Tami Lund Makes Mafia Romance Funny

Trapped by the Mob Cover

I posted this on my personal blog last week and decided to reblog it here… Enjoy a sneak peek at my latest release!!

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Why yes, I did take a beloved trope and put my own spin on it. Because that’s what authors do, right? That’s why you keep reading; because we keep introducing new stories, new ideas, new ways to enjoy a storyline you’ve read before.

Such as the mafia. Or better yet, mafia romance. Like this one. Which is mafia romance a’la the Tami Lund special. What does that mean?

It’s means this book is gonna make you chuckle.

Here’s the premise:

TRAPPED BY THE MOB

Sure, Antonio Sarvilli is the money man behind his brother’s criminal empire, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. He’s not the one out there killing people. All he does is make greenbacks and enjoy the fruits of his labor.

That attitude changes when his brother assigns him to get to know Phoebe Cavanaugh, a Good Samaritan who witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to.

Now, all Antonio wants is to get out so he can be with Phoebe.

Except that’s not how it works when you’re part of the mob.

 

And here’s the first chapter, even before Amazon will offer it to you:

Chapter One

THE GOOD SAMARITAN

 

“I swear, I’ll never do that again,” Phoebe Cavanaugh muttered to her reflection, which stared back at her with mussed hair—and not the sexy bedhead kind, either—and bags the size of Lake Michigan under her eyes, accentuating a horribly pallid complexion.

“I am not a bad girl,” she added before shoving the toothbrush into her mouth and attempting to scrub away the cotton and lingering taste of tequila. Or maybe that was worm. God, the end of the evening was hazy, but she suspected her evil co-workers had convinced her to eat the damn thing when the last shot had been poured.

“Why did I think I could keep up?” She hadn’t been a heavy drinker when she had been in college, let alone in the five years since graduating. “And on a weekday, no less.”

She trudged back to her bedroom and huffed out a sigh. The digital clock on her bedside table flipped to 8:02.

Phoebe should have been to work an hour ago, and she hadn’t even showered yet. Hell, she was still wearing the jeans and boatneck, striped shirt she’d worn to the bar last night.

Not to mention the roiling in her stomach. Ugh. How the heck did one cure a weekday hangover?

She kicked a running shoe out of her way, and for the first time since dragging herself out of bed, something inside her body perked up. “I’ll sweat it out.”

She nodded, stripping out of last night’s clothes and reaching for her favorite pair of running shorts. “Thirty-minute jog, ten-minute shower, bare minimum makeup, and I’ll stop at McDonald’s on the way to work. I’ll be two hours late, but at least they won’t be able to say I couldn’t hang.”

Hell, she was feeling better already.

A swath of oak trees with massive, sprawling branches lined up on either side of a narrow, winding drive that separated Phoebe’s apartment complex from the main road. The natural barrier helped cut down on the city noises that slammed into her as soon as she hit the sidewalk, running along the road that normally took her to her job, the grocery store, the nearby bar she never intended to step foot into again.

She passed a gas station and hung a left, running along the gravel shoulder of a residential road that cut through a swampy area, which meant it was underdeveloped and thus much quieter with far less traffic. Lots of school buses, though. Usually she was already at work by this point, so she didn’t have to share road time with the big yellow vehicles with their flashing red lights and the stop signs that popped out from the side every time the gears ground to a halt to take on yet another kid.

The bout of nausea hit when she was jogging through a particularly quiet stretch. A wall of eight-foot tall cattails swayed in the gentle breeze to her left, and a gravel path jutted from the main road to her right. A two-story house with dust-covered, white siding stood sentinel, with a smaller cottage tucked behind it, like maybe it was a servant’s quarters or, more likely, a guesthouse. A dark-haired girl stood at the end of the dirt road, presumably waiting for the bus. She kicked pebbles while fiddling with the straps on her purple backpack.

“Oh God.” Phoebe’s stomach had about two seconds before she expelled whatever contents were left from last night, so she dove through the wall of cattails. She preferred to puke in private, thankyouverymuch. Her running shoes sank into muck as she bent at the waist and hacked up what looked like she might very well have eaten that damn worm from the bottom of the tequila bottle.

Sucking in deep breaths and wiping the snot from her nose with the back of her hand, she remained doubled over at the waist until the sound of a car door caught her attention. Glad for the distraction from the grossness at her feet, she gingerly pulled her shoes from the mud and separated the foliage with her hands so she could look out at the road.

A newer model black town car had stopped near the young girl still standing across the street. That was weird. Phoebe glanced up and down the road, but there were no other cars. Or buses. She didn’t see someone who might resemble a parent either. And that guy climbing out of the driver’s seat didn’t look like any father Phoebe would want. Not that she knew her own father or believed they all should look a certain way, but this guy, he would be a better fit in a mafia movie than in, say, a Disney princess book.

Unless the story was about kidnapper dads.

“Holy shit!” She stared through the gap she’d made in the cattails as the guy walked around the car, grabbed the kid by the strap of her purple backpack, and tossed her into the backseat of his car. Okay, maybe it didn’t happen exactly like that, but that little girl had definitely not intended to go with that guy. She was waiting for the bus, wasn’t she?

“Ohmigod, he’s kidnapping her!” Phoebe leaped from her hiding place, waving her arms and shouting, “Stop! Stop! Help! Police! Somebody call the cops!”

The kidnapper’s head snapped up, and for a second she was afraid he was about to pull out a gun and aim it at her. Maybe she watched too many movies. Except the guy was kidnapping that kid, for crying out loud!

Instead of shooting her, he hustled around the car and hopped into the driver’s seat, the tires spinning and kicking dirt and pebbles at her as she raced across the street like she thought she was going to be able to stop him.

“Nina?”

Phoebe jerked her attention to the woman jogging toward her on the dirt road. She must have come from the smaller house tucked behind the big one. The woman wore a pale pink, scoop neck T-shirt and a pair of khaki capris. Her hair was dark, pulled back into a ponytail, and her features were dainty and elfin. Just like the little girl who was speeding away in the backseat of a black sedan with some creepy mob guy.

