by Poppy Dunne
Date Released: February 28, 2018
About Come Again
It is truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a dead-end job, shoebox studio apartment, and zany, intensely loyal friends, must be in want of a man.
But in my wildest dreams, I never expected that man to remember me selling overpriced KoolAid in my Rainbow Brite underpants when I was six years old. Life is unpredictable.
Fraser Drake was the least sexy boy when we were growing up: all elbows and knees and khaki pleats and debate club. But right now, in my mother's kitchen, he's never looked hotter, more irresistible. Granted, he's looking down on me as I expertly dance the sock hop scene from Grease. But behind those layers of haughty indifference, I detect the hint of lust.
He is everything I never knew I wanted. Since I met him, my feet haven't touched the ground and my smile hasn't left my face. His laugh is like a well-aged scotch, and I have a feeling I could get drunk on it.
If a Pride and Prejudice/Bridget Jones’s Diary mash-up but with more sex, sexual tension, and sexy sex, sounds good to you, you've come to the right place.
Read my five-starred review of Come Again.
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An Excerpt from Come Again
Fraser was looking like a granite block of control before; at my words, he’s still got that chiseled expression, but it’s wonderful to see the light come back into his eyes. The hot, sexy light smoldering in those (warm, brown) eyes that are set in that (handsome, sculpted, take-me-now) face is enough to melt any woman’s heart. And panties.
“Thank you.” He gathers me against him, and kisses me. The first brush of lips is a quick reassurance, almost sweet. Then, the second time, it becomes deeper and slower. The heat turns up as he gathers a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back. I gasp, grazing his lower lip with my teeth. His whole body vibrates with that. We kiss again, falling deeper and deeper into each other. I start pulling at his tie, and have it off in seconds. He slides out of his jacket, which falls to the floor. Don’t worry, all my sweatpants and discarded bras will keep it company.
I really should clean up more. But not right now. Right now, sex is all I can think about, and clothes just get in the way of sex. It’s math.
Fraser stills as I unbutton his shirt, giving myself a glimpse of that rock hard, sculpted physique that I find I happily can’t get enough of. I’m like Pavlov’s dog now: whenever someone takes a shirt off, I start drooling.
I had to try to curb that last time Fraser and I had sex. It almost got awkward.
With my help, Fraser strips off his dastardly shirt in a matter of seconds. I shiver as my fingers play up the contours of his abs, his chest. I trail my touch down the steel and silk muscles of his arms. Holy shit, this man must work out a ton.
And to that I say: huzzah.
“I’m feeling a bit more exposed than you,” Fraser whispers in my ear, kissing down my neck. In a flash, he helps pull my shirt over my head, and a second later, I slide out of my work skirt. Now in only bra and panties, I gasp as Fraser picks me up. My legs straddle his waist as he carries me to the bed, and lays me down…on top of more crinkling cellophane.
“How many Doritos do you consume in a week?” His eyes stay molten as he says it, the desire in his voice never losing its edge. Apparently snacking is the most erotic thing on the planet. Lucky, lucky me.
“Some of these are Fritos,” I whisper back.
About Poppy Dunne
Poppy Dunne writes books with relatable heroines who speak their minds and whose riotous inner dialogue reflects their complex characters. Her goal is to deliver a story that has equal parts heart, romance and humor. Her heroes are swoon worthy, yet hold on to your suspension of disbelief, because they pick up their own socks and cook.
In her free time, she looks for hobbies other than Netflix and procrastinating to fill out this author bio. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two children.
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