Blog Tour, Excerpt & #Giveaway: ☆Besotted☆ by @GeorgiaLeCarre

In Forty 2 Days we cheered as we learned of Lana’s opportunity for a second chance to put things right with our wounded hero, Blake. We read with joy at the news of baby Sorab’s birth, and with tension in our bodies as the spirited Lana fought and finally overcame the might of Blake’s powerful family to win the heart of the man she adored. 

But Lana still  needs answers to many burning questions.
The secrets are many and tangled. Will she get the answers she seeks?

Blake finally lays it on the line to Victoria, and declares his true love for Lana, but will that be the end of the matter?

Then there is the re-appearance of Marcus.

Can Lana keep her resolve and overcome all obstacles to claim her man forever?

The knock on the Lanesborough Suite’s door is firm and unhesitant. I glance at my watch. Very punctual. I like that. I open the door and… My, my, she is a beauty: waist-length, straight blonde hair, gorgeous big eyes. And scarlet lips. Lana almost never colors her lips so red. She is wearing a long, white coat belted at the waist and really, really high heels. They remind me of the shoes Lana wore the first night I met her.

She is chewing gum, though. I hate that. She must watch too many movies about big-hearted hookers. I put my hand out, palm outstretched. For a moment she looks at me, clueless. I raise my eyebrows and she hurriedly takes the gum out of her mouth and puts it into my hand. Then she raises her own eyebrows and cheekily stretches her hand out.

‘Don’t you want to come in first?’ I ask, amused but not showing it.

‘Of course,’ she says and walks past me. Her accent is odd. She must be making it up as she goes along.

I close the door and watch her walk ahead of me. She has a good walk. I like a woman who can walk with grace. She stops in front of the low table where there is a platter of fresh fruit and a bottle of champagne cooling in an ice bucket, then turns around to face me. For a moment I am distracted by the picture she makes standing in the agreeably English decor of traditional prints and chintzes teamed with bold choices of acid greens and Schiaparelli pinks.

‘I’m sorry, what’s your name?’

‘Rumor.’

I smile. The name suits her. She looks like a rumor. Couldn’t possibly be true.

‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’

She lifts one foot and lets it swing back. It is impossibly erotic. ‘I’d like to be paid first.’

I don’t react to the provocation. ‘The money is by the lamp.’

She glances at the neat pile of money as she works the two buttons on her coat. The coat lands on the sofa behind her. She is wearing a very short white dress. Wordlessly, she turns away from me and bends from the waist, so her ass is pushed out and her skirt rides up to where her smooth thighs indent and I glimpse the other thing I had specified—a freshly waxed pussy. The lips are already swollen and reddened, and as I watch moisture starts to gather.

Immediately I am hard as hell.

Slowly, holding that position, she counts the money. The desire to ram her while she is counting her money is strong, but I resist. She puts the last note on top of the pile she has counted, and turns to face me.

‘All there?’

‘Yeah,’ she says slowly, her acquired accent undergoing another change. ‘All there.’

I move towards her and put my hand between her legs. Obligingly, she parts them and my fingers start to play with the soaking flesh.

‘So Rumor, what shall we do with you?’

‘Mr. Barrington—’

‘Blake,’ I say persuasively, as I continue to explore the silky, wet folds.

Don’t miss the first two books in the Billionaire Banker series!
http://amzn.to/1mL8Awp
http://amzn.to/1uLxOjV

Don’t Miss book 4
Seduce Me
Releasing in June

Lana has chosen Billie and her friend Julie Sugar to be her bridesmaids and preparations are under way as the big day draws ever closer for the besotted couple. Billie loves Lana and would do anything for her, but Julie’s feelings are more concealed as she hides a shocking secret from her friend.
Though Lana believes she has sidestepped Blake’s treacherous ex to win her man, storm clouds are never far away where Victoria is concerned. 
Will all go smoothly for the lovers on their big day?
Or is there unforeseen drama that may yet still spoil the couple’s happily ever after


‘What about BDSM? Are you going to teach me something about that?’

He looks at me over the rim of his glass. ‘Why? Are you interested in being a submissive?’

‘I don’t know. I could be. What is it?’

‘It’s a game.’

‘I like games. Start me off and I’ll tell you if I like it.’

He stops smiling, his eyes change, darken. Very deliberately he positions his hand right in front of him, tips his glass sideways and allows the liquid in it to pour onto the table. I watch the puddle grow on the table. At some point before the glass is empty he stops pouring. I lift my eyes from the spill and look at him. His eyes are expressionless, watchful. The silence stretches. I break it. ‘Well?’

‘Clean it up,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘I don’t need to repeat myself, do I? It is a punishable offence.’

For a moment I feel confused. Was this the thing that has everybody hot up the collar? Do I want to be his little slave? The answer is obvious and immediate. I don’t. Definitely not. But I’ll let it play a little more and see where this little game goes. I turn towards the paper towels.

‘Not with the paper towel.’ His voice cracks like a whip.

I turn towards him slowly. Our eyes clash, a look of impatience about his. What does he want me to do? Clean the table with my tongue? The thought is unsexy, off putting. ‘With what then?’

He leans back and folds his arms across his chest. ‘With your sex.’

And suddenly I am wet. The idea is shocking but incredibly, unbelievably erotic. I step out of my knickers and walk towards him. I pull myself onto the table and opening my legs slightly so he can see what I am doing slowly drag my sex across the spill. Something flashes in his eyes. When I have dragged myself across the liquid I stop and look to him.

He nods slowly. ‘You, he says, and there is a touch of admiration in his voice, ‘are an excellent pupil. You never do more than what you are instructed to do.’

I say nothing. Just hold myself in that position.

‘Now spread your legs,’ he orders.

Georgia Le Carre lives in England, in an old 19th century romantic cottage surrounded by a magical garden filled with fruit and walnut trees. 

When she is not feeding words into her laptop, she is either curled up in bed with a box of chocolates and a good read, or lost in a long walk in the woods. Especially on moonlit nights.  And often with the man of her dreams.

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