As you’ve probably realised, the past few weeks have been all about zombies! But today, just to change things up a little, I’ve been lucky enough to score a steamy excerpt from M. S. Kaye’s current release, the fabulous Fight Princess.
Blurb for Fight Princess:
Things aren’t what they seem. Don’t get involved.
Celisse is too headstrong to listen. Her best friend’s boyfriend is dead, and she does not heed Cullen’s warning, slipped to her in a note as he’s being arrested for the murder.
Cullen tries to keep Celisse out of danger and also tries to avoid her, both unsuccessfully. He can’t deny his feelings for her anymore, but he knows he can’t have her. If she ever discovered the truth about his past, she’d surely hate him.
While struggling with her intense feelings for Cullen, Celisse uses her skills as an ex-prosecutor to investigate, all while continuing to fight for Ogden, the organizer of an underground fight ring. She eventually realizes things are connected—the ring, Ogden, Cullen, the murder, and herself. She races to uncover the truth before she’s arrested or becomes the next victim—or perhaps, the next culprit.
Amazon – http://amzn.to/15xQX8O
Celisse closed the bathroom door. She didn’t bother with the light, letting the small window provide just enough so she could see. She didn’t think it was wise to let Cullen get a good look at himself in the mirror.
He stood in the middle of the tiny space, looking at her. His stance was strong, shoulders square as always, but his expression was still detached, as if his mind was still trying to catch up, as if a part of him didn’t want to catch up.
“Everything’s all right,” she said.
He touched her cheek again, and she felt the sticky texture of drying blood. He drew his hand away.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” she said. Then she lifted the bottom hem of his shirt. He let her pull it off over his head. The blood had soaked through his shirt onto his skin, matting his thin layer of chest hair. The sink and a washcloth wasn’t going to cut it.
She pulled the curtain back a few inches and turned on the shower, as hot as she thought he could stand it. Within a few seconds, steam began to seep over the top of the shower rod. His skin was cold—the heat would likely do him good.
He watched as she unbuckled his belt then undid the button and zipper of his jeans.
He kicked them off and to the side.
She finished undressing him. And then she pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra. She let the straps slide off her shoulders and dropped her bra to the floor. His gaze drifted lower, off her face for the first time. She figured that was a good sign—he was coming back.
He only watched, made no movement to touch her, as she undressed in front of him.
Standing before him nude, she took his hand. “Come with me.”
He followed as she guided him into the steaming shower. Her hands on his chest, she pushed him into the water so that it washed down his back and over his shoulders.
“Are you warmer?” she asked.
He barely murmured, “Yes.”
“Just relax, okay? Everything’s all right.” She rubbed her hands over his skin, wiping off the blood.
She drew water from the showerhead down over his chest. With gentle fingers, she unmatted his chest hair. She slid her hands over his neck. His skin grew warmer.
“Close your eyes,” she said. He did as she asked, and she used her fingertips to caress the dried blood from his face. Then she tilted his head back into the water and drew her fingers through his hair. His breathing was steady, quiet. The tenseness in his shoulders lessened.
“Everything’s all right,” she murmured.
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. His eyes seemed to be better focused. He tilted his chin and touched her cheek, wiped the blood off. Then he pulled his fingers slowly through her hair. She realized he had gotten blood there as well.
He held her face in both hands. “You’re all right.”
He pulled her to his chest. His hand rested on her cheek and his cheek on her hair. His bicep tightened as he held onto her. “He said he was going to rape you, kill you.”
“He was lying.”
“They were holding you—five of them.”
Her hands on his back, she held on tightly, tried to offer him comfort. “He set up that scene to make you think I was in danger.” She didn’t mention she’d gotten away from them easily, that she was frustrated Cullen didn’t trust her to be able to take care of herself.
He held her tighter and murmured against her hair. “Celisse.”
“I’m here. I’m fine.”
His breath seeped into her hair. “I need you.”
She stood very still, not sure what to say, what to do.
Celisse turned off the water, and led Cullen out of the shower. She found a clean towel in the cabinet. He took it from her hands and draped it around her. He drew it down over her hair, then across her shoulders. She was still, quiet.
His gentle, slow hands, wiped the water from her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach. He knelt in front of her and smoothed the towel down her hips, her thighs.
She took a silent breath and closed her eyes. In her mind, she saw what she wanted—his hand, without the towel, drifting up her inner thigh. She could almost feel him press her against the wall, his tongue along her lips.
She forced her eyes open and stepped back.
Still on his knees on the floor, he looked up at her. She tried not to notice his obvious excitement.
She held her hand out for the towel.
He gave it to her.
She rubbed it over his hair then knelt on the floor with him and dried his shoulders, arms, and chest.
He touched her hand, and she stopped.
His hand drifted up her arm to her neck. His thumb brushed along her jaw.
“I know you don’t really understand how I feel,” he murmured.
His hands on her skin made her body tingle.
“I want to try to show you.” He leaned closer and touched his lips to hers. His tongue caressed her lower lip, and then slid into her mouth.
Hands on his shoulder and in his hair, she held herself closer to him. He pressed against her, and she felt his extreme arousal against her hip. She wanted to part her knees, for him to lay her on the floor. She would spread her legs and welcome him. It would be like last night, easy, like the flow of a river. They would move together, slowly. He would make her forget about everything else, everything that was wrong.
She drew away from his lips, but couldn’t let go of him.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured.
“Why?” He draped his fingertips down her temple. “I know you want to.” He leaned closer and murmured in her ear. “I feel it in the way you touch me.”
Awareness squirmed into her head, of the gentleness of the way her hand rested on his shoulder, how she enjoyed the feel of his skin. She met his eyes and tried to control her breathing. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”
His lips curved a little.
“But I think you’re forgetting where we are, what happened tonight.”
He paused and looked beyond her, to the room around them.
Then he met her eyes again. “We’re at Bridgette’s?”
Celisse nodded. “She agreed not to ask too many questions. I needed someplace where we can talk.” She touched his jaw with her fingertips. “Where I could make sure you’re all right.”
“You stopped me from killing that man.”
M. S. Kaye is a 4th degree black belt and certified instructor of Songahm Taekwondo. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, FL, where she does her best not to melt in the sun.
Contact M. S. Kaye at: