Happy Sunday, friends. Nona here. I have a surprise guest today. Author friend Ella Sheridan is here to share the cover of her upcoming romance TEACH ME and share a few tidbits with us!
Teach Me (Southern Nights Book One)
A
woman determined to heal…
Shy researcher Jess Kingston spent
the last eight weeks recovering from her ex-boyfriend’s brutal attack. Body
healed, she’s ready to put her life back together—except her ex isn’t ready to
let go. She won’t cower in a corner while Brit tortures her, but she’s
powerless to fight back.
A
man determined to resist…
Ex-military security specialist
Conlan James avoids commitment like the plague. His job, his Harley, and the
occasional one-night stand are all he needs, until the day he rescues Jess from
a tense situation and realizes he can’t get her off his mind. He can teach her
to protect herself, but protecting his heart is another matter.
A
madman determined to win…
As the deadly game of cat-and-mouse
with Brit heats up, so does the hunger between Con and Jess. Safety might be
found in numbers, but in bed, all bets are off—and the wrong move could lead to
heartbreak. Or death.
Preorder Links:
Excerpt:
What the hell are you doing here?
This wasn’t the first time in the
last five minutes that Conlan had asked himself the same question. Maybe if he
had an answer, the revolving door in his brain would stop spinning, but that
didn’t seem likely. Not anytime soon. Not with the beautiful brunette he’d come
to see sitting close enough that, if he let himself look, he could detect the
light dusting of freckles across her nose. But he wasn’t looking, and he
shouldn’t be here, so how had he ended up standing in line behind the
thirtysomething latte league? It sure as hell wasn’t for the coffee.
Legs braced wide, he shifted from
one hip to the other, the creak of his motorcycle chaps reminding him he could
be enjoying a few extra minutes on the Harley before work instead of spending
that precious time here, mooning over a woman. Doe Eyes. The first time he’d
seen her all those months ago, he’d thought her eyes reminded him of sweet
Georgia pecans and skittish does. The name stuck, as had the memory of her
eyes—and a hundred other glimpses he shouldn’t have taken.
Another name called, another latte
dispensed, another shuffle forward.
He hadn’t seen those eyes in eight
weeks, and yet still he’d shown up every Monday, like clockwork, hoping for one
more glimpse and calling himself an idiot. Wasn’t like he planned on asking her
out. So why the hell did he torture himself with these weekly forays into enemy
territory?
Sex. Or sex appeal, at least.
Another step closer to the counter.
The move didn’t ease the constriction behind the zipper of his jeans. This was
what she did to him, thinking about her. Especially now, after so long apart.
The thought had a snort escaping.
Ahead of him, Mr. Suit and Tie startled and glanced over a shoulder, but Conlan
ignored the look. He was too busy figuring out when “this” had become enough
like a relationship in his head that he would think things like “after so long
apart.” Doe Eyes might appear prominently in his thoughts from time to
time—especially certain times—but
he’d never seen her outside of this coffee shop. And he wouldn’t. A quick roll
in the hay was one thing, but Doe Eyes wasn’t the kind of woman who had
one-night stands. He could tell that much just by looking at her. She was a
relationship kind of woman, and he was a relationship-phobic kind of guy. Which
meant he seriously needed to get a grip—and not on the part of him growing even
harder at the idea.
Idiot was right.
He should be at work. Southern
summer heat brought out the crazies almost as well as full moons did, and JCL
Security was feeling the impact, juggling cases like they had eight arms, which
they didn’t. Too many sleepless nights had been spent at his office, especially
with the Bennett case coming up. Just a couple more weeks before Thea Bennett
had her bastard of a husband before a judge and hopefully out of her life, but
the paper- and prep work to get the high-profile bastard there had been a
bitch. He seriously needed to—
“Conlan, hey!”
For a passing moment he was
convinced the voice belonged to the woman filling his thoughts. But when the
high, candied voice called again, he realized it was coming from the counter.
The cashier. Tonya, Tammy? Tracy? He couldn’t remember. She was blonde with a
deep tan he would’ve deemed impossible in a landlocked city like Atlanta, the
shade a stark contrast to her white smile. Stepping up, he threw her a grin.
“Hey.”
She batted long lashes, almost
hiding the way her glance slid down to the crotch of his jeans, framed in his
leather chaps. “Long time, no see.”