“Nina,” the woman said again when she reached Phoebe. “Did the bus come?” She sounded on the edge of panic, like she needed Phoebe to lie to her.

“Some guy just kidnapped her,” Phoebe said. “At least, I think so. That was your daughter, right? Dark hair, purple backpack, looks just like you?”

The lady twisted her head back and forth, looking up and down the road. “Yes. Nina. What do you mean, some guy just kidnapped her? Who?”

Phoebe tugged her phone from her shorts pocket and dialed 9-1-1. “How the hell do I know who he was? But I can describe the car and him, although damn it, I didn’t think to get the license—hello? Yes, this is an emergency. I just witnessed a kidnapping. Yes, I’ll—”

“No!” The woman jerked the phone from Phoebe’s hand and pressed the red button on the screen to disconnect the call. “Don’t involve the cops.”

“Don’t what? Are you crazy? Some mafia-looking guy just kidnapped your daughter, lady.” She enunciated the words the way people did when they were speaking to someone who didn’t understand English very well.

“Which is why you can’t involve the police.”

Phoebe’s phone rang. Emergency dispatch flashed on the screen. She took a couple steps away from the crazy lady and answered the call. “Yes, hello? Yes, I did just call and yes, I did witness a kidnapping. I’m at” —she glanced up at the street sign—“the corner of Hiller and Dirk Avenue. Yes, I’ll stay here until the police arrive. Thank you. Uh-uh. Bye.”

She disconnected the call and glanced at the woman who was now frowning at her like she’d done something wrong instead of try to help her get her daughter back. “Are you going into shock? Is that the problem?”

The lady flung out her hand and stormed away, heading down the road that, now that Phoebe got a good look at it, was actually a long, winding driveway. The mother of the year muttered as she walked. Something about ruining everything and now Gino was going to be a complete ass and probably punish her even though she wasn’t the one who called the cops and why couldn’t people just mind their own damn business.

“Hey,” Phoebe said, chasing after her. “If I hadn’t noticed that guy taking your kid, you wouldn’t even know she was gone until she didn’t get off the school bus this afternoon.”

The lady sighed and turned around. “Yes, I would have. I’m sure Gino will call, probably within the hour. He didn’t take her because he actually wants to see her; he took her because I went out on a date last night. Apparently he can screw anyone he damn well pleases, but I can’t even go on one lousy date. And that’s the best part: It was a lousy date.”

Phoebe canted her head and furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”

The lady flapped her hand again. “Gino. My ex-husband. I’m sure that’s who took Nina. Well, one of his minions, at any rate, since he never does his own dirty work.”

“Oh. I take it he’s her dad?”

“Of course he is,” she snapped, like the answer was obvious.

“So he won’t hurt her?”

“Doubtful. I mean, I’m pretty sure Gino isn’t actually capable of love, but whatever passes closest to it in his mind is what he feels for Nina. So no, he won’t hurt her. He only did this to torment me.”

“Yeah, you said that. Because you went on a date last night. But didn’t you say he’s your ex-husband?”

“Yes, thank God.”

“Then how is it he has any say over your life whatsoever?”

“Trust me, once you get caught in Gino Sarvilli’s web, you never truly get out again. Even though he granted me the divorce two years ago, the ground rules were clear. I’m only allowed to do whatever Gino says I can do. And having a life, enjoying the company of another man, isn’t on that list.”

“That makes no sense.”

She shrugged. “It does in Gino’s world.”

“You make the guy sound like a dictator or something.”

“You said it,” she said as a police cruiser slowed and turned onto the dirt road, inching toward them. “And this”—she pointed at the cop car— “just made it ten times worse.”

Thanks to an unfortunate situation last fall—which, by the way, hadn’t been her fault—Phoebe had lost her job as a wedding planner. One career change later and she wasn’t quite to the ninety-day mark in her current position. Now she had no idea if she’d even be able to make it in today.

Not the way to impress the new boss.

~~~

And here’s the link to keep reading when it releases on February 28, 2019: PRE-ORDER. 

PS – It will be available in KU!

PSS – The sequel, FREED FROM THE MOB, is scheduled for release on March 28, 2019.

Happy reading!

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund writes all sorts of tropes, from dragons to witches to demigods to contemporary suspense and romcom. All all sexy, all are funny, and all will satisfy your need for a happy ever after… https://tamilund.com/

HUNGRY LIKE A DRAGON Excerpt

Hungry Like A Dragon COVER

Guess what? I just released a new book–yesterday! Here’s what it contains:

  • dragons
  • a sexy dragon chef
  • a stubborn, strong, badass dragon heroine
  • a cute dragon baby
  • dragon humor
  • witches (and dragons)
  • gargoyles (and dragons)
  • dragon sexy times
  • a dragon-licious happy ending

And here’s a teaser for additional temptation:

“Okay, baby girl,” she murmured as she lifted the child onto her shoulder and gently patted her back. “Let’s get that gas out and then fall back asleep for at least twenty minutes. I need a shower.” Never, until three months ago, had she considered showers to be a novelty, a privilege, a damn-near euphoric experience.

For once, the bundle of adorableness decided to comply, belching loudly enough to make a grown man jealous and then promptly sighing and closing her eyes. She was so damn cute, Petra was tempted to just hold her like this, but reality called in the form of being clean for the date she’d managed to line up for tonight.

Gently placing the sleeping babe in the bouncy seat that was already parked on the bathroom floor, Petra quickly turned on the water and stripped down, ignoring the soft paunch she glimpsed in the mirror before climbing into the shower.

Sadie started crying five minutes later.

“Oh come on,” Petra complained as she rinsed conditioner out of her hair. “I need to shave. It’s been way too long. Birds are starting to look at my legs as possible relocation options.”

Sadie stopped crying.

Petra paused in the act of turning off the water. When the baby didn’t start up again, she picked up her razor, quickly lathered her leg, and got to work scraping off enough hair she worried the drain would clog.

Good thing she was able to get through the task, because she couldn’t wear long pants tonight even if she wanted to. She didn’t have any that were clean. Her choices were shorts or a skirt. Because she sure as hell couldn’t fit into the dozens of outfits she bought for Sadie. Working at a kids’ clothing store was probably not the wisest choice for someone who wasn’t good at self-control.

Clean and freshly shaved, she turned off the water and shoved aside the shower curtain, reaching for her towel.

And saw a man standing in the bathroom, holding her daughter in his arms, his body gently swaying to some silent beat.

Petra immediately summoned the magic, ready to shift into dragon form and scare the living daylights out of whoever the hell dared sneak into her house and pick up her baby girl and…

Her dragon, in stark contrast to Petra’s reaction, was doing a jig, a rather seductive one, at that. Why the hell wasn’t her dragon roaring in her head and demanding to come out so she could rip this guy’s limbs from his body?

The internal confusion gave the man enough time to turn to face her, and Petra’s heart stopped for a long moment, then kicked into triple overtime.

Oh. My. Gods.

Noah.

And jeez, did he ever look good, holding her baby like that.

Their baby.

Oh shit.

“Uh…” She finally tore her gaze away from the man she’d been fantasizing about pretty regularly ever since she sauntered away from him after the most amazing sex ever in the woods behind Gabe’s house. She snagged her towel and quickly wrapped it around herself, hiding her mom bod from view.

His gaze dropped south of the hem of the terrycloth. “Did I give you enough time to shave?”

Her face heated. “Uh…” Crap, was she incapable of forming words? Standing in the tub, water dripping from the ends of her hair, clutching the towel above her heaving breasts, she finally managed the concept of actual speech. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

He indicated the child sleeping on his shoulder. “Meeting my daughter. She is mine, isn’t she?”

Want to keep reading? Of course you do! Head on over to the Bad Alpha Dads website for all the buy links. While you’re there, take a look at the first book in the Taming the Dragon series, DRAGON HIS HEELS, which is on sale for 99c until 1/31/2019!

Happy (dragon) reading!

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Tami Lund is an author, award winner, wine drinker, and writer of dragon romance. She also writes mafia romance, and the first book in her Detroit Mafia Romance series releases on 2/28/2019. Stay tuned for more deets…https://tamilund.com/

Need a Distraction From Football?

Or really just don’t care about it? I feel ya.

Despite my ambivalence over football, I do love a fantastic sports hero. I’m talking in romance books, of course!

And my friend Christa Maurice put together a nice list of sports romance, including my own book, Sexy Bad Daddy, which is about a golf pro and his nanny and all the naughty things that occur, despite their best intentions. (Also, in this book, you’ll find an adorable three-year-old daughter, a trouble-causing goat, and possibly a duck… yeah, you’re gonna have to read it to believe it.)

Here’s a teaser:

“So anyway, Paynt here thinks I’m not nearly as good at picking up the ladies as I am,” Garrett says.

“Actually, what I said was, you shouldn’t be,” his brother corrects him. “He sleeps around too damn much,” he explains for my benefit.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I’m guessing they’re drunk, or at least Garrett is.

“So tell me,” Garrett says, glancing up at me with puppy dog eyes that no doubt are at least partially to blame for the whole sleeping-around-too-damn-much issue. That muscle tone under his shirt certainly wouldn’t be a deterrent, either.

“I have a boyfriend,” I blurt. Danny’s not remotely my boyfriend—he’s more like my sibling, or maybe the perfect just friend to tag along when you want to hang out at a sports bar—but I need an out here. I know my own shortcomings when it comes to good-looking, older guys who smell like money. Best to put up that wall before this conversation goes any further.

“Too bad,” Garrett says. “But for the sake of argument, pretend you don’t. If I hit on you, would you go home with me?”

Before I decided to try to grow the hell up and get my life on track, the answer might have been yes, but for all the wrong reasons. Not anymore, though. I’m a new woman. A better woman.

“She’s hesitating.” Garrett stabs his finger at Paynter. “Told you. They can’t resist me.”

“You’re such an ass,” Paynter says.

“Nah, I’m living the dream. Just because you’re tied down to a goat and a hot executive doesn’t mean you gotta beat up on my perfectly satisfying lifestyle.”

A goat and a hot executive? I can’t decide if I want to stay and learn more or run away.

***

Here’s the link to SEXY BAD DADDYhttps://www.amazon.com/Sexy-Bad-Daddy-Book-ebook/dp/B071J2K6PH

And here’s the link to a whole bunch of sports romance, for your reading pleasure: https://christamaurice.com/2018/09/30/sports-romance/

 

Happy reading!

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Tami Lund writes romance, including, on occasion, sports romance. And baby daddy romance. And funny romance. And FBI romance. And dragon romance. And vampire romance. Okay, Tami writes a lot of romance. Check out her website for the rather extensive list: https://sexybadbooks.com/books-by-tami-lund/

 

Sexy Bad Halloween Freebie – Only ‘Til 10/11

Guess what? Guess what? Guess what? I just released another book! This one’s contemporary — another in the Sexy Bad series, for those keeping track — and it’s a Halloween read. And it’s F*R*E*E* until Thursday, 10/11. So grab it, read it, leave a review and tell me what you think. Gooooooo!

SEXY BAD HALLOWEEN – What’s it about?

Alex

I stepped into the costume shop looking for something to wear to a Halloween party. What I got was a chance meeting with my childhood best friend, Victoria Ruben. We haven’t spoken since her mom and my dad had an affair and took her and moved across the country, twelve years ago.

Despite a less-than-stellar shared past, I want to get to know my friend again. Maybe as more than friends. But she’s hesitant.

So I suggest a game with only one rule: Let’s go on ten dates… without sex.

Victoria

My life is complicated enough without Alex Darling stepping back into it. So I definitely should not have taken him up on his challenge of ten dates without sex. Because, yeah, the more reacquainted we become, the more I want to get to know him better, a lot better. Like maybe forever better.

Which can’t happen. Because I have a secret, and it involves Alex, and when he finds out, he’ll want nothing to do with me ever again.

 

Chapter One

ALEX

“I’m not usually such a procrastinator,” I say as I burst through the door of the costume shoppe—so the sign hanging from the eaves proclaims—and bustle inside, determined to get this annoying task over with.

The single occupant of the store pauses in the process of doing who knows what to a silver and blue dress with a billowing, floor-length skirt, and glances over her shoulder. “Welcome to Victoria’s Vintage Costumes.”

“Are you Victoria?” I move away from the door, glancing at a grouping of mannequins dressed in suits with frilly cuffs and dresses with skirts as wide as they are long. There are other statues dressed in flapper dresses and some in zoot suits and still others in—are those animals? They look frighteningly real. Although ridiculously large. Like, nightmare-inducing large.

“Technically, yes. But I go by Tori, even though I’m not.”

There might be a political joke in her statement, but I’m too focused on my task to try to work it out, so I say nothing.

“Well, anyway, I take it you have to attend a party tonight?” She climbs down from a stepladder and whips a tape measure out of the pocket in her capris as she strides toward me. Her hair is a rainbow—pink and blue and green and purple, twisted into a braid that drapes over her shoulder and topped with one of those fake flower wreath-like decorations sold at county fairs and German festivals. And here, apparently, as I note a tarnished silver rack perched on a nearby glass case is dripping with them.

She’s wearing a simple white tank top, and there’s a tattoo on her shoulder that disappears down her back. I’ve never really cared one way or the other about tattoos, but I want to get closer to inspect this one. Maybe it’s the smooth, satin-looking skin on her neck.

Or maybe it’s the braless boobs staring me in the face.

Shaking my head, I say, “No. I need a Halloween costume.”

She freezes mid-step and stares at me like I’ve said something insanely ridiculous. “Did you say Halloween?”

“Yes.”

“The holiday that falls on October thirty-first each year?”

I frown. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“The one that’s two months away?”

Yes, this is the Halloween I’m speaking of. Not sure why she needs so much clarification. Last time I checked, that particular holiday hasn’t changed in, well, not in my lifetime at least. And considering we look to be about the same age, I’d say not in hers either.

“That’s two months away,” she repeats, still staring at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “I haven’t even begun to set up my Halloween displays. My costumes left over from last year are still in storage, and the new ones I ordered won’t be here for at least two weeks. It’s still summer, for Christ’s sake.”

My gaze bounces around the shop again. “There are a ton of costumes here.”

“Yes, but they aren’t Halloween costumes.”

Something about this exchange feels a lot like dèjá vu. As if someone snapped their fingers and took me back to my childhood. There was this girl who lived next door to me. Her name was Victoria, and we were polar opposites. I said tomahto, she said tomato, and we’d argue until I got sick of it and let her have her way. She’d never let me have the last word…ever.

“Wait—Victoria Ruben?”

She looks up sharply.

“Vicks?” I give the rainbow hair a cursory glance and then dismiss it. Hair could easily be altered. But eyes…those vivid green eyes had always felt as though they were staring into my soul whenever they looked at me. Considering we lived next door to each other for ten years, that happened a lot.

“Ugh. No one has called me Vicks VapoRub in a decade, at least. Not since middle school.” She narrows her eyes and studies me until the light pops on over her head. Not literally, of course, but her face brightens with recognition after a few moments.

“Alex? Holy cripes, Alex Darling? Well, aren’t you a blast from my past. How the hell are you?” She grasps my bicep and gives it a squeeze, then leaves her hand there while staring at my shirtsleeve. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” I glance down at her hand now roaming my arm and shoulder, almost like she’s giving me a massage. It feels kind of good. Must to her, too, if the state of her nipples is any indication.

“You’ve filled out. I mean, you’re still on the skinny side and, not surprisingly, tall as all get out, but damn.”

While Victoria, er, Tori’s childhood nickname had been based around her name, mine were all about my stature. Bean Pole, Daddy Long Legs, Gandalf, Q-Tip. I’ve heard them all—and I’m pretty sure Victoria came up with every single one of them.

“So have you,” I retort, and then snap my mouth shut because where the hell did my filter run off to?

She glances down at her perky nips and chuckles. “Yeah, they tend to do that when I rub buff guys’ arms.”

Unlike me, Vicks never had a filter. I clear my throat and avert my gaze like the polite guy my mother raised me to be. “So, you’ve moved back to Chicago?”

“Yep. Your mom may have run mine off, but she can’t keep me away.”

“She didn’t run her off,” I protest, but it’s weak. Because we both know what happened that summer after eighth grade.

“Well, technically, your mom caught my mom and your dad fooling around in a department store dressing room.”

Yeah, I remember. I was with my mother that day. We were at Macy’s, shopping for shorts because I’d grown another few inches since the summer before. My dad was supposed to be at work, and who the hell knew what Vicks’s mom should have been doing. Certainly not bending over and begging my dad to give it to her from behind while in a public place. Or any place, really.

“And after she went home and stewed on it for a few hours, your mom came over to my house and threatened mine with a cleaver. It was the first time I’d ever seen a cleaver. After your mom calmly walked back out the door, I had to ask mine what it was.”

I grimace. “You guys moved out the next day.”

“Actually, we went to a hotel while my mom regrouped and figured out what the hell to do.”

“Which turned out to be stealing my dad and moving to Washington.”

“I wouldn’t say it was stealing, per se. He went quite willingly.”

Yeah, I remember that part, too. My mom was a wreck. I’d had to push aside my grieving over losing my father—which was okay because it wasn’t really much of a loss anyway—to help her figure out how to get along as a single parent.

“So.” I clear my throat. “How is my dad anyway?” I haven’t talked to him since the day he chose her mom over mine. Her kids over me.

Vicks lifts one shoulder. “No idea. Haven’t seen him in, I don’t know, ten years or so. I think he moved to LA. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“Oh man, that sucks. I’m sorry.” Sure, her mother shouldn’t have hooked up with my dad, a married man at the time, but neither did she deserve for him to treat her the same way he treated me.

She flaps her hand. “Trust me, he wasn’t worth keeping.”

I agree with her, despite the nights I laid awake, listening to my mother cry herself to sleep for months after he left. Or maybe I agree because of that.

After a moment, I ask, “So, how is the rest of your family? Your mom, your brother? Did they move back too?”

“Two brothers now.” She lifts her pointer and middle finger. “And no, Mom and Jace didn’t come back to Chicago. Mom’s still in Washington, and I’m not really sure where Jace is at the moment.”

“Your mom had another kid?” I know I shouldn’t judge—glass houses and all—but that means unless Ms. Ruben, or whatever her last name is now, got back together with either Vicks’s or Jaces’s dad, she now has three kids from three different men.

Vicks toys with her tape measure, tugging the strip out of the small plastic holder and then letting it snap back in, over and over, until my arm lifts of its own accord, ready to grab the thing from her hand.

Finally, she stops and stuffs the contraption into her pocket. “Yeah, well, she’s not very good at using protection when she’s mad, and apparently she’s a big fan of angry sex.”

Not something I ever needed to know about her mother. Or anyone’s mother, really.

“She’s way better at producing children than she is at taking care of them,” she adds. “Hence the reason I’m back here.”

Poor Vicks. I can’t imagine what her life has been like since they left Chicago twelve years ago. I mean, sure, my mom had to go back into the workforce after being a stay-at-home parent for my entire life up to that point, had to fight for every pitiful penny my dad coughed up for child support, but not once did I ever feel like she did not love me, did not want me, did not have every intention of taking care of me to the best of her ability.

And if Vicks is still anything like she was when we hung out in elementary and middle school, I cannot tell her I feel sorry for her. Even at a young age, she had pride by the bucket full.

She shakes her head and chuckles humorlessly as she steps behind the glass-encased counter positioned to the left of the entrance. “I think we could both use a stiff one, huh?”

“A stiff one?” I glance over my shoulder at the glowing ‘open’ sign. “Now?”

She snorts out a laugh as she reaches underneath an ancient cash register, pulling out a bottle of golden liquid with a cork stopper and no label.

“What is that?” I ask, giving her offering a dubious look.

“Honey mead. I make my own. It’s quite good, actually.”

“No thanks. I don’t usually drink before five.” And I’ve never had homemade booze in my life. Even though I’m salivating, despite my words. Not sure if that’s because I want to forget the stuff Vicks just told me or if it’s to help process it.

She pulls two lowball glasses from under the counter and pours a hefty amount into both of them. Either she can read minds or she ignored me when I declined her offer. She pushes one of them across the glass surface toward my hand, and I grab it before it tips over the edge and races to shatter on the floor.

“If I didn’t know your mother, I’d find that statement very strange. I still do, but at least I understand where it comes from.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your mom is pretty damn neurotic. So it’s not surprising some of her issues rubbed off on you.”

Hey, that’s my mom she’s talking about. And me, for that matter. “Your mom isn’t exactly a saint, either.”

“Never said she was. In fact, her very obvious lack of sainthood is probably what lured your dad away from your mom. I bet your mom was just as high-strung in bed as she was in the rest of her life.”

An unbidden image of my parents having sex pops into my head. Ugh. I lift the glass of mead to my lips and take a shaky sip. It’s spicy and sweet, like honey laced with jalapeño, and it helps push the idea of my mother having sex—any sex, high-strung or not—out of my head.

“This feels like it’s turning into a mother bashing contest,” I say, taking another drink. This one goes down far more smoothly. Which is saying something, because that first swallow wasn’t bad at all.

“Okay, let’s stop,” Vicks says easily enough. She lifts her glass. “How is it?”

“Surprisingly good.”

She gives her drink a dubious look. “Surprisingly?”

“Nothing personal,” I assure her while continuing to sip away. “It’s just I’ve never had honey mead before, and certainly not homemade. But I like it.”

“Oh. Okay.” She touches the rim of her glass to mine. “To rekindled friendships.”

I like that. As much as she teased me and I harassed her when we were kids, Vicks had been the calming influence in my life before my dad and her mom managed to turn our worlds upside down with their stupid affair. I haven’t felt that same sense of relaxation since. I didn’t even realize I missed it until this moment.

“It’s so good to have you back, Vicks.”

She lifts her glass, touches the rim to mine. “It’s surprisingly good to be here, although I returned to Chicago eight years ago.”

“What the hell took you so long to come back into my life?” I ask, my filter giving out again. Or maybe it’s the mead, because my glass is empty.

“Can I have a refill?”

KEEP READING FOR FREE IF YOU GRAB IT BY 10/11/18: https://www.amazon.com/Sexy-Bad-Halloween-Tami-Lund-ebook/dp/B07J3PBC8L/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1539042683&sr=8-1&keywords=tami+lund+sexy+bad+halloween

While each book in the Sexy Bad Series contains a stand-alone happily ever after, this is the suggested reading order:

Sexy Bad Neighbor
Sexy Bad Daddy
