My hot new book Killer Curves will be released by Ellora's Cave Publishing on September 5!!! YAY!!! Just got the official word so today I'm posting my hot new cover and an excerpt for you. Like 'em hot? Like 'em fast-paced? Like a hot hero who makes your toes curl??? This one's got it all going on!
Killer Curves (a blurb)
by Regina Carlysle
After the death of her husband in a fiery crash, Carrie Martin Salem left the world of the racing circuit and retreated to Texas vowing to live a quiet and safe life. But old memories dig deep, leaving her longing for the friend she left behind. From the moment, J.T. Sims steps from the cab of his truck, Carrie knows it’s more than friendship she feels for the hottest racecar driver on Earth.
J.T. Sims never forgot the beautiful wife of his long-dead best friend. She’d had her time to grieve. She’d had years to pull herself together and now it was his turn, his time to reach out for the love he’s always wanted. His mission becomes convincing the pretty Texas lady that she’s strong enough to take what he’s offering. Nights of hot passion and days filled with love.
An Excerpt of Killer Curves:
Her mouth felt like warm, wet silk sliding up the heavy length of his cock. What was her name? Was it Janie? Jill? Something like that? It pissed him off that he couldn’t remember. Must’ve been the liquor.
J.T. sprawled naked in the chair and looked down at her blonde head as it moved up and down, working him. That delicious mouth swallowed his length dragging a groan from his throat. He watched his fingers clench in her hair and lay his head back as the suctioning pull of her mouth devoured him with slow strokes.
This morning when he’d finally opened his eyes, he peered at the lush, naked stranger next to him and wondered what in the hell had possessed him.
Eying the half empty bottle of scotch near his elbow, he groaned. Yep. He knew the answer to that question. Too much whiskey and too many memories had propelled him toward the woman at last night’s party. They were always around and he’d been quick to make his selection from the bevy of groupies that showed up at this kind of thing.
He felt like a shithead for not recalling her name so he improvised. “That’s it, sweetheart. Suck my cock. Just like that. Ah, yeah, that’s goooood,” he finished on a husky moan.
A low hum rose up from her throat vibrating the head then she slipped her tongue against the slit at the end and flicked rapidly. “You’ve gotta be the ‘blow job’ queen, sweet thing,” he murmured low. His balls drew up tight as the blonde groped at his sac, settled a thumb just beneath and pressed the throbbing nerve hidden there. Arching into her mouth, J.T. promised himself he’d make it up to her. The forgetting her name stuff.
It was bad of him and he only had the liquor to blame.
Despite the throbbing hangover that pulsed through his brain, the blow job was superb as she drew on his cock, milked him, stroked his tight aching balls. Almost there, he thought as her hand fisted at the base and flexed. Holy shit. “I’m coming. Hell, yeah, darlin’.”
She mewled, lapping against his hard flesh. She sucked and pulled.
J.T. felt the sensation rocket through his body, curling his toes against the Berber carpet on his living room floor. Tingles danced across his spine and over his scalp. His shout of release whipped through the air, drowning out the sound of the television in the background, shutting off his barely functioning brain for just a minute, sending him into oblivion.
When she sank against his thigh, he cupped her face and got a good look at her. Pretty, in a hard sort of way. Definitely suffering from a hangover if the bleary look in her blue eyes was any kind of indicator. Gently, he stroked a hand over her cheek and smiled.
“Hell of a way to wake up, darlin’.”
She smiled contentedly, licking her lips, as she flipped her long hair back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of the picture showing on the plasma tv hanging on the wall. “Hey! That’s you,” she said, pointing. She sighed. “God, J.T. you’re so fucking hot.”
Classic Speed was playing. J.T. flicked his gaze to the segment he’d seen a million times over the past three years. His heart thumped hard, crashing into his ribcage. He saw the familiar shot of Mark Salem and himself at the track in full gear. Smiling teammates gearing up for the time trial at the Miami 500. The ensuing chaos as Mark’s car slammed into a retaining wall of the oval track. The ball of flame, shouts. Carrie’s face, a mask of terror and grief as, Ted Dobbs, the crew chief held her to keep her from running toward the scene of destruction. All caught on film. Saved for posterity.