He winked automatically. “It’s a
long wait between Mondays.”
The girl giggled. “Your usual?”
“That’s right. Thanks,” he said,
passing over a ten-dollar bill.
She made change, certain to caress
his hand as she laid the money in his palm. Conlan was more interested in the
dark Colombian roast another employee was walking toward them. High-octane all
the way. The sight of the near-black brew had him salivating for something
other than Doe Eyes for the first time that morning.
He reached the condiment counter
just as his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Probably Jack. Retrieving the cell
confirmed his suspicion.
Where the hell are you?
his partner had texted.
Piss off, Con
replied, a grin tugging at his lips. The irony that he’d spent too much time
asking himself the very same question didn’t escape him. In a half hour he’d be
at the office and they could both stop wondering.
With a little back-and-forth he
managed to cram the phone back in his tight jeans. He glanced around absently,
and his gaze snagged on a pair of amber-brown eyes that suddenly met his.
He froze.
Doe Eyes dropped her chin and
shifted over the slightest bit, enough that her friend’s position blocked her
from view, but not before he caught the blush coloring her creamy cheeks.
His cock banged against his zipper
as if begging to be let out. The bite of pain caught his breath in his throat.
Jesus, what the hell was he—
Don’t! Ask. Again. He
knew what the hell he was doing here, and he needed to go; he really did. He
needed to stop letting his dick run this show, grab his coffee, and get back to
reality.
He was restless, that was all. He
was a man who needed action. Needed to be doing something, anything, not
sitting behind a desk like he’d been for weeks while prepping Thea’s case.
Usually he worked off his frustration in a way that involved cool silk sheets
and bare skin and satisfaction on both sides, but there’d been no damn time.
Just his hand and the additional chafing it provided, which wasn’t near as
effective—or satisfying. That had to be the reason he couldn’t stop thinking
about his mystery woman.
Of course. That had to be it.
Popping the lid off his cardboard
cup released the rich aroma of ground coffee beans into the air. He lifted his
cup and blew across the hot liquid, the sound almost a sigh of relief. He was
already reaching for the packets of sugar when black squiggles caught his eye.
There. On the part of the paper sleeve now facing him, he could see a name and
number were clearly written: Tiffany.
A 470 area-code phone number.
So that was her name. Sounded like
an eighties pop star. A glance over his shoulder found the cashier leaning
across the bar where drinks were picked up, her mounded breasts shelved there,
on display. Come back soon, she
mouthed, her shoulders doing a little wiggle. On reflex, he threw her a grin,
but her seemingly seductive move couldn’t pull his glance downward. His dick
didn’t even twitch. Apparently only one thing could trigger his runaway libido
this morning.
He added the sugar, trying to ignore
the panic in his gut and his one-track mind. The latter was impossible. He
wanted to know Doe Eyes’ name, her
phone number. Were her breasts as full as they looked beneath that starched
white button-down? Was her hair as soft as he swore it would be when he fisted
it between his fingers?
He stirred a bit too vigorously, and
coffee sloshed over the side of the cup.
Don’t look. Don’t. He
realized he’d closed his eyes. A sigh escaped as he rubbed a thumb and finger
against them, but as soon as the lids popped open, he searched for her. Had to
see her. Felt his heartbeat pick up knowing she might meet his eyes.
He was so screwed—and smart enough
to admit it. He let go, let the conflict and the churning in his gut and the
tension cramping his muscles go. And then he looked toward her table.
It was empty.
“Well shit.”
He stood for a moment, cursing
himself, the coffee, and everything else he could think of. When another
customer stepped up behind him and cleared his throat, wanting access to the
counter, Con grabbed his cup and headed out the door. On his way, he chucked
the coffee in the trash without a single sip.
Author
Bio:
Ella grew up in the Deep South,
where books provided adventures, friends, and her first taste of romance. Now
she writes her own romantic adventures, with plenty of hot alpha men and the
women who love and challenge them. With a day job, a husband, two active
teenagers, and two not so active cats, Ella is always busy, but getting the
voices in her head down on paper is a top priority. Connect with Ella at www.ellasheridanauthor.com .
Social
Media Links:
Publishing
History:
Secrets To Hide Series -
Dirty
Little Secret (Book One)
Naughty
Little Christmas (Book Two)
Just
a Little More (Book Three)
