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Even though Shane’s body was chiseled from granite and Cyn compares every man’s caress to Shane’s panty-melting kiss, she dreams of her true knight in shining armor. So shortly after meeting charismatic, well bred, and breathtakingly handsome Mr. Waits, the perfect man in every way, she marries him. She fully expects a fairytale honeymoon in Bora Bora, Fiji, or Maui. Much to her chagrin, he whisks her off to the Alaskan Interior. When her life is threatened, she must rely on the ill-mannered Shane to survive—a man who has never read the Prince Charming manual.
Taming Alaska is a full-length standalone novel and is tied into a duology. Steamy thriller with a dash of satire and humor for 18 and older, including a strong alpha male and friends to lovers romance.
“Trevor and I broke up. He stole my virginity, and the sex sucked and maybe a real man, like Shane, could make up for it.”
“Cynthia,” she scolds. It takes her a full minute to recover while Shane laughs heartily.
“Trevor really likes you,” she says, but I know my sister Fay has the suitable pedigree.
I smile. “No, he doesn’t. Otherwise, he would’ve satisfied me.”
Shane’s not sorry at all. He’s grinning and slips his hand onto the back of my chair, which sends a flurry of evil eyes my way from Fay and Mrs. Duncan and the other women in the room. Shane isn’t even Fay’s type, let alone mine.
He leans down and whispers, “You’re certainly a spitfire. If your mom weren’t here, I’d take you home and guarantee your satisfaction.”
My body lights up at the promise of sexual gratification. Shane definitely thinks I’m older. I gaze up and down this man’s stealth-like body and know he can deliver. I wiggle in my seat to open up a bit more breast flesh for Shane’s enjoyment, and he does take a few unrepentant peeks.
“What year are you in college?” Shane asks, his fingers leaving a trail of burning coals on my skin while he uses his other hand to swig his beer.
Fay laughs while I glance at Mom to see if I can get away with a white lie. She gives a small shake of the head.
I sigh. “I’m sixteen, but I turn seventeen in another two months.”
“Sixteen?” he spits out a mouthful of beer. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He’s so flustered he tips over a water glass, yet saves it before hardly any spills.
When he looks at me, like I just contracted herpes, I want to crawl under the table, but instead, I sit up straighter. He started this or maybe I did, but he joined right in.
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