Carrie. Mark’s wife.
The sight of her threatened to bring him to his knees.
“I remember her,” the blonde said in a small voice. “She’s really pretty.”
“Yeah.” Pale hair, soft-looking. J.T.’s belly clenched.
“Some of the girls were talking about her the other night.”
He had to ask. “What were they saying?” He knew. Oh yeah, a guy didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure what a pack of groupies might have to say about Mark’s wife.
Naked, she stood bold as brass and shook her head. “Said she was cold as ice in the sack and that’s why Mark took her to all the parties but always left with someone else.”
Mark had been an ass but J.T. kept it to himself. Any man who’d throw away a beautiful woman like Carrie would have to be blind and dumb as dirt. How many nights had he been witness to her embarrassment and hurt over Mark’s actions? How many nights, as the designated best friend, had he personally seen to it she’d gotten home? And every time, he’d stare into those sweet baby blues and wish she were his.
In one fluid motion, J.T. stood and reached for the jeans he’d discarded when the groupie he’d picked up the night before had sauntered naked into the room with the promise of easy sex. Suddenly, everything was just too much. The women. The booze. Trying to forget.
“Um…listen. It’s getting pretty late and I have to get some things done today,” he began, feeling like a lame ass.
“Yeah. That’s okay. I understand,” the woman said, turning toward the bedroom. “I need to be running on anyway.”
J.T. watched her go into the bedroom and spotted her purse on a chair near the foyer. Barefoot, he padded across the wide living room floor and plucked it up. Rummaging, he grunted when he found her driver’s license. He gave it a glance and tucked it away again. By the time, she came out, wearing last night’s little black dress, he felt more composed. “Last night was good, Jana. I enjoyed hanging out with you.”
Jana. Her name was Jana.
At least he was gentleman enough to address her properly after a night of wild, monkey sex and the best head he’d had in months.
She strolled up and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in. “Hey, what’s going on tonight? Want to get together? We could party.”
Hearing the sounds of racecars roaring in the background, he suddenly knew what he had to do. It was time to face that sweet little ghost from his past.
It was time to see if he still loved her more than any woman he’d ever known.
J.T. smiled and shook his head. “Can’t do it, honey. Listen, why don’t you write your number and address on that pad over there. I have to leave town and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Maybe we can hook up again when I’ve finished my business.”
But he wasn’t going to tell her that. He’d place a call to his florist and send her something. It was the least he could do.
Two hours later, he felt a little more human. A shower, shave and a handful of aspirin could do that for a guy. He placed a call to his personal assistant. “Hey, Dor, I need a favor. I’m going to be out of town for a few weeks. Want to hang out over here? Housesit for me?”
Doreen, who’d been taking care of him for years, laughed. “It’ll be like a vacation for me staying at your place. I’d do it for free but you’ll have to pay me anyway.”
He rattled off a list of things and disconnected, anxious to get on his way now that he’d made his plans. Grabbing his duffel bag, he headed through the monstrous house wondering how in the hell a poor boy from the sticks of North Carolina deserved something so fine. It was weird what people would spend their hard earned money on and fortunately for him, they paid big bucks to see him drive fast. Very, very fast.
Heading into the five car garage, his gaze skipped past the Astin Martin and the Porsche Carrera GT . Nope, the custom Harley wouldn’t do either. Decided, he tossed his duffel into the bed of his Dodge Ram double cab and climbed behind the wheel.
The silver bullet wasn’t built for speed but it was comfortable and inconspicuous. He didn’t want to deal with fans on this trip so it was best to keep things on the down-low. Low profile all the way.
J.T. Sims, former NexTrac Cup Rookie of the Year, former best friend of the world famous, now dead, Mark Salem didn’t want anything to distract him from his purpose. He was headed to the Texas Hill Country and a certain beautiful blue-eyed blonde.
He’d put off this confrontation far too long. It was time. Long past time he looked her straight in those gorgeous eyes and told her he loved her. She’d say it back, too. Eventually.
J.T. wasn’t going to take no for an answer.