Sexy Bad Boss
Sexy Bad Valentine
Sexy Bad Escort
Sexy Bad Halloween

And here’s the Sexy Bad website, if you want more, more, more: https://sexybadbooks.com/

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund writes Sexy Bad contemporary and paranormal books. A whole lot of them. You should check out the Sexy Bad website above to see all of them….

 

 

Vampire Love

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Happy Valentine’s Day! Seems to me such a drenched-in-red holiday should be celebrated with…vampires!

And I have the perfect boxed set to help immerse you in the vampire culture. While those other folks are gorging on chocolate, you’ll be indulging in something far more decadent, yet entirely unharmful to your thighs. In fact, you’ll probably end up accidentally exercising, as you clench them while reading these rather sinful stories.

So here’s the deal: I wrote a couple vampire books, and they are part of this series called Blood Courtesans.

What’s that, you ask?

In the Blood Courtesan world, humans are aware of vampires’ existence. In fact, humans can make a lot of money if they play their cards right, because vampires need blood to sustain themselves, and they’re willing to pay big bucks for the opportunity to put fang to neck.

Where’s the sexy come in?

You see, these vampires don’t just drink blood out of necessity. Oh no. The process of seeing to their needs involves seduction, wine, and sex. Once someone becomes a vampire, they no longer have need of food, but they still enjoy a delicious glass of wine. Especially if that wine is tasted through the blood of their courtesan.

Oh yeah, and drinking blood makes vampires horny.

If a Blood Courtesan is lucky enough to get chosen to provide sustenance for a vampire, she’s likely to be wined, dined, and then dined on. While experiencing the best sex of her life, I might add. These vamps have been around the block a few thousand times in their long, long existence. They’ve got the Kama Sutra down. They’ve probably written parts of it.

And you can read all about it.

There are 11 full-length novels or novellas in this set. All new stories, all taking place in the Blood Courtesan world. All written by different authors. Some are best sellers. Some are award winners. All are excellent story-tellers.

Want a taste? A nip? A sample?

Here’s a teaser from ETERNITY, the book I wrote as part of this boxed set:

“You don’t fight fair,” I stated flatly. “I can barely resist you.”

“Then don’t.”

An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me to her so that her front pressed against my back. She slid her hand under the hem of my shirt, her nails gently scraping my skin. I closed my eyes and didn’t move away like I should. Instead, I turned my head slightly and breathed in her scent: Magnolias and wine and sugar and cocoa from that cake she’d eaten earlier. I wasn’t hungry; I’d indulged in a courtesan only last night, but I still wanted a nip, a taste of her blood. There was no better dessert than my precious Abigail.

She swivelled her hips, rubbing against my ass, while her hand travelled south. When her fingertips grazed my erection, it was like she’d flipped a switch. I was gone. I couldn’t say no any longer. I needed this as much as she seemed to.

One night. I could handle one more night, couldn’t I? Letting her go the first time had nearly broke me, so I should know better, but clearly, she was a master at seduction. Or perhaps it was my obsession for her. I’d had far more skilled women in my long existence, and none made me remotely as lust-crazed as this one did.

Wrapping my arm around her back, I twisted us both, switching our positions so that her ass now rested against my throbbing erection. Dipping my head, I nipped at her bare shoulder, sliding my fang back and forth over her skin but not penetrating. Yet.

She cupped my backside and her other hand threaded into my hair. I pressed my hardness against her ass and gathered the hem of her dress in my hand so I could get to what was underneath. Her naked flesh, the gathering wetness and heat that was all for me.

“One more night,” I said, vocalizing my thoughts, as if that would somehow give me strength to follow through on the promise. I slipped my hand under the elastic of her panties; my fingers found her shaved mound.

“What?” she said, wiggling, which I took to mean she wanted more. So I pushed my hand lower until it slid through wetness. She arched and moaned and then said, “What did you say?”

No idea. I couldn’t even recall speaking at this point. My entire focus was on the task at hand. She needed an orgasm, multiple ones. I needed to ensure she never forgot this night when I sent her back to her human life.

“I want more,” she said, shifting her hips.

“I’ll give you more. We’ve all night, love.”

“No.” There was a touch of impatience to her voice now, and I finally realized she wasn’t struggling for more, she was trying to get away from me. I tugged my hand out of her panties and turned her around to face me. Her eyes were bright, her color high, her hair mused, and she looked so damn fuckable, I wanted to pick her up and toss her onto the bed and ravish her for the rest of our time together.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my impatience matching hers. Now that I’ve made this decision, I didn’t want to waste a single moment.

“This.” She waved her finger between the two of us. “This isn’t just one night. I don’t want one night. I want all of eternity.”

All of eternity?

She wanted me to turn her.

Despite what I kept telling myself

And here’s one from UNDONE by Skye Jones:

I leaned forward and took a bite of the mango. As the sweet ripeness hit my taste buds, I gave a small moan. I had never tasted mango like it. This fruit was nothing like the mangos we got in our supermarkets back home. Some juice ran onto my chin and I reached for a napkin, but Dimitri got there first.

He tipped my chin and licked the juice from my skin, ending his shocking display by kissing me on the lips with sensual skill.

Oh my God, if he could make a kiss so damn hot, what would he do with the rest of my body to play with. My nipples, the traitorous things, went hard as granite in my dress, and when Dimitri finally broke the kiss and leaned back his gaze traveled down my body as he smiled to himself.

I felt vulnerable, on display, and horribly turned on. Why did he have this effect on me? I hardly knew him. He represented most of the things I hated in this world—apart from the cool factor of him being Russian—yet he made me tremble with a mere glance.

“Can I kiss your throat?” he murmured, his voice deeper than usual. Husky.

I swallowed and nodded. As he pressed close to me, I closed my eyes and waited for the soft touch of his lips on mine, but before he kissed me, he ran his nose up the length of my neck, inhaling as he did so and making me shiver.

“You smell amazing.”

“It’s Givenchy,” I told him.

“No, pretty one. Not your perfume. You.”

“Ah.” Not sure what to say, I shut up as his lips found the skin right below my ear by my jaw.

