence Molly's great title - Trying Too Hard.
The Blurb
What’s the French word for lust…?
Hired as an intern at a coveted talent agency, blonde bubbly Catrin Owens knew she could be brilliant at the job. The code of conduct is crystal clear – business is business, pleasure is pleasure…and the two should never, ever meet! No problem for Catrin - she’s hardworking, and determined to excel. Until, that is, she meets the 6 ft-something wall of lean muscle that is her boss’ top client…
Scarred, and brimming with forbidden sex appeal, the French rugby star Henri Chevallier crashes through the walls of Catrin’s neatly-ordered life – and throws her polished professionalism aside like a scrap of sheer French lingerie!
The sex is fierce, exhilarating…life-changing – and almost all the more exciting as she knows she’s risking the career she dreamed of. Catrin knows she should step away. The problem? Henri is a temptation she can’t seem to resist…
Excerpt
“There you are!”
The voice was like silk
against Catrin’s skin and a flicker of lust darted like a hot tongue between
her legs. The poky, clinical office kitchen suddenly seemed too warm, its aroma
of burnt toast overpowering. The air conditioning hummed in vain as Catrin’s
body was flooded with heat.
The new arrival took hold
of her shoulders in large, powerful hands and pushed her towards the counter so
that her stomach pressed against the hard melamine edge. Her heart picked up
its pace. The fine hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.
“Catrin,” he whispered
into her right ear, causing a blonde tendril of hair that had freed itself from
her chignon to flutter.
“Yes?” she whispered, her
nipples tightening in anticipation.
“I missed you this
morning.” He nibbled her earlobe. She shivered as he ran his fingers slowly
down her sides.
“Henri.” She leaned into
his warmth, felt the strength of his stomach muscles against her back, his heat
searing through her thin blouse. “I had to get back to my apartment. You
know...feed the cat.”
“What cat?” he said,
trickling slow kisses down her neck then sliding his hands under her arms to
cup her breasts.
She sighed as his
exquisite touch fired her passion and her breathing quickened. She slid around
in his arms then pressed a trembling hand upon his broad chest.
“Please, Henri…”
“What is it, chérie?” He tipped her chin upwards with
a fingertip and his cologne washed over her. She savoured the fresh green woody
tones. At their edge she could make out something else, something even more
delicious: his musky masculine scent. It made her want to open his shirt and
press her face against his belly to breathe him in.
“I can’t keep going like
this,” she smiled, trying to regain her composure but desire pulsed through her
core like a lusty demon possession.
“Like what, Catrin?”
He reached out and
stroked the back of his free hand over her black satin skirt and she groaned,
moving towards him even though a voice at the back of her mind reprimanded her.
He laughed softly at her body’s betrayal and turned his hand around, pressing
it against the apex of her thighs and cupping the ready flesh beneath.
She slumped against the
counter, her eyes half-closed. Her legs turned to jelly as he lifted her skirt
to her thighs.
Here I go again!
Her common sense drifted
away like cobwebs on the wind and her body revealed her true emotions with
every breath she took.
“Oh, t’es la plus belle femme du monde!” he gasped.
“Sorry?”
“Pardon, chérie!” he laughed. “I said that you are the most
beautiful woman in the world.”
“Oh,” she smiled, “Thank
you.” She loved it when Henri spoke his own language but wished that she could
understand him better. A GCSE in French hadn’t equipped her for communicating
with a French lover.
She relaxed and closed
her eyes again as he ran his hands over her thighs.
“And this is what I love
about you!”
Her eyes shot open.
Love?
He pushed her skirt right
up to her hips then fingered the tops of her hold-ups and she realised what he
meant. This Frenchman loved a woman’s body with all the trimmings, which was
lucky as she liked pretty underwear. It was just more fun to have someone to
appreciate it.
Mere moments ago she’d
been spooning two sugars into her coffee cup, desperately in need of a caffeine
fix after yet another long night of French loving with the handsome rugby
player.
She was exhausted.
Exhilarated. Still horny.
It was hard to believe
that it was only two nights ago, on a rather cold, drizzly July evening that
she’d accompanied her boss – the renowned celebrity agent Liam H. Clarkson – to
an annual dinner. It had been the sixth anniversary of the establishment of
Clarkson and Gwillam Celebrity Agency. It now had five branches across Europe,
with the possibility of further growth, so spirits were at an all-time high.
And it had been there,
deep in the cavernous candlelit corridors and ante-chambers of Cardiff Castle,
polished, manicured and poured into her best lbd, that Catrin had met Henri.
And since then, her feet
hadn’t touched the ground!
Molly’s links:
Trying
Too Hard buy
links:
