Smut for Good Charity Blog Hop

Oh, I do love a blog hop and Smut for Good, Curves Rule! is the perfect sort. Here's the details, and please consider giving…

Smut for Good: Curves Rule is a blog hop with prizes galore to raise funds for Parkinson’s UK as this is Parkinson’s Awareness week. To find more curves, and seek out further prizes please visit http://smutters.co.uk/smut-for-good and if you can take a minute to please visit the Smut for Good: Curves Rule Just Giving Page  and donate whatever you can to help us reach our target of £100 to raise awareness of Parkinson’s and to support the charity Parkinson’s UK who help those with the disease learn to cope with the challenges, give out information and search for a cure.

I'm going to be giving away a pdf copy of HIRED, the first book in my HOT ICE series. The heroine in HIRED, Brooke, is a fabulous curvy girl and her lovely shapely figure is perfect for brooding hockey player Logan "Phoenix" Taylor. This snippet is an example of how you can't always tell what someone else is thinking…

The first door I came to opened up to a beautiful big bedroom decorated in pale cream and a delicate moss green. A dark wooden bed was surrounded by white netting hanging from a hoop on the ceiling. Opposite were a huge dressing table and a towering wardrobe. Several pictures dotted the walls, mainly photographs of tropical woodland, each one in soft tones that complemented the hues of the room. I peered through a door to my right, a shiny white en-suite that smelled faintly of cleaning fluid. Perfect, this room would do.

I moved to the window and to my delight saw it was in fact French doors. Pulling back the soft, cotton curtain, I caught my breath. The doors led right onto the beach. Well, there was a small decked area with a chair and a table and a few potted plants, but then it was just perfect white sand slipping down a gentle slope to the waves. Impatiently I fiddled with the lock and opened the doors. The sound of the sea meandered into my room, ebbing and flowing on the breeze I’d been dreaming of. I sent up a prayer of thanks to whichever spirit was looking after me today. Who’d have thought, Brooke the girl from The Grill who served fries and burgers, coffee and juice fifty hours a week, would be in a place like this? This really was more than I ever could have imagined.

With renewed strength I threw my suitcase onto the bed and plucked out my new bikini. It was black with big scarlet flowers dotted about randomly. The top had a good amount of support for my heavy breasts and the bottoms came up high enough to hide the bit I really wasn’t fond of at the base of my stomach. I fastened my blonde curls on top of my head and reached for a towel from the en-suite.

Feeling like a kid let loose at the playground, I padded into the sunshine. Desperate to get those little grains of sand between my toes and the sea lapping over my body, I stepped down from my deck. I gasped. The sand was hot, real hot—I should have worn my flip-flops.

I made a dash down to the waves, holding my chest with flattened hands. My bikini was good, but not that good. I was relieved when my soles hit cool, wet sand and the burn receded. Turning, I chucked my towel onto the dry sand and padded into the water.

Squinting at the clear, straight horizon I sucked in the pure air. There wasn’t another person or any sign of habitation in sight, just miles of sea and sand and acres of crystal blue sky.

I waded in deeper and sighed as my shoulders dipped below the surface, pushed out and swam several fast strokes, throwing my arms over my head and releasing the tension in my shoulders. Then I flipped onto my back, shut my eyes against the glare of the sun and lazily swam parallel to the beach, kicking my legs and swishing my arms. It was bliss being in the cool water with the hot sun overhead. The peace and the quiet and being at one with Mother Nature were so good for my soul.

And I was getting paid for it.

After half an hour my stomach made a low, gurgling noise. It was well past lunchtime. I made my way back to shore in a lazy, made-up, sideways stroke and when I could touch the ground waded out of the sea. Forcing my legs through the back- flowing waves, I checked every part of my bikini was in position, then stretched my hands above my head, squeezed the drips from my hair and re-clipped the thick strands on top of my head.

It was then I spotted Logan.

He was leaning against a doorframe holding a bottle of beer. His shades were on, his mouth set tight and his right ankle was crossed over the left. I’d forgotten all about his surly presence.

Prickles of self-consciousness suddenly washed over me. My breasts were big and soft and shifted up and down with each step. My hips rolled as I walked and my thighs met at the top. There was no getting around it, this was the shape I was. It was the shape my poor departed mother had been, which was why I’d always embraced it, accepted it. But being studied by a churlish superstar who was no doubt used to bedding waif-like supermodels pushed even my confidence. Wavered even my faith in positive body image.

But I refused to let him see I was ruffled. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. So I carried on strutting with barely a falter in my step, feeling the water lower around my thighs, knees and finally my shins and ankles. Since he wore shades I had no idea where he was actually looking, so I made a point of not making eye contact and instead stared at a patch of lush vegetation crammed with long-stemmed orange flowers as I tried to control the wild beating of my heart.

Holding my chest, I stooped to pick up the towel I’d dropped earlier. Wrapping it around my body, I fisted it at my sternum, relieved to have my wobbling bits finally covered.

I walked toward my room, trying to ignore the burn on my soles, which made me want to hop and skip. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Logan drain his beer and uncross his ankle. He pushed his bunched-up shoulder from the doorframe, turned and went into the darkness of the villa. The show was over, nothing else to see. His steely face made me think I wasn’t a show he’d particularly enjoyed, but hey, he hadn’t been asked to watch. 

If sexy hockey players are your thing then check out my HOT ICE series which is regularly nominated for industry awards and stacks up the 5* reviews. There are 6 novels in total and more on the way.

For a chance to win HIRED and find out just what Logan is thinking as he watches Brooke emerge from the sea, leave me a comment right here along with your email address and I'll pick a winner at random at the end of the hop.

HOT ICE on Pinterest

HIRED

Amazon/Amazon UK

Ellora's Cave