Cowboy Resurrection #TeaserTuesday

January 12, 2016


I am so excited about this. COWBOY RESURRECTION, Book #2 in the Cowboy Cocktail series, will be released by Samhain Publishing on March 15. It's available for pre-order, but being an impatient sort, I'd like to share an excerpt with you now!

Dean MacKinnon is the eldest MacKinnon brother, a professional bullfighter who's forced to return to his family's California ranch after ten years of staying away. He's big, broody, and full of angry secrets. Monica Kaur, a marketing hotshot who's forced to return to her small town to help bail out her family's business, can't wait to get out of town. She's smart, tough-as-nails, and won't take no for an answer.

When these two get together, forget sparks. Wildfires fly!

Here's the blurb and an excerpt! Hope you like Dean and Monica.

PRE-ORDER THE BOOK


Ball-busting businesswoman meets no-holds-barred cowboy. He’s gonna need a longer rope.

Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2

Marketing hotshot Monica Kaur has put her big-city life on hold to help bail out her brother’s failing business. Now she’s got three months to plan and promote a rodeo, the first her tiny hometown has ever seen.

To ensure the rodeo’s success, Monica enlists a local hero, a rancher’s son who’s made a name for himself on the bull-riding circuit. Problem? She can’t stop daydreaming about the cocky bastard—and all the things she longs to do to him out behind the chutes.

Professional bullfighter Dean MacKinnon is home helping his family while his father fights cancer. Haunted by bad memories, jaded by love, Dean finds escape in a no-strings-attached go-round with brainy, sexy Monica, whose close-knit Sikh-American family would sooner run him out of town than see her with a notorious rodeo romeo.

In private, Monica and Dean play as hard as they work. But as the rodeo draws near, that clean break they promised each other is getting more and more hung up in the rigging.

Warning: Contains rope play, motel nooners, a blue-eyed charmer with a taste for kink, and a brown-eyed princess with a taste for cowboys.

EXCERPT

© 2016 by Mia Hopkins

“Careful,” he said softly. With sure, swift movements, he hooked one arm around her waist and rested his other hand flat against her back, helping her gain her center of balance at once. She wavered a little bit, but his stance was solid, as though his legs were rooted in the earth like trees. Her skirt had ridden up just a little and she was straddling his thigh. Sudden heat flared up wherever her body was touching his—her chest, her back, her waist, her hands. A powerful, greedy ache grabbed hold of her between her legs. She didn’t move. Neither did he.

“Miss Kaur,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

They were standing so close together that Monica could see the faint brown freckles on his cheeks, the crinkles that formed at the corners of his blue eyes when he smiled.

“Call me Monica,” she said.

“Monica,” he murmured, “are you all right?” His mouth, framed by that short, dark beard, was wide and luscious, as tempting to her as an oasis in the heat.

Monica wasn’t a fool. She’d watched videos of him in the ring. Dressed in his gear and cowboy hat, Dean was fast as a cat and completely fearless, putting himself between angry bulls and fallen riders again and again and again. In the most famous incident, a rider had gotten hung up in his rope and Dean had taken a hoof to the femur while cutting the man free. Dean was fearless.

His local legend went back much further. Back in high school, he’d been Oleander’s very own cowboy Casanova, a football player and weekend bullfighter more handsome than a movie star. Some of the women who’d known him in school had told her stories about him that had left her blushing. When he’d gotten married, they’d cried enough tears to fill the aqueduct. Mystery shrouded his eventual divorce. Monica couldn’t dig up the dirt even though she tried.

And there were dozens of fan sites dedicated to the hotness of Dean MacKinnon. From Dean’s Queens, a group of gay cowboys in San Francisco, to Jailbait No More, a small army of young women who showed up at his events wearing T-shirts that said Hey, Dean, I’m Finally 18. Dean MacKinnon lived in an all-you-can-eat buffet of willing sexual partners.

Up close, Monica saw the truth. Those fans weren’t wrong. The man was a bona-fide sex god.

He grinned as though he could read her mind. “Are you all right, princess?”

Temporary insanity was her only excuse. Months without sex, and her body was like a bull bucking
in its chute. No brain. No logic. No words. All go.

“Don’t…call me that,” she whispered, staring at his mouth.

She leaned forward, tipped her head and, eyes open, pressed her lips against his.