He kissed me there, feather light and oh so soft, and began to work his way down my throat. The kisses were so light, so chaste as to be almost nothing but wisps of breath against my skin, but they still made me shiver and sigh. I wanted more. So much more. To feel his lips pressed hard against me. His tongue laving me.

One of his hands slid under the table and gathered up the silky folds of my dress, pulling it up as his hand climbed my leg. When he reached the apex of my thighs, he stilled and left his hand there, cool and tempting against my overheated skin. So close to where I needed him, but still a million miles away.

His other hand played with my hair. He lifted it and let if fall through his fingers. Every now and again, he caught a heavy handful of it and gave a gentle tug, and when he did, he pressed his mouth that bit more firmly against my throat.

I wanted so much more. Between my legs grew obscenely damp, and I’d bet I had soaked the gossamer material of the dress. My breath came in rapid gasps, yet he’d hardly done anything of real consequence. But I needed him to.

“What do you want, pretty one?” He kissed my collarbone, murmuring something in Russian against my skin, and hearing the low words in that exotic accent made me weak at the knees.

“I want more.”

“How much more?”

I wanted it all, and he wanted me to say it, but I had my pride. He’d paid for me. He’d bought me. Why should I be the one to beg?

About to say as much, he chuckled darkly against my skin. “You deny yourself because of pride? I don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.”

Those deft fingers of his moved from their resting place at the top of my thigh, and stroked right between my folds, pressing against my most sensitive spot.

“So proud. So beautiful. So different.” He kissed me again when he finished speaking, and this time, it wasn’t gentle or soft. It was insistent and demanding and wild.

 

And, because this is so much fun (and hot), here’s one more. This one is from CONCEALED by Rosalie Redd:

“Don’t touch the Stradivarius.” Gavin’s cool, minty breath eased over my cheeks, tickling my skin.

Confusion wracked my brain, stalling my thoughts. “What?”

He smiled, and this close, I got a good look at his fangs. Long and pointed, they were nothing like the plastic pair I used to play with as a child.

He dropped his head to my neck, his lips trailing over my jugular once again. “I said, don’t touch the Stradivarius.”

“Why not?” My breaths, short and quick, eased from my mouth.

“Over the last one hundred and twenty years, only my hands have touched that violin.” He grazed his tooth along my neck, pricking at me.

120 years… “How old are you?”

“I was born January 14th, 1879.”

“So that makes you one hundred and thirty-nine.”

“Very good. Smart as well as…beautiful.” He chuckled, and the vibration travelled along my nerves, lighting up my senses.

I gasped as much from his touch as from the hateful word he said even after I’d told him how much I despised it.

With his free hand, he trailed his finger down my rib cage and over my hip. The movement was sensual, possessive, and I couldn’t stop the slow moan as it eased from my lips.

He pressed his knee harder against the wall, pushing up my skirt and encouraging me to spread my legs.

With a soft whimper, I complied.

“And, my spunky Alexandra, how young are you?” Gavin slid his fingers along my thigh until he reached the juncture between my legs.

“Twenty-two.”

“Ah, the perfect age.” He brushed his fingers over my panties, circling the outer edges of my mound. My body responded, my nipples peaking under the sheer top.

A groan eased from Gavin’s lips, and he rubbed his chest against mine, teasing the hard nubs. His one eye, vibrant red, stared at me.

Caught like a fly in a web, I couldn’t look away. “The perfect age for what?”

“For sex, of course, dearest Alexandra.”

Want more? Click here for a list of all the various ways you can download this delightful gift to yourself: AWAKENINGS

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund writes books, drinks wine, and wins awards. She also participates in fun, sexy boxed sets and anthologies. She currently has a short story published as part of the 12 Magical Nights of Christmas Anthology. If you purchase this anthology, all proceeds are donated to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Grab it here: 12 MAGICAL NIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS

Knew You’d Come…a sample

Fellow writers will understand this–ever have that one book you wrote that you absolutely love? I mean, you love everything y41zTJz4riFL__UY250_ou’ve written, but this one has a special place in your heart.

For me, it’s Knew You’d Come. It combines several of my favorite things: time travel, ghost hunting, and erotica.

It’s on sale for $.99, or free if you have Kindle Unlimited which IF YOU DON’T HAVE THIS, WHY NOT???

A caveat…it’s racy. Even the excerpt. So if you’re in the least prudish, look away now for the love of God!

Enjoy the sample below, then click the link to head on over to Amazon and fill up that new Kindle.

Happy New Year!

Whip Daniels watched the diminutive woman with the long, platinum blonde hair unload the van from his position behind the bar. Over the long years he had been here, waiting, he had watched many different people come and go. Sometimes a group of teenagers would break in, looking for a place to hang out, smoke pot and screw. Those trespassing apparently loved having a place away from everything, where no one would catch them playing their drinking games, pin the tail on the whatever, and strip poker.

Ah, poker. It would be so nice to be able to play a good game of poker. He had been an excellent player.

He had listened in on the conversations, and over the years had become accustomed to the various generations that passed through the building. He hated the hippies, though; once they were high, some could really see him and tried to have conversations with him.

It didn’t work. He was someone who could only watch reality and not be a part of it. It was a never-ending lifetime of floating around and watching people break in with food and booze. He enjoyed the aroma of their never-ending cheeseburgers, fries, and s’mores. He watched couples have sex and heard their moans of passion, and he missed his woman badly. He desperately wanted to touch her again, see her again; yet he knew she was far out of reach, unaware of his existence. It was a special kind of hell.

He returned his attention to the little blonde. She scurried around the van, loading her arms with more supplies to bring in. He knew what she was doing; over the years various brave souls had tried to spend the night and “test” for ghostly activity so he recognized some of the equipment.

The woman hustled back and forth between the van and the saloon, dropping off her boxes, bending and stooping, t-shirt molded to her perfect breasts, jeans painted on her ass…her delicious ass…his cock stiffened.

He floated around to the front and watched her close the van doors with her foot while she juggled the final boxes in her arms.

Finally, she finished and sat down to rest for a moment.

It was about time she got here—he had almost given up on her.

