Hold onto your helmets Wildcats fans! The sexy hot cover for Language of Love, book 5 of the To Love a Wildcat series, is here. I have some strong suspicions that Isabelle, aka Mama Wildcat, is not going to be happy that her only cub is in Petro`s arms and bed. Release day for Margarite`s book is 1/5/15!
Grab your spray bottles and get ready for the sizzle!
Life was so much easier for Margarite Lancourt before she had set eyes on Petro Shevenko. Her diploma to teach hearing impaired children would be in her hand within a year. Then she would find the right man, the right neighborhood, and bear the right children. Her deafness was not going to get in the way of her aspirations. But were they her dreams or her mother`s?
Now that she has met Petro, the Wildcats sexy new acquisition who has an unquenchable thirst for the wild side of life, Margarite`s nicely mapped out life is in chaos. Can she tame this unruly Russian Wildcat? Or will his family demons drag him, and Margarite, back into the darkness the couple have struggled to break free from?
How about an exclusive excerpt from Language of Love?
Placing my purse back on my shoulder, I turned the knob slowly. The aroma of stinky pads, sweaty skates, soap, unwashed man, and old socks hit my nose. I hurried to close the locker room door. If Petro were in there, he could stay in there. Rubbing at my affronted nose, I glanced back the way I came. Something wet hit my arm. I jumped in fright. Spinning around I saw him, leaning on the doorway of another room minus his skates and jersey. I threw a glare at the wet washcloth he had chucked at me. Then I grabbed it off the dirty floor and flung it back at him. It missed by ten feet or more. Petro laughed then stepped back into the open door behind him. Down the hall I went, my purse slapping my hip, my hair bouncing, my eyes locked on my goal.
I slammed into the training center. Massage tables, cold plunge tubs, and whirlpools greeted me, as did the Russian Romeo. Petro was shucking off his padding. The door drifted shut. He threw his shoulder pads to the floor. My mouth filled with saliva. I swallowed roughly then stood there, rooted to the spot, as he worked on divesting himself of every damn bit of gear he had on. When he got down to his compression shorts, my legs grew a little rubbery. Down they came, as did his cup. I ogled his ass. He gave me a sly look over his shoulder before he walked toward a whirlpool. He took just a moment to turn the jets on then he stepped down into the frothy water.
"Come," he called over the rumble of the whirlpool. I chewed my lip with indecision. Dare I?