He looked down at his erection. Wonder if she had a machine to measure that.

Introducing A New Series: B.A.D. Alpha Dads

Coming Soon Header

I’ve joined a new project, and it’s a hella BAD new series. It’s comprised of a bunch of authors, all writing paranormal romance, all writing as part of a series, although each book will be stand alone. The premise: A sexy, alpha baby daddy learns he’s got a kid–and now he has to figure out how to raise it. Oh, and naturally he’s gonna fall in love in the process. And by process we mean, he’s gonna have lots of steamy scenes with the heroine as they fall for each other and decide to make their dysfunctional family a happily ever after dysfunctional family.

A few of my author friends are already well into writing their books and I thought YOU would like a taste of what this series will be like…

This first one is from Midnight: Psychic Retrieval Agency (B.A.D.) by TL Reeve & Michele Ryan. They’ve written A LOT of books together, so if you like this, you should check them out on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/TL-Reeve/e/B00CRGP83E/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_1

In the last three years, I learned just how depraved people could be to one another. On my first case with my new friends Mane and Crow, we found a little girl chained to a post in the middle of a room. The only thing she wore had been a three-inch thick black leather collar. She had a small waste bucket in the corner, I doubted the chain reached, and a teddy bear. She stunk to high heaven and on top of everything else, she was half feral. The little she-kitten had been taken from her pride in South America and brought to the states to experiment on.

The kitten had telepathic abilities and the Psychic Bounty Hunters wanted her. Twenty-five years ago, the PBH had been shut down after a rogue handler and his agent/lover left a trail of destruction in their wake. They killed a senator’s son, chased two women to Window Rock and created twins with a shifter to try and make a super race of beings. The two women who showed up in Window Rock were the mates to Kalkin and Caden Raferty and ran the orphanage where Mane, Crow, and myself brought the children we rescued. The twins were also mated now. Both had children of their own and worked within the community of Window Rock. Their shifter father was also a member of the sheriff’s department.

Like I told my mom the last time I talked to her, I’d never find a more rewarding job than working for the Psychic Retrieval Agency—PRA for short. Not only did I free kids from a life of torture and sadness, I got to watch them change and come out of their self-imposed hells. Of the forty-five children we’d saved so far, fifteen of them were placed with families within the community and the others were either waiting on a judge to emancipate them, or Maria, one of the intake workers for the orphanage, tried to track down all known next of kin for the kids so they could be reunited with their biological families.

***

The Alpha’s Gift – This one is by Monica La Porta. She’s another one who’s written a TON of books. If the below snippet sounds intriguing, check out her Amazon page: https://www.amazon.com/Monica-La-Porta/e/B007DZFP8W/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1511398058&sr=1-2-ent

Max Prize is a dragon shifter billionaire who thinks that Seattle is his playground. One night, an special package is left at his doorstep, and Max’s life is changed for the best.

The arrogant alpha billionaire, the unexpected baby girl & the sassy nanny who will take care of both.

And here is a snippet for you:

PROLOGUE

Max parked his yellow Lambo in the garage of the Wild Ride Nightclub. He popped a mint into his mouth and exhaled the cold aroma slowly, savoring the bite. It was two o’ clock in the morning and the night had just started.

Chuckling at the memory of his last heated encounter, he looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled. The brunette had left a small hickey on his throat, and the skin on his back still tingled from the woman’s long nails’ attention. Her screams of pleasure had almost given them away as he slammed into her in the dark back corridor of True, one of the many clubs that were his hunting ground in Seattle. His dragon had growled the entire time, enhancing his pleasure.

Life was truly wonderful for a billionaire alpha shifter in Seattle.

His cellphone rung. He checked the caller ID with a frown. It was from his penthouse’s doorman.

“Hugo, what is the matter?” Max asked, leaning against the black leather seat. Boy, that woman had scratched her way through his back well and good, and the pain had only excited him more. He grew hard at the mere thought of her long, black nails curved in a come-hither gesture—

His doorman’s voice interrupted his pleasant wandering. “Mr. Prize, I apologize for calling you this late at night—”

“What is it the matter?”

“Mr. Prize, you should come back home,” the man said in a rush.

“I’m kind of busy right now.” Or he would be soon. Max had every intention to make his statement a certainty the moment he entered True.

In fact, he remembered two blondes in their late twenties frequenting the club for the last two or three months, and forever giving him not-so-subtle glances from the opposite end of the bar. Tonight, early morning, whatever, he had in mind to take them both back to one of the hotels he owned in the city for some fun. His dragon paced in his mind, anticipating the celebratory flight Max always indulged in after a night of pleasure.

“I apologize again, sir, but a situation has arisen that needs your immediate attention.” Hugo’s voice was somehow covered by what sounded like a wail of some sort.

“What’s happening?” Max’s thoughts went immediately to the most probable scenario. A woman had found her way to his penthouse and was now threatening the doorman to make a scene if Max didn’t show up.

“You’ve received a package…” the man’s voiced trailed at the end, drowned again by the most infernal ruckus Max had ever heard.

“What in the name of all that’s holy do you have there?” Had Hugo brought a cat to work?

“The package’s content I’m afraid,” Hugo said. “Please, Mr. Prize, hurry. I’ve already taken the liberty to call Mr. Wilson, and Grant is here with me.”

Max’s frown deepened as he swore in several languages. If Hugo had called Wilson, Max’s best friend and PR, whatever the situation was at his penthouse, it needed professional handling.

With a last, disappointed look at the club’s elevators, Max turned the engine of his sports car, shifted into reverse and let the Lambo’s roar fill the silent garage.

*** 

This series starts releasing in January, several books a month, for the foreseeable future. Lots of shifter love, lots of hot alpha book boyfriends for your reading pleasure. Keep up with our progress on the website: https://www.badalphadads.com

Oh, and happy Thanksgiving for those in the U.S.! 

 
Tami Lund Headshot 2014

Tami Lund is an author, a wine drinker, an award winner, and a member of this B.A.D. Alpha Dad writing gang. Her book is tentatively scheduled for